“I haven’t an idea just at present; we will talk it over to-morrow night at Madame de Beaucœur’s. But you must not count on me for Wednesday,” said Berthe, “I have changed my mind about going.” “What! You are going to play us false!” exclaimed the princess, her ugly but expressive features lighting up with irresistible humor, while her eyes shot out a cold, sardonic glance into Berthe’s. “That old _perruque_ has put you out of conceit with it? But, no! It’s too absurd, _ma chère_!” “Absurd or not, I don’t intend to go,” said Berthe resolutely. “I’m not so brave as you are. I do not want to risk myself.” “But all Paris will laugh at you. They will say you have turned _dévote_. For mercy’s sake, my child, do not make such a fool of yourself!” “Paris may say what it likes,” answered Berthe, bridling up, while a blush of defiant pride suffused her cheek. “I despise its gossip, and, in short, I don’t mean to go.” “Seriously?” “Quite seriously.” The princess lifted her shoulders slowly, and as slowly let them fall. “Then there is no use in my proposing a little distraction that we were planning, in the shape of an escapade to the _Bal de l’Opéra_ on Saturday night? In dominos and masks, of course?” “Thank you, I do not want to run the risk,” said Berthe, smiling. “Adieu!” And Madame de M---- heaved a long sigh. “You will make a charming saint, but I fear I sha’n’t worship the saint as much as I loved----” “The sinner,” added Berthe, laughing good-humoredly. “Oh! well, I’ve not donned the sackcloth and ashes, so you mustn’t denounce me yet. But don’t suppose,” she continued, seeing Madame de M----’s eyes fixed on her with a puzzled expression, “that I mean to reproach you for amusing yourself. Our positions are widely different. You have your husband to stand between you and evil tongues, and, again, you are not amongst your own people here. Honestly, would you go on at Berlin as you do in Paris?” “Oh!” The princess threw up her parasol, caught it again, and, laughing out, said, “But Paris is a _cabaret_, where one does as one likes!” And with this exhaustive apology, she opened the door, and passed out. Berthe went into the second _salon_, where some of the earlier visitors had gathered to leave room for new arrivals in the first, but she was hardly seated when the door was again opened, and François announced: “Le Marquis de Chassedot!” If he had announced Le Marquis de Carrabas, his mistress could not have been more astonished. Was it a trap that Madame de Beaucœur had laid for him? But, no, Mademoiselle de Galliac’s presence was quite fortuitous, and, moreover, Madame de Beaucœur did not know her, so she could not have had any scheme into which the heiress’ visit adjusted itself to-day.