“It is an idea,” replied Madame Valiere.  And then each stared involuntarily at the other’s head.  They had shared so many things that this new possibility sounded like a discovery.  Pleasing pictures flitted before their eyes—­the country cousin received (on a Box and Cox basis) by a Parisian old gentlewoman sans peur and sans reproche; a day of seclusion for each alternating with a day of ostentatious publicity.

But the light died out of their eyes, as Madame Depine recognised that the “Princess’s” skull was hopelessly long, and Madame Valiere recognised that Madame Depine’s cranium was hopelessly round.  Decidedly either head would be a bad block for the other’s wig to repose on.

“It would be more sensible to acquire a wig together, and draw lots for it,” said Madame Depine.

The “Princess’s” eyes rekindled.  “Yes, and then save up again to buy the loser a wig.”

“Parfaitement” said Madame Depine.  They had slid out of pretending that they had large sums immediately available.  Certain sums still existed in vague stockings for dowries or presents, but these, of course, could not be touched.  For practical purposes it was understood that neither had the advantage of the other, and that the few francs a month by which Madame Depine’s income exceeded Madame Valiere’s were neutralised by the superior rent she paid for her comparative immunity from steam-trams.  The accumulation of fifty francs apiece was thus a limitless perspective.

They discussed their budget.  It was really almost impossible to cut down anything.  By incredible economies they saw their way to saving a franc a week each.  But fifty weeks!  A whole year, allowing for sickness and other breakdowns!  Who can do penance for a whole year?  They thought of moving to an even cheaper hotel; but then in the course of years Madame Valiere had fallen three weeks behind with the rent, and Madame Depine a fortnight, and these arrears would have to be paid up.  The first council ended in despair.  But in the silence of the night Madame Depine had another inspiration.  If one suppressed the lottery for a season!

On the average each speculated a full franc a week, with scarcely a gleam of encouragement.  Two francs a week each—­already the year becomes six months!  For six months one can hold out.  Hardships shared are halved, too.  It will seem scarce three months.  Ah, how good are the blessed saints!

But over the morning coffee Madame Valiere objected that they might win the whole hundred francs in a week!

It was true; it was heartbreaking.

Madame Depine made a reckless reference to her brooch, but the Princess had a gesture of horror.  “And wear your heart on your shawl when your friends come?” she exclaimed poetically.  “Sooner my watch shall go, since that at least is hidden in my bosom!”

“Heaven forbid!” ejaculated Madame Depine.  “But if you sold the other things hidden in your bosom!”