“Indeed!” And Madame de Beaucœur, on marriageable maids intent, pricked up her ears. “How odd I should not have met her before!” “She has only lately arrived from Brittany. Our hostess patronizes her very zealously. I suppose she is looking out for a husband for her.” Madame de Beaucœur made no reply, but committed the remark to her mental note-book. Why had Berthe not suggested this girl to her for Madame de Chassedot? It was the very thing she was looking for. Old name, four millions--one too many, but the inequality was on the right side--beauty, and of course good principles. Madame de Galliac was known to be an excellent woman. How could Berthe have been so disobliging or so thoughtless? Big with a mighty purpose, and unable to resist the need of communicating her ideas, Madame de Beaucœur turned to the Princess de M----, and in the strictest confidence opened her heart to her. But Madame de M---- was a foreigner, and did not fall in sympathetically with French views on the subject of marriage, and was, moreover, given to call things bluntly by their names. “A girl with her beauty and money will find plenty of willing purchasers,” she argued, “and I see no conceivable reason for expecting that she will let herself be forced on an unwilling one. There are husbands to be had at every price; she can bid for the best, and the best are already bidding for her.” “Ah!” said Madame de Beaucœur, alarm mingling with curiosity in the interjection. “Why, you don’t suppose a prize like that is likely to be twenty-four hours in the Paris market without having scores of the highest bidders fighting for it?” “How mercenary men are! They are greatly changed since my young day!” Madame de Beaucœur was somewhere between five-and-thirty and forty; but she had been married from school at eighteen, and had heard nothing of sundry interviews between _notaires_ and mothers-in-law, etc., that had preceded the presentation of her _fiancé_ ten days before her marriage. “Very likely, but in this particular case it strikes me the woman is the mercenary party. You say the young man won’t let himself be married, big dower or little one?” said Madame de M----, laughing, and speaking rather louder than was desirable in the presence of the marketable _dower_. “Introduce me to Madame de Galliac,” said her companion, striking a _coup d’état_ on the spot. The request was complied with, and the two ladies were soon absorbed in each other. “What shall we do to amuse ourselves this week, _chère madame_? For Wednesday we have _La Beauté du Diable_ with a _diner fin au cabaret_, and a _petit souper_ at Tortoni’s; but what shall we do to kill the other three days?” demanded the princess, who had risen to go, and now pounced upon Berthe, who stood taking leave of some guests at the door.