was coquetting with the author of "The Cup-and-Ball."

"What shocking style that woman has! what talk, what manners!" she
said. "I really don't think I can admit her any longer into _our
society_,--especially," she added, "when Monsieur Gourdon, the poet, is
present."

"There's social morality!" said the abbe, who had heard and observed
all without saying a word.

After this epigram, or rather, this satire on the company, so true and
so concise that it hit every one, the usual game of boston was
proposed.

Is not this a picture of life as it is at all stages of what we agree
to call society? Change the style, and you will find that nothing more
and nothing less is said in the gilded salons of Paris.



CHAPTER III

THE CAFE DE LA PAIX

It was about seven o'clock when Rigou drove by the Cafe de la Paix.
The setting sun, slanting its beams across the little town, was
diffusing its ruddy tints, and the clear mirror of the lake contrasted
with the flashing of the resplendent window-panes, which originated
the strangest and most improbable colors.