"Ah, prince," said Mme. Picard on seeing Agenor, "there is no one for you to-night in _my_ boxes. Mme. de Simiane is not here, and Mme. de Sainte Mesme has rented her box." "That's precisely it. Don't you know the people in Mme. de Sainte Mesme's box?" "Not at all, prince. It's the first time I have seen them in the marquise's box--" "Then you have no idea--" "None, prince. Only to me they don't appear to be people of--" She was going to say of _our_ set. A box-opener of the first tier of boxes at the opera, having generally only to do with absolutely high-born people, considers herself as being a little of their set, and shows extreme disdain for unimportant people; it displeases her to receive these unimportant people in _her_ boxes. Mme. Picard, however, had tact which rarely forsook her, and so stopped herself in time to say: "People of _your_ set. They belong to the middle class, to the wealthy middle class; but still the middle class. That doesn't satisfy you; you wish to know more on account of the blonde. Is it not so, prince?" Those last words were spoken with rare delicacy; they were murmured more than spoken--box-opener to a prince! It would have been unacceptable without that perfect reserve in accent and tone; yes, it was a box-opener who spoke, but a box-opener who was a little bit the aunt of former times, the aunt _a la mode de Cythere_. Mme. Picard continued: "Ah, she is a beauty! She came with a little dark man--her husband, I'm sure; for while she was taking off her cloak--it always takes some time--he didn't say a word to her. No eagerness, no little attentions. Yes, he could only be a husband. I examined the cloak. People one doesn't know puzzle me and _my_ colleague. Mme. Flachet and I always amuse ourselves by trying to guess from appearances. Well, the cloak comes from a good dress-maker, but not from a great one. It is fine and well-made, but it has no style. I think they are middle-class people, prince. But how stupid I am! You know M. Palmer--well, a little while ago he came to see the beautiful blonde!" "M. Palmer?" "Yes, and he can tell you." "Thanks, Mme. Picard, thanks--" "Good-bye, prince, good-bye," and Mme. Picard went back to her stool, near her colleague, Mme. Flachet, and said to her: "Ah, my dear, what a charming man the prince is! True gentlefolks, there is nothing like them! But they are dying out, they are dying out; there are many less than formerly."