"The old gossip!" cried Madame Dépine--"though not so old as
she feigns. But did she tell you of her mother, too, and the
fruit-barrow?"

"I knew her mother--_une brave femme_."

"I do not say not," said Madame Dépine, a whit disconcerted.
"Nevertheless, when one's mother is a merchant of the four seasons--"

"Provided she sold fruit as good as this! Take another fig, I beg of
you."

"Thank you. These are indeed excellent," said Madame Dépine. "She owed
all her good fortune to a _coup_ in the lottery."

"Ah! the lottery!" Madame Valière sighed. Before the eyes of both rose
the vision of a lucky number and a grey wig.




VI


The acquaintanceship ripened. It was not only their common grievances
against fate and Madame la Propriétaire: they were linked by the sheer
physical fact that each was the only person to whom the other could
talk without the morbid consciousness of an eye scrutinising the
unseemly brown wig. It became quite natural, therefore, for Madame
Dépine to stroll into her "Princess's" room, and they soon slid into