r looks seemed to say,
"Come here, and let us have some conversation together;" and, with a bow
of silent excuse to my little companion, I went across to the lame old
lady. She acknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture of thanks
possible; and, half apologetically, said, "It is a little dull to be
unable to move about on such evenings as this; but it is a just punishment
to me for my early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so small,
are now taking their revenge for my cruelty in forcing them into such
little slippers.... Besides, monsieur," with a pleasant smile, "I thought
it was possible you might be weary of the malicious sayings of your
little neighbour. He has not borne the best character in his youth, and
such men are sure to be cynical in their old age."

"Who is he?" asked I, with English abruptness.

"His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe, a wood-cutter, or
charcoal burner, or something of the sort. They do tell sad stories
of connivance at murder, ingratitude, and obtaining money on false
pretences--but you will think me as bad as he if I go on with my
slanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming up towards us,
with the roses in her hand--I never see her without roses, they are so
closely connected with her past history, as you are doubtless aware. Ah,
beauty!" said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, "it is like
you to come to me, now that I can no longer go to you." Then turning to
me, and gracefully drawing me into the conversation, she said, "You must
know that, although we never met until we were both married, we have
been almost like sisters ever since. There have been so many points
of resemblance in our circumstances, and I think I may say in our
characters. We had each two elder sisters--mine were but half-sisters,
though--who were not so kind to us as they might have been."

"But have been sorry for it since," put in the other lady.

"Since we have married princes," continued the same lady, with an arch
smile that had nothing of unkindness in it, "for we both have married
far above our original stations in life; we are both unpunctual in our
habits, and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both had to
suffer mortification and pain."

"And both are charming," said a whisper close behind me. "My lord the
marquis, say it--say, 'And both are charming.'"

"And both are charming," was spoken aloud by another voice. I turned,
and saw the wily