After St. Ange’s departure madame sat silent for some time, and Annette watched her with a strange speculation in her mind--did people really keep their emotions fresh when they were three-score and ten years old? Her grandmother had seemed to feel all that she had felt. Her hands, her feet, her whole figure had revealed strong sensation, her eyes been tender with sympathy and keen with anger; her interest had never flagged. In passionate sensibility had twenty years no superiority over seventy years? Patience, Annette! Time will tell you the secret. Oh, the soul keeps its youth! She considered this question, however, until it wearied her, and then she asked abruptly: “Grandmother, of what are you dreaming?” “Mr. St. Ange. I was recalling the day on which his grandfather carried off to France pretty Gertrude Bergen. She went to France and died in Haiti, and now her grandson is driven back by events he cannot control to New York.” “Where he will probably marry some other pretty Dutch maiden.” “And small heed we take of such things; we even count them of chance; yet, how often that which flowers to-day grows from very old roots.” “Grandmother, I want two new dresses. Can I have them?” “Stuffs of every kind are very dear, Annette.” “Only two, grandmother.” “And Madame Lafarge’s charges for making dresses are extravagant--the making is the worst.” “It has to be done, grandmother.” “Yes--but if you will turn to your Bible, Annette, you will find that the woman whose ‘price was above rubies’ made her own dresses.”[1] “Indeed, grandmother, you need only glance at any picture of a Bible woman to see that. Dresses without shape, without style--and as for _the fit_!” And Annette could only explain the enormity of the fit by throwing up her hands in expressive silence. “If you get the dresses, then a new bonnet will be wanted.” “Yes, a bonnet would be a necessity; also some of those sweet furs that come from South America--so soft and grey are they. Oh, the ugliest woman looks pretty in them!” “You are extortionate, Annette.” “Grandmother, I have not yet asked for a grand piano.” Then madame laughed. And Annette laid her soft cheek against madame and kissed her good-night. But though she walked delicately and almost on tip-toes to her own room, there was an air of triumph in the poise of her pretty head. She set the candle down by the mirror and looked complaisantly at herself. “I shall get what I want,” she said softly. “I always do.” CHAPTER FIVE _A Chain of Causes_