Denise smiled at him over her shoulder as she answered: “You know nothing about these things, Lisle. You have nothing to do about them, but sit and look on. All that concerns you regarding them is that you are to wear the robe and crown at the De Soignés’ ball!” “Ball! You speak as though you were going to a ball. You are only two years older than Rosanne and I. There is no reason why we should not have been invited. I should think they would be ashamed to leave Rosanne out of it all!” exclaimed Marie Josephine. “Little Mademoiselle would like, perhaps, to make a bow for her hair? A rosette of this rose brocade and a bit of the gold tinsel would become her,” suggested Proté, tying a neat knot in a corner of the piece of black cardboard which Hortense had handed her. Marie Josephine shook her head. “No, Proté,” she answered. Flambeau came up to Denise and nosed at the bits of ribbon in her lap. Denise gave his head a pat. “Would you not like Flambeau to have a big rose bow? Greyhounds always look better with bows,” she said. Marie Josephine shook her head listlessly, but did not speak. A big rose bow would be charming for Flambeau, a puffy one under his right ear. She was not invited to the De Soigné party, therefore she would not appear to be interested in any of the glittering array on the table. She caught her brother’s eyes. His head was thrown back against the dark, carved-oak window settle. He was looking straight at Marie Josephine, and she saw that he was smiling. She frowned at him with her straight black brows, and he frowned back with his straight fair ones. Marie Josephine’s frown was in earnest, but her brother’s was in fun. “What a thundercloud! What a dragon! What an ogress! What a——” Marie Josephine stopped her brother’s words with a stamp of her foot. “You are not to say that, Lisle!” she exclaimed passionately. “Don’t tease her, my cousin. How can you do it?” reproved Hortense, rising as she spoke and going over to the fireplace. She laid both hands on the carved, gilded mantelpiece and stood looking down at the dancing swirl of blue and gold. Suddenly she put her face in her hands. Marie Josephine went up to her and touched her arm, forgetting her own trouble for the moment. “What is it, Hortense? Why are you sad?” she asked. Hortense raised her face and smiled. “I’m not sad, chérie; not this afternoon. It is only that now everything seems grey and dreadful, and Tante is unhappy because so many of her friends have gone away, and because of everything.” “You’ll have the party,” Marie Josephine answered bitterly. Her cousin put her arm about her for a moment and gave her a little hug. “You want to go so badly. I do wish you could; but even if Madame de Soigné had asked you, Tante would never have allowed you to go. Twelve and a half doesn’t sound much younger than fourteen and a half, but it is, you know,” she said.