"After years of the country and Rome!" and Sidonie Merson raised her infantile brows and smiled. "Oh, yes, it is quite true--though so strange; we fancied her settled for life in her old vine-covered villa; no one expected to see the Paris house opened after Alain's death." "It is always the unexpected in which the old Marquise delights," said big Lavergne, the sculptor, who had joined Sidonie in the window. "Then how she must have reveled in Alain's marriage--a death-bed marriage!" "Yes; and to an Italian girl without a dot." "Oh--it is quite possible. The marriage was in Rome. Both the English and Americans go to Rome." "Italian! I heard it was an English or American!" "Surely, not so bad as that!" "But only those who have money;--or, if they have not the money, our sons and our brothers do not marry them." "Good!" and Lavergne nodded with mock sagacity. "We reach conclusions; the newly made Marquise de Caron is either not Anglo-Saxon or was not without wealth." "I heard from Dumaresque that she had attended English schools; that no doubt gives her the English suggestion." "Oh, I know more than that;" said another, eager to add to the knowledge of the group. "Between Fontainbleau and Moret is the Levigne chateau. Two years ago the dowager was there with a young beauty, Judithe Levigne, and that is the girl Alain married; the dowager was also a Levigne, and the girl an adopted daughter." "What is she like now? Has no one seen her?" "No one more worldly than her confessor--if she possess one, or the nuns of the convent to which she returned to study after her marriage and widowhood." "Heavens! We must compose our features when we enter the presence!" "But we will go, for all that! The dowager is too delightful to miss." "A religieuse and a blue stocking!" and the smile of Lavergne was accompanied by a doubtful shrug. "I might devote myself to either, if apart, but never to both in one. Is she then ugly that she dare be so superior?" "Greek and Latin did not lessen the charm of Heloise for Abelard, Monsieur." Sidonie glanced consciously out of the window. Even the dust of six centuries refuses to cover the passion of Heloise, and despite the ecclesiastical flavor of the romance--demoiselles were not supposed to be aware--still--! Lavergne beckoned to a fair slight man near the piano. "We will ask Loris--Loris Dumaresque. He is god-son of the dowager. He was in Rome also. He will know." "Certainly;" and Madame Choudey glanced in the mirror opposite and leaned her cheek on her jeweled hand, the lace fell from her pretty wrist and the effect was rather pleasing. "Loris; ah, pardon me, since your last canvas is the talk of Paris we must perhaps say Monsieur Dumaresque, or else--Master." "The queen calls no man master," replied the newcomer as he bent over the pretty coquette's hand. "The humblest of your subjects salutes you."