"What is the matter, then?" breathed Madame Dépine.
The "Princess" recovered herself. "Nothing, nothing. Only my nephew who is marrying."
"Soon?"
"The middle of next month."
"Then you will need to give presents!"
"One gives a watch, a bagatelle, and then—there is time. It is nothing. How good the coffee is this morning!"
They had not changed the name of the brew: it is not only in religious evolutions that old names are a comfort.
They walked to the hairdresser's in silence. The triumphal procession had become almost a dead march. Only once was the silence broken.
"I suppose they have invited you down for the wedding?" said Madame Dépine.
"Yes," said Madame Valière.