"I have always thought so—always believed that I could overthrow all her objections, and win her back if only I could have an interview with her again," Eliot said; then, sighing, "But I shall never have the chance. She will never come out of that grim convent again."
"Who knows? We will hope so, anyhow;" and then they were silent until their carriage drew up before the front of madame's well-remembered house, once so familiar to the club in the days when she was such a fascinating siren and kept all her wickedness carefully hidden in the background.
Lights glimmered brightly in the front of the house. The prim, ugly Mima opened the door to them and frowned darkly.
Was Mme. Lorraine at home? She took their cards and said, curtly, that she would see if Mme. Remond was in.
In another moment she came back and ushered them into the pretty salon. Remond was present, but retreated with a scowl upon their entrance.
The bride, all in silvery white silk cut décolleté, with diamonds shimmering on arms and breast, rose smilingly and bowed.
"This is an unexpected honor!" she said, with insolent empressement.
"You know to what cause to attribute the honor," Pierre Carmontelle said, icily.
"No," with a puzzled, inquiring tone; then, with a roguish ripple of laughter, "Ah, to congratulate me on my marriage, I suppose?"