“My dear Baron: 

“Your proverbial generosity justifies my new appeal.  You will accept, I am sure, the ten tickets which I enclose, when you know that your confreres, the Messieurs Axenstein, have taken double that number.”

“And here,” said the Vicomtesse de Nointel, “is a tax on gallantry.”  And she read aloud: 

   “My dear prince: 

“You have done me the honor to write to me that you love me.  I suppose I ought to show your note to my husband, who is an expert swordsman; but I prefer to return to you your autograph letter for the price of these fifteen tickets.  Go—­and sin again, should your heart prompt you!”

“But that is a species of blackmail, Madame!” cried Madame Desvanneaux.

“The end justifies the means,” replied the Vicomtesse gayly.  “Besides, I am accountable only to the Duc de Montgeron.  What is his opinion?”

“I call it a very clever stroke,” said the Duke.

“You hear, Madame!  Only, of course, not every lady has a collection of similar little notes!” said the Vicomtesse de Nointel.

The entrance of M. Durand, treasurer of the society, interrupted the progress of this correspondence.

“Do not trouble yourselves so much, Mesdames,” said the notary.  “The practical solution of the matter I am about to lay before you, if Madame the president will permit me to speak.”

“I should think so!” said the Duchess.  “Speak, by all means!”

“A charitable person has offered to assume all the expenses of the affair,” said the notary, “on condition that carte blanche is granted to her in the matter of the site.  In case her offer is accepted, she will make over to the society, within three months, the title to the real estate, in regular order.”

“Do you guarantee the solvency of this person?” demanded M. Desvanneaux, who saw the project of the kermess falling to the ground.

“It is one of my rich clients; but I have orders not to reveal her name unless her offer is accepted.”

The unanimity with which all hands were raised did not even give time to put the question.

“Her name?” demanded the Duchess.

“Here it is,” replied the notary, handing her a visiting card.

“‘Valentine de Vermont,’” she read aloud.

“Zibeline?” cried Madame de Nointel.  “Bravo!  I offer her the assurance of my esteem!”

“And I also,” added Madame de Lisieux.

“I can not offer mine,” said Madame Desvanneaux, dryly.  “A young woman who is received nowhere!”

“So generous an act should open all doors to her, beginning with mine,” said the Duchesse de Montgeron.  “I beg that you will tell her so from me, Monsieur Durand.”

“At once, Madame.  She is waiting below in her carriage.”

“Why did you not say so before?  I must beg her myself to join us here,” said the master of the house, leaving the room in haste.