"Perhaps I've learned how to receive good-will," she told herself, "but not yet how to offer it."
It was merely to amuse herself that Sylvia approached Odette for an introduction to her famous femme du monde. The suggestion, while it gratified Odette's sense of importance, caused her, nevertheless, several qualms about Sylvia's fitness for presentation to Madame Corvelis.
"Elle a des idées très-larges, tu sais, mais—" Odette paused. She could not bring herself to believe that Madame Corvelis's broad-mindedness was broad enough to include Sylvia. "Pourtant, I will ask her quite frankly. I will say to her, 'Madame, there is an artiste who wishes to meet a femme du monde.' Ses idées sont tellement larges que peut-être elle sera enchantée de faire ta connaissance. She has been so charming to me that if I make a gaffe she must forgive me. Enfin, she came to take tea with me chez Eliane, and though of course I was careful not to introduce anybody else to her, she assured me afterward that she had enjoyed herself. Alors, nous verrons."
Madame Corvelis was a little French Levantine who had married a Greek of Constantinople. Odette had made her acquaintance one afternoon by helping to unhitch her petticoats, which had managed to get caught up while she was alighting from a tram. Her gratitude to Odette for rescuing her from such a blushful situation was profuse and had culminated in an invitation to take tea with her "in the wretched little house she and her husband temporarily occupied in Odessa," owing to their flight from Constantinople at the rumor of war.
"What was M. Corvelis?" Sylvia asked, when she and Odette were making their way to visit madame.
"Oh, he was a man of business. I believe he was secretary to some large company. You must not judge them by the house they live in here; they left everything behind in Constantinople. But don't be frightened of M. Corvelis. I assure you that for a man in his position he is very simple."
"I'll try not to be very frightened," Sylvia promised.
"And madame is charming. She has the perfect manners of a woman of forty accustomed to the best society. When I think that eight years ago—don't tell anybody else this—but eight years ago, chérie," Odette exclaimed, dramatically, "je faisais le miché autour des boulevards extérieurs! Ma chérie, when I think of my mauvais début, I can hardly believe that I am on my way to take tea with a femme du monde. Enfin, on arrive!"
Odette flung proud glances all round her; Sylvia marveled at her satisfied achievement of a life's ambition, nor did she marvel less when she was presented to Madame Corvelis, surely the most insignificant piece of respectability that had ever adorned a cocotte's dream. It was pathetic to see the way in which the great, flaunting creature worshiped this plump bourgeoise with her metallic Levantine accent: anxious lest Odette's deference should seem too effusive, Sylvia found herself affecting an equally exaggerated demeanor to keep her friend in countenance, though when she looked at their hostess she nearly laughed aloud, so much did she resemble a little squat idol receiving the complimentary adoration of some splendid savage.
"I am really ashamed to receive you in this miserable little house," Madame Corvelis protested. "Mais que voulez-vous? Everything is in Constantinople. Carpets, mirrors, china, silver. We came away like beggars. Mais que voulez-vous? My husband is so nervous. He feared the worst. But of course he's nervous. Que voulez-vous? The manager of one of the largest companies in the East! Well, I say manager, but of course when a company is as large as his, one ought to say secretary. 'Let us go to Odessa, Alceste,' he begged. My name is Alceste, but I've no Greek blood myself. Oh no, my father and mother were both Parisian. Enfin, my father came under the glamour of the East and called me Alceste. Que voulez-vous?"