made up her mind to wait on her daughter herself. And Fabienne talked
with nobody but her, saw nobody but her, and was like a little novice in
a convent. Nobody was allowed to speak to her, or to interfere with her
walks in the large garden, or on the white terraces that were reflected
in the blue water.

As soon as the season for the country and the seaside came, however,
they packed up their trunks, and locked the doors of their house of
exile. As they were not known, and taking those terrible trains which
stop at every station, and by which travelers arrive at their
destination in the middle of the night, with the certainty that nobody
will be waiting for you, and see you get out of the carriage, they
traveled third class, so that they might have a few bank notes the more,
with which to make a show.

A fortnight in Paris in the family house at Auteuil, a fortnight in
which to try on dresses and bonnets and to show themselves, and then
Trouville, Aix or Biarritz, the whole show complete, with parties
succeeding parties, money was spent as if they did not know its value,
balls at the Casinos, constant flirtations, compromising intimacies, and
those kind of admirers who immediately surround two pretty women, one in
the radiant beauty of her eighteen years, and the other in the
brightness of that maturity, which beautiful September days bring with
them.

Unfortunately, however, they had to do the same thing over again every
year, and as if bad luck were continuing to follow them implacably,
Madame de Maurillac and her daughter did not succeed in their endeavors,
and did not manage during her usual absence from home, to pick up some
nice fellow who fell in love immediately, who took them seriously, and