r of this
charming residence was very much a woman of the world, whose
reception-rooms were constantly opened to the many distinguished
Parisians forming her circle of acquaintances.

It was seven in the evening when the Baroness, dressed for dinner,
passed from her own room into the small drawing-room adjoining. Crossing
a carpet so thick and soft that it deadened the sound of footsteps, she
pressed the button of an electric bell beside the fireplace. A
major-domo, of the most correct appearance, presented himself.

"The Baroness rang for me?"

Madame de Vibray, who had instinctively sought the flattering approval
of her mirror, half turned:

"I wish to know if anyone called this afternoon, Antoine?"

"For the Baroness?"

"Of course!" she replied, a note of impatience in her voice: "I want to
know if anyone called to see _me_ this afternoon?"

"No, madame."

"No one has telephoned from the Barbey-Nanteuil Bank?"

"No, madame."

Repressing a slight feeling of annoyance, Madame de Vibray changed the
subject:

"You will have dinner served as soon as the guests arrive. They will not
be later than half-past seven, I suppose."

Antoine bowed solemnly, vanished into the anteroom, and from thence
gained the servants' hall.

Madame de Vibray quitted the small drawing-room. Traversing the great
gallery with its glass roof, encircling the staircase, she entered the
dining-room. Covers were laid for three.

Inspecting the table arrangements with the eye of a mistress of the
house, she straightened the line of some plates, gave a touch of
distinction to the flowers scattered over the table in a conventional
disorder; then she went to the sideboard, where the major-domo had left
a china pot filled with flowers. With a slight shrug, the Baroness
carried the pot to its usual place--a marble column at the further end
of the room:

"It was fortunate I came to see how things were! Antoine is a good
fellow, but a hare-brained one too!" thought she.

Madame de Vibray paused a moment: the light from an electric lamp shone
on the vase and wonderfully enhanced its glittering beauty. It was a
piece of faience decorated in the best taste. On its graceful form the
artist had traced the lines of an old colour print, and had scrupulously
preserved the picture born of an eighteenth-century artist's
imagination, with its brilliancy of tone and soft background of tender
grey. Madame de Vibray could not tear herself away from the