At this moment the door of the box was opened, and Madame Girard came in, followed by M. Girard, a rich manufacturer, carrying her fan and smelling-bottle; he had, besides, as a cuirass between his coat and greatcoat, a small _chancelière_ of morocco, lined with ermine, for Madame Girard always had cold feet, she said, which was not true; but she had seen one of the Patagonian and powdered footmen of the Marquise de Luceval follow her with such a foot-warmer in his hands; and in the absence of a Patagonian and powdered lacquey, poor Girard carried the affair for his wife. Madame Girard was a little woman, brunette, high-coloured, very well made, and would have been pretty but for her intolerable affectation. Poor Bertha could not conceal her surprise at Madame Girard's singular head-dress. Our readers may, perhaps, be equally astonished when we describe the _thing_. Imagine a sort of Polish cap, of black velvet, with a small peak, ornamented with a bunch of white feathers fastened to the side by a large boss of poppy-coloured satin, and the whole jauntily placed a little on one side of Madame Girard's head; her hair, which was brown, being _crepéd_ in great bunches. With this _thing_ Madame Girard wore a high velvet gown of bright orange colour, with tight body, like a riding-habit, and decorated with silken brandebourgs to match. This attire had nothing absolutely ridiculous in itself, but completed by the cap and feathers, it looked so extremely odd, that it actually created quite a sensation in the theatre, and all the _lorgnettes_ were directed towards Madame Girard, who did not feel herself entirely at ease, whilst Bertha blushed with confusion. M. de Brévannes was so much annoyed, that he bit his lips, when he saw himself and his wife as it were stared at in consequence of Madame Girard's inconceivable head-gear, and he could not help saying to Girard, in a low voice, "What a devilish strange head-dress your wife has selected, Girard; she who is usually such a remarkably good dresser." The poor spouse gave M. de Brévannes a nudge with his elbow, and said, in a whisper, and with a look of alarm, "Hush!" During this time Madame Girard, leaning out of her box, looked all round the house with an expression of impatience. "Alphonsine," cried M. Girard to her with an affectionate look, "are you looking for any one?" "Of course, I am," replied the dear Alphonsine, with a simpering, self-sufficient air, in which a triumphant feeling joined. "I am looking for the Marquise de Luceval. Oh! how furious she will be!" "Why, madame?" said Bertha, hardly knowing what to say or do.