h hands. "Madame
de Ferrier's husband is alive!"

"What consolation is there in that?"

"A great deal for me. She has her estates back, and he was only hiding
until she got them. I know the funniest thing!"

Annabel hooked her finger and led me to a small study or cabinet at the
end of the drawing-room.

A profusion of the most beautiful stuffs was arranged there for display.

"Look!" the witch exclaimed, pinching my wrist in her rapture. "India
muslin embroidered in silver lama, Turkish velvet, ball dresses for a
bride, ribbons of all colors, white blond, Brussels point, Cashmere
shawls, veils in English point, reticules, gloves, fans, essences, a
bridal purse of gold links--and worse than all,--except this string of
perfect pearls--his portrait on a medallion of ivory, painted by
Isabey!"

"What is this collection?"

"A corbeille!"

"What's a corbeille?"

Annabel crossed her hands in desperation. "Oh, haven't you been in Paris
long enough to know what a corbeille is? It's the collection of gifts a
bridegroom makes for his bride. He puts his taste, his sentiment,
his"--she waved her fingers in the air--"as well as his money, into it.
A corbeille shows what a man is. He must have been collecting it ever
since he came to France. I feel proud of him. I want to pat him on his
dear old back!"

Not having him there to pat she patted me.

"You are going to be married?"

"Who said I was going to be married?"

"Isn't this your corbeille?"

Annabel lifted herself to my ear.

"It was Madame de Ferrier's!"

"What!"

"I'm sure of it!"

"Who bought it?"

"Count de Chaumont, of course."

"Was Madame de Ferrier going to marry him?"

"Who wouldn't marry a man with such a corbeille?"

"Was she?"

"Don't grind your teeth at your dearest Annabel. She hadn't seen it, but
it must have decided her. I am sure he intended to marry Madame de
Ferrier, and he does most things he undertakes to do. That inconsiderate
wretch of a Marquis de Ferrier--to spoil such a corbeille as this! But
Lazarre!" She patted her gloved hands. "Here's the consolation:--my
father will be obliged to turn his corbeille into my trousseau when I am
married!"

"What's a trousseau?"

"Goose! It's a bride's wardrobe, I knew he had something in this
cabinet, but he never left the key in the door until to-day. He was so
completely upset when the De Ferriers came into Paris!"

"Are they in Paris?"

"Yes, at their own hotel. The old marqui