"Faith of God!" said Gabrielle, lightly, "so have I. A poor sample, if you will!"
Her flippancy seemed suddenly to lend the other fresh courage. She leaned forward eagerly, clasping her gray-gloved hands upon her knee.
"But mine," she said, "is but a boy. He has come to Paris, seeking to know the world, and, lately, he has become the friend of Mademoiselle Thaïs de Trémonceau."
"Zut!" put in Gabrielle. "You say well that it is but a boy!"
"Is there need to tell you," continued Louise, without heeding the sneer, "what this means to me? Is there need to tell you what it means to him?"
"My faith, no!" said Mademoiselle de Poirier. "It is acquainted with me, that story. The end is not beautiful!"
"Tout simplement," said her visitor, "I have come to Paris to bring him back, to show him the folly of his way. But I alone am powerless. You—you who are more admired, more beautiful, more clever than this Mademoiselle de Trémonceau"—(Oh, Louise!)—"you alone can aid me to rescue him."
Gabrielle raised her eyebrows slightly, and let her lids droop with an air of unutterable boredom.
"Truly, mademoiselle," she drawled, "I neither see in what fashion I can assist you, nor why, in any event, I should concern myself with this affair. If your brother has such taste"—
"Oh, madame, I know I have no right," broke in Louise. "But you, of all women in Paris, alone have the power to win him from her."