once.' She no longer went
into raptures over the manly beauty of the young hero, whose portrait,
full length and half length, profile and three quarters, in marble and
on canvas, met you in every part of the house.

It was her system now to bring him gradually and dexterously down. 'Do
you not think, dear,' she would say, 'that these portraits of the Prince
make his jaw too heavy? Of course I know the lower part of his face
was rather pronounced, a little too massive.' And so she administered
a series of little poisonous stabs, with an indescribable skill and
gentleness, drawing back when she went too far, and watching for
Colette's smile at some criticism a little sharper than the rest.
Working in this way she at last brought Colette to admit that Herbert
had always had a touch of the boor; his manners were scarcely up to
his rank; he had not, for instance, the distinguished air of the Prince
d'Athis, 'whom we met a few Sundays ago on the steps of St. Philip's. If
you should fancy him, dear, he is looking for a wife.' This last remark
was thrown out as a jest; but presently Madame Astier recurred to it and
put it more definitely. Well, why should the Princess not marry him?
It would be most suitable; the Prince had a good name, a diplomatic
position of some importance; the marriage would involve no alteration
of the Princess's coronet or title--a practical convenience not to
be overlooked. 'And, indeed, if I am to tell you the truth, dear, the
Prince entertains towards you an affection which'... &c. &c.

The word 'affection' at first hurt the Princess's feelings, but she soon
grew used to hear it. They met the Prince d'Athis at church, then in
great privacy at Madame Astier's in the Rue de Beaune, and Colette soon
admitted that he was the only man who might have induced her to
abandon her widowhood. But then poor dear Herbert had loved her so
devotedly--she had been his all.

'Really,' said Madame Astier with the quiet smile of a person who knows.
Then followed allusions, hints, and all the devices by which one woman
poisons the mind of another.

'Why, my dear, there is no such thing in the world. A man of good
breeding--a gentleman--will take care, for the sake of peace, not to
give his wife pain or distress. But----'

'Then you mean that Herbert----'

'Was no better than the rest of them.' The Princess, with an indignant
protest, burst into tears; painless, passionless tears, such as ease a
woman, and leave he