to his big hotel. Fancy me walking into a room alone, and a great man fifty years old coming forwards, and after a few minutes' conversation actually turning his back upon me, and then abruptly going out of the room. Such odd ways! I daresay his conscience smote him, for they all say at home I am the picture of Aunt Ginevra. Mama often declares the likeness is quite ridiculous."
"Were you the only visitor?"
"The only visitor? Yes, then there was missy, my cousin: little spoiled, pampered thing."
"M. de Bassompierre has a daughter?"
"Yes, yes: don't tease one with questions. Oh dear! I am so tired."
She yawned. Throwing herself without ceremony on my bed, she added, "It seems Mademoiselle was nearly crushed to a jelly in a hubbub at the theatre some weeks ago."
"Ah! indeed. And they live at a large hotel in the Rue Crécy?"
"Justement. How do you know?"
"I have been there."
"Oh you have? Really! You go everywhere in these days. I suppose Mother Bretton took you? She and Esculapius have the entrée of the
