"And you, Basile?"
I could only clasp my hands in silence.
"Yet," resumed Madame, "you are not half so pretty as I was at the same age."
"When Milord Clare's Irish dragoons lay at Versailles?" said Jacqueline, quickly adding, "of course not, dear aunt; I could not hope to excel you. The old Comte de Boisguiller is always polite enough to tell me so."
"Does he indeed? Dear M. le Comte!" said Madame, applying a gold vinaigrette to her nose to conceal a gratified smile. "You are charming, Jacqueline. But remember that faces which are pretty in youth often become hideous in age."
"You were beautiful, aunt?"
"Like yourself, Jacqueline. When Lord Clare's——"
"I do not care; I shall marry when young and lovely, and when old and hideous my husband cannot put me away."
"But he may love some one else."
Jacqueline glanced at me coquettishly between the masses that overhung her face, and her smile made my heart beat lightly and joyously.