At “cozy” Adelaide shuddered.  No one ever used, except apologetically, that word, which is the desperate last resort of compliment.

“And what a beautiful view from the windows—­so much better than ours at the pompous old Bristol, looking out on that bare square!”

Adelaide laughed.  Not by chance, she knew, did Miss Janet, with her softly sheathed but swift and sharp cat claws, drag in the delicate hint that while Adelaide was “cozy” in an unaristocratic maison meublee, she herself was ensconced in the haunts of royalty; and it suddenly came back to Del how essentially cheap was “aristocracy.”

“But I mustn’t look at those adorable gardens,” continued Janet.  “They fill me with longing for the country, for the pure, simple things.  I am so sick of the life mamma and I lead.  And you are married to dear Dory—­how romantic!  And I hear that Arthur is to marry Margaret Schultz—­or whatever her name was—­that splendid creature!  She was a dear friend of the trained nurse I had last spring, and what the nurse told me about her made me positively love her.  Such character!  And getting ready to lead such a useful life.”  This without the least suggestion of struggle with a difficult subject.  “Arthur is a noble fellow, too.  If we had been in spiritual accord, I’d have loved to go and lead his life with him.”

Adelaide was in high good humor now—­Janet was too preposterous to be taken seriously.  “What do you want me to do for you, Jen?” said she.

“Why, nothing!” exclaimed Janet, looking a little wonder and much reproach.

Del laughed.  “Now, really, Jen,” said she.  “You know you never in the world went to all the trouble of getting my address, and then left royalty at the Bristol for a maison meublee, four flights up and no elevator, just to see me!”

“I had thought of something I was sure would give you pleasure,” said Janet, injured.

“What do you want me to do for you?” repeated Adelaide, with smiling persistence.

“Mamma and I have an invitation to spend a week at Besancon—­you know, it’s the splendid old chateau Louis Treize used to love to visit.  It’s still the seat of the Saint Berthe family, and the present Marquis, a dear friend of ours, is such a wonderful, fine old nobleman—­so simple and gracious and full of epigrams.  He really ought to wear lace and ruffles and a beautiful peruke.  At any rate, as I was saying, he has asked us down.  But mamma has to go to England to see papa before he sails, and I thought you’d love to visit the chateau—­you and Dory.  It’s so poetic—­and historic, too.”

“Your mother is going away and you’ll be unable to make this visit unless you get a chaperon, and you want me to chaperon you,” said Adelaide, who was not minded to be put in the attitude of being the recipient of a favor from this particular young woman at this particular time, when in truth she was being asked to confer a favor.  “Adversity” had already sharpened her wits to the extent of making her alert to the selfishness disguised as generosity which the prosperous love to shower upon their little brothers and sisters of the poor.  She knew at once that Janet must have been desperately off for a chaperon to come to her.