She yawned. Throwing herself without ceremony on my bed she added, “It seems Mademoiselle was nearly crushed to a jelly in a hubbub at the theatre some weeks ago.”

“Ah! indeed. And they live at a large hotel in the Rue Crécy ?”

“ Justement. How do you know?”

“I have been there.”

“Oh, you have? Really! You go everywhere in these days. I suppose Mother Bretton took you. She and Esculapius have the entrée of the de Bassompierre apartments: it seems ‘my son John’ attended missy on the occasion of her accident⁠—accident? Bah! All affectation! I don’t think she was squeezed more than she richly deserves for her airs. And now there is quite an intimacy struck up; I heard something about ‘auld lang syne,’ and whatnot. Oh, how stupid they all were!”

“ All! You said you were the only visitor.”

“Did I? You see one forgets to particularize an old woman and her boy.”

“ Dr. and Mrs. Bretton were at M. de Bassompierre’s this evening?”