In their square pasteboard boxes lay the costumes, each tied round with a favour, and folded so as to show the blue and red embroidered trimmings; and, in a corner of each box, was an engraving depicting the garment completed, as worn by a young person resembling some princess.
"But they are not worth more," murmured Madame Guibal. "They fall to pieces as soon as you handle them."
The two women had become quite intimate since Monsieur de Boves had been confined to his arm-chair by an attack of gout. His wife put up with the acquaintance, since in this way she picked up a little pocket money, sums that the husband allowed himself to be robbed of, being also in need of forbearance.
"Well! let's go in," resumed Madame Guibal. "We must see their show. Hasn't your son-in-law made an appointment with you inside?"
Madame de Boves did not reply, being absorbed in contemplation of the string of carriages, whose doors one by one opened and gave egress to more customers.
"Yes," said Blanche, at last, in her indolent voice. "Paul is to join us at about four o'clock in the reading-room, on leaving the ministry."
They had been married about a month, and Vallagnosc, after a three weeks' leave of absence spent in the South of France, had just returned to his post. The young woman already had her mother's portly appearance; her flesh seemed to be more puffy and coarse since her marriage.
"But there's Madame Desforges over there!" exclaimed the countess, looking at a brougham that had just pulled up.
"Do you think so?" murmured Madame Guibal. "After all those stories! She must still be weeping over the fire at The Four Seasons."
However, it was indeed Henriette. On perceiving her friends, she came up with a gay, smiling air, concealing her defeat beneath the fashionable ease of her manner.