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To be seen by Madame Dépine carrying in her meagre provisions was humiliation enough; to be juxtaposited with a grey wig was unbearable. "Maman, maman, the English monsieur will not pay two francs for his dinner!" And the distressed bookkeeper, bill in hand, shattered the trio. "And why will he not pay?" Fire leapt into the black eyes.
"What is the matter, then?" breathed Madame Dépine. The "Princess" recovered herself. "Nothing, nothing. Only my nephew who is marrying." "Soon?" "The middle of next month." "Then you will need to give presents!" "One gives a watch, a bagatelle, and then there is time. It is nothing. How good the coffee is this morning!"
As to the figs, however, she confessed on the third day that she hungered sore for them, and Madame Valière readily agreed to make this concession to her weakness. This little episode coloured for Madame Dépine the whole dreary period that remained.
Madame Dépine opened her eyes. "What wedding?" "My nephew's, of course!" "Your nephew is marrying? I congratulate you. But why did you not tell me?" "I did mention it. That day I had a letter!" "Ah! I seem to remember. I had not thought of it." Then briskly: "Well, that makes all for the best again. Ah! I was right not to scold monsieur le coiffeur too much, was I not?"
"How do you mean?" "The Royal Secrets." The "Princess" blushed. "What are you thinking of?" "The journalist below us tells me that gossip about the great sells like Easter buns." "He is truly below us," said Madame Valière, witheringly. "What! sell one's memories! No, no; it would not be convenable. There are even people living " "But nobody would know," urged Madame Dépine.
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