“Perhaps,” admitted Gabriella, as quietly as before.  Unlike Madame, who, being an incurable idealist, had won her victories not by accepting but by evading facts, Gabriella was frankly skeptical about the practical value of either her social position or her wealthy acquaintances.  Neither possession impressed her at the moment as marketable, except in the vivid imagination of Madame, and her social position, at least, was constructed of a very thin and unsubstantial fabric.  Guided by the prudent streak in her character, she rested her hope not upon incorporeal possessions, but upon the solid bodies of her patrons that must be clothed.  Her imposing acquaintances would avail her scarcely more, she suspected, than would the noble ghost of that ancestor who was a general in the Revolution.  What she relied on was the certainty that she knew her work, and that Madame’s customers from the greatest to the least, from Mrs. Pletheridge to poor Miss Peterson, who bought only one good gown a year, admitted the thoroughness of her knowledge.  She had got on by learning all that there was to learn about the details of the work, and she stood now, secure and unassailable, on the foundation of her achievement.  In ten years she had fulfilled her resolution—­she had made herself indispensable.  By patience, by hard work, by self-control, by ceaseless thought, and by innumerable sacrifices, she had made herself indispensable; and the result was that, as Madame weakened, she had grown steadily stronger.  Without her Dinard’s would have dropped long ago to the position of a second-rate house, and she was aware that Madame understood this quite as clearly as she did.  For whatever Madame’s executive ability may have been in the past, it had dwindled now to the capricious endeavours of a chronic invalid—­of an aging invalid, notwithstanding her desperate struggle for youth.  Half as much energy as Madame had spent resisting Nature might have won for her a sanctified memory had it been directed toward the practice of piety, or a tablet of imperishable granite had it been devoted to as tireless a pursuit of art or science.  To her battle against age she had brought the ambition of a conqueror and the devotion of a martyr; and at the last, even to-day, there was a superb defiance in her refusal to acknowledge defeat, in her demand that her surrender should be regarded as a capitulation.

“In a day or two I hope to be able to discuss my plan with you,” said Gabriella, and she could not keep the softness of pity out of her voice.  So this was what life came to, after all?  For an instant she felt the overwhelming discouragement which is the portion of those who approach life not through vision, but through outward events, who seek a solution not in the deeper consciousness of the spirit, but in the changing surface of experience.  Then, even before her glance had left Madame’s golden head, her natural optimism regained control of her mind, and she told herself stoutly that if this was Madame’s present, then it followed logically that Madame must have had a past, and that past must have been an agreeable one.  It was inconceivable that she should defy the laws of God for the sake of a prolongation of tragedy.