d on the simplicity of her attire.

"Oh, that is without doubt the taste of the dowager; failing to
influence the politics of the country she consoled herself with an
attempt to make a revolution in the fashions of the age."

"And is this sensation to illustrate her ideas?" asked another. "She
has rather a good manner--the girl--but the dress is a trifle
theatrical, suggestive of the pages of tragedies and martyred
virgins."

"Suggestive of the girl Cleopatra before she realized her power,"
thought the artist as he passed on. He knew that just those little
remarks stamped her success a certainty, and was pleased accordingly.
The dowager had expressed her opinion that Judithe would bury herself
in studies if left to herself, perhaps even go back to the convent. He
fancied a few such hours of adulation as this would change the ideas
of any girl of nineteen as to the desirability of convents.

He noticed that the floral bower over which she presided had little
left now but the ferns and green things; she had been adding money to
the hospital fund. Once he noticed the blossoms left in charge of her
aides while she entered the hall room on the arm of the most
distinguished official present, and later, on that of one of the
dowager's oldest friends. She talked with, and sold roses to the
younger courtiers at exorbitant prices, but it was only the men of
years and honors whom she walked beside.

Madame Dulac and Dumaresque exchanged glances of approval; as a
possible general in the social field of the future, she had commenced
with the tactics of absolute genius. Dumaresque wondered if she
realized her own cleverness, or if it was because she honestly liked
best to talk or listen to the men of years, experience, and undoubted
honors.

Mrs. McVeigh was there, radiant as Aurore and with eyes so bright one
would not fancy them bathed in tears so lately, or the smooth brow as
containing a single anxious motherly thought. But the Marquise having
heard that story of the son, wondered as she looked at her if the
handsome mother had not many an anxious thought the world never
suspected.

She was laughing frankly to the Marquise over the future just read in
her palm by a picturesque Egyptian, who was one of the novelties added
to Madame Dulac's list for the night.

Nothing less than an adoring husband had been promised her, and with
the exception of a few shadowed years, not a cloud larger than the
hand of a man was to cross