Tuesday morning, 10 A. M.
My dear little Zozé: I am sure I do know what I could have been thinking of at the dance last night when I told you we would lunch together in our little nest. I pledged myself to the Mathays a week ago. Thank Heaven, I remembered it in time. We shall make up for this. Forgive my carelessness; till to-day at 4. In haste, all the kisses of your old
G.
Quietly she folded the note and laid it on the wash-stand. Then she selected two small pearl-headed pins and carefully pinned them on her broad-winged cravat. She found it growing too hard for her to repress her feelings, however, and there was a catch in her voice as she murmured:
“Leave these things, Anna! Bring me my pink negligé....”
“Madame, then, is not going out?” the maid protested, in feigned surprise.
Mme. Chambannes threw her corsage on a chair and feverishly began to unfasten her skirt.
“No! I am not going out.”
“Will Madame lunch here? Shall I call the cook?” “Yes.... No....” Zozé stammered out. “Tell her to prepare lunch for me ... whatever she has....”
“Very well, Madame.”