She was going to say of our set.  A box-opener of the first tier of boxes at the opera, having generally only to do with absolutely high-born people, considers herself as being a little of their set, and shows extreme disdain for unimportant people; it displeases her to receive these unimportant people in her boxes.  Mme. Picard, however, had tact which rarely forsook her, and so stopped herself in time to say: 

“People of your set.  They belong to the middle class, to the wealthy middle class; but still the middle class.  That doesn’t satisfy you; you wish to know more on account of the blonde.  Is it not so, prince?”

Those last words were spoken with rare delicacy; they were murmured more than spoken—­box-opener to a prince!  It would have been unacceptable without that perfect reserve in accent and tone; yes, it was a box-opener who spoke, but a box-opener who was a little bit the aunt of former times, the aunt a la mode de Cythere.  Mme. Picard continued: 

“Ah, she is a beauty!  She came with a little dark man—­her husband, I’m sure; for while she was taking off her cloak—­it always takes some time—­he didn’t say a word to her.  No eagerness, no little attentions.  Yes, he could only be a husband.  I examined the cloak.  People one doesn’t know puzzle me and my colleague.  Mme. Flachet and I always amuse ourselves by trying to guess from appearances.  Well, the cloak comes from a good dress-maker, but not from a great one.  It is fine and well-made, but it has no style.  I think they are middle-class people, prince.  But how stupid I am!  You know M. Palmer—­well, a little while ago he came to see the beautiful blonde!”

“M.  Palmer?”

“Yes, and he can tell you.”

“Thanks, Mme. Picard, thanks—­”

“Good-bye, prince, good-bye,” and Mme. Picard went back to her stool, near her colleague, Mme. Flachet, and said to her: 

“Ah, my dear, what a charming man the prince is!  True gentlefolks, there is nothing like them!  But they are dying out, they are dying out; there are many less than formerly.”

Prince Agenor was willing to do Palmer—­big Palmer, rich Palmer, vain Palmer—­the honor of being one of his friends; he deigned, and very frequently, to confide to Palmer his financial difficulties, and the banker was delighted to come to his aid.  The prince had been obliged to resign himself to becoming a member of two boards of directors presided over by Palmer, who was much pleased at having under obligations to him the representative of one of the noblest families in France.  Besides, the prince proved himself to be a good prince, and publicly acknowledged Palmer, showing himself in his box, taking charge of his entertainments, and occupying himself with his racing-stable.  He had even pushed his gratitude to the point of compromising Mme. Palmer in the most showy way.