Madame—­Well, what word?

Her Friend—­I dare not tell you, for, really, if it is true it would make one shudder.  He said that it was (whispering in her ear) the Antichrist!  It makes one feel aghast, does it not!  They sell his photograph; he has a satanic look. (Looking at the clock.) Half-past two—­I must run away; I have given no orders about dinner.  These three fast-days in the week are to me martyrdom.  One must have a little variety; my husband is very fastidious.  If we did not have water-fowl I should lose my head.  How do you get on, dear?

Madame—­Oh! with me it is very simple, provided I do not make my husband leaner; he eats anything.  You know, Augustus is not very much—­

Her Friend—­Not very much!  I think that he is much too spare; for, after all, if we do not in this life impose some privations upon ourselves—­no, that would be too easy.  I hope, indeed, that you have a dispensation?

Madame—­Oh! yes, I am safe as to that.

Her Friend—­I have one, of course, for butter and eggs, as vice-chancellor of the Association.  The Abbe Gelon begged me to accept a complete dispensation on account of my headaches, but I refused.  Yes!  I refused outright.  If one makes a compromise with one’s principles—­but then there are people who have no principles.

Madame—­If you mean that to apply to my husband, you are wrong.  Augustus is not a heathen—­he has excellent principles.

Her Friend—­Excellent principles!  You make my blood boil.  But there, I must go.  Well, it is understood, I count upon you for Tuesday; he will preach upon authority, a magnificent subject, and we may expect allusions—­Ah!  I forgot to tell you; I am collecting and I expect your mite, dear.  I take as low a sum as a denier (the twelfth of a penny).  I have an idea of collecting with my little girl on my praying-stool.  Madame de K. collected on Sunday at St. Thomas’s and her baby held the alms-bag.  The little Jesus had an immense success—­immense!

Madame—­I must go now.  How will you dress?

Her Friend—­Oh! for the present, quite simply and in black; you understand.

Madame—­Besides, black becomes you so well.

Her Friend—­Yes, everything is for the best; black does not suit me at all ill.  Tuesday, then.  But my dear, try to bring your husband, he likes music so much.

Madame—­Well, I can not promise that.

Her Fiend—­Ah! mon Dieu! they are all like that, these men; they are strong-minded, and when grace touches them, they look back on their past life with horror.  When my husband speaks of his youth, the tears come into his eyes.  I must tell you; that he has not always been as he is now; he was a gay boy in his youth, poor fellow.  I do not detest a man because he knows life a little, do you?  But I am gossiping and time passes; I have a call to make yet on Madame W. I do not know whether she has found her juvenile lead.