But for her own part, Nancy was not tempted to think so. She conceived a very high opinion of the French nation. If she could have got Arthur out of the way, she thought she would have liked to try a little conversation on her own account, for it would be delightful to be able to chatter as Arthur did, and talk to anyone; but in his presence she did not like to venture. Once more they went back to their hotel in the most delightful state of content with each other and all the world. They were to dine early, and then go to the “Français” to see the _Bourgeois Gentilhomme_. Arthur had told her the story of the play, and how she would be sure to like it, and that there was not a better French actor living, and not such a good English one; all which had impressed Nancy. And she was to be allowed to wear her pink dress, with a pretty wrap which he had bought, an Algerian mantle, softly white, with threads of gold, and a flower in her hair. Nancy’s heart beat with the thought of all this gaiety and grandeur. He had bought her also a pretty fan; and they were to have a box, which was a thing which conveyed very magnificent ideas to her mind. To sit there throned like a young princess, and allow herself to be admired while the best of actors did his best to amuse her, in the midst of that which imagination had always painted to her as, after a ball, the most seductive of pleasures, a gaily lighted and brilliant theatre, what could be more delightful? And at first Nancy was quite as happy as she expected to be. When she looked out from the corner of the box with its silken curtains upon the bright, many-coloured crowd, it seemed to her as if she could understand a little how the Queen must feel when she came forward to thank her loyal subjects for their kind reception of her. Half of the people seemed to be looking up admiringly, wonderingly. She had never felt so truly great before. How well she remembered, in the days of her humility, when the highest she could hope for was the upper boxes, watching beautiful ladies come into their box, and giving a careless, splendid look over the rustling company below before they sat down. And now it was she who was the beautiful lady in the box. Was there, perhaps, some poor girl somewhere like Nancy Bates, looking at the lovely new-comer, surveying and envying her with a wistful gaze in all her finery, watching her look down upon the crowd, then sink gracefully into her chair as Nancy did, half retired behind the curtain? It seemed to her that she was two people, herself in the box--Mrs. Arthur Curtis--and Nancy Bates watching from her inferior place; and this doubled the enjoyment in the most wonderful way. How she would have noticed everything, the beautiful white mantle with its gold threads, the flower in the lady’s hair, her dress, and everything about her! and with great, yet less absorbing interest, the handsome young husband who completed her belongings, and was so “devoted” to her.