ck her friend
has played her, and as the two women pass they exchange a cold
expressionless glance more to be dreaded than the most violent expletive
of a fishwoman. They know now what to think of each other; they know
that in the poisoned warfare, which is to succeed their sisterly
intimacy, every blow will tell, will be directed to the right spot by
practised hands. But they discharge the task imposed by society, and
both wear the same mask of indifference, so that the masterful hate
of the one can meet and strike against the spiteful hate of the other
without producing a spark.

Downstairs, in the press of valets and young clubmen, Leonard Astier was
waiting, as he had promised, for his wife. 'Ah, there is the great man!'
exclaimed Madame Ancelin; and with a final dip of her fingers into
the holy water she scattered it around her broadcast, over the great
Astier-Rehu, the great Danjou, and Coquelin, you know! and Delaunay, you
know! Oh! Oh! Oh!--Astier did not reply, but followed with his wife on
his arm and his collar turned up against the draught. It was raining.
Madame Ancelin offered to take them home; but it was only with the
conventional politeness of a 'carriage' lady afraid of tiring her horses
and still more afraid of her coachman's temper (she has invariably the
best coachman in Paris). Besides, 'the great man' had a cab; and without
waiting for the lady's benediction--'Ah, well, we know you two like to
be alone. Ah! what a happy household!'--he dragged off Madame Astier
along the wet and dirty colonnade.

When, at the end of a ball or evening party, a fashionable couple drive
off in their carriage, the question always suggests itself, 'Now what
will they say?' Not much usually, for the man generally comes away from
this kind of festivity weary and knocked up, while the lady continues
the party in the darkness of the carriage by inward comparisons of her
dress and her looks with those she has just seen, and makes plans
for the arrangement of her drawing-room or a new costume. Still
the restraint of feature required by society is so excessive, and
fashionable hypocrisy has reached such a height, that it would be
interesting to be present at the moment when the conventional attitude
is relaxed, to hear the real natural tone of voice, and to realise the
actual relations of the beings thus suddenly released from trammels and
sent rolling home in the light of their brougham lamps through the empty
streets of P