“We sha’n’t hear anything more now,” said Colette, with a sigh.  “Did you understand it, Jacqueline?”

“Understand—­what?”

“Why, that story about the bracelet?”

“No—­not all.  The Colonel seemed to imply that she had not picked it up, and indeed I don’t see how any one could have dropped in the street, in broad daylight, a bracelet meant only to be worn at night—­a bracelet worn near the shoulder.”

“But if she did not pick it up—­she must have stolen it.”

“Stolen it?” cried Belle.  “Stolen it!  What!  The Marquise de Versannes?  Why, she inherited the finest diamonds in Paris!”

“How do you know?”

“Because mamma sometimes takes me to the Opera, and her subscription day is the same as that of the Marquise.  People say a good deal of harm of her—­in whispers.  They say she is barely received now in society, that people turn their backs on her, and so forth, and so on.  However, that did not hinder her from being superb the other evening at ’Polyeucte’.”

“So you only go to see ’Polyeucte’?” said Jacqueline, making a little face as if she despised that opera.

“Yes, I have seen it twice.  Mamma lets me go to ‘Polyeucte’ and ‘Guillaume Tell’, and to the ‘Prophete’, but she won’t take me to see ’Faust’—­and it is just ‘Faust’ that I want to see.  Isn’t it provoking that one can’t see everything, hear everything, understand everything?  You see, we could not half understand that story which seemed to amuse the people so much in the other room.  Why did they send back the bracelet from the Prefecture to Madame de Versannes if it was not hers?”

“Yes—­why?” said all the little girls, much puzzled.

Meantime, as the hour for closing the exhibition at the neighboring hippodrome had arrived, visitors came pouring into Madame de Nailles’s reception—­tall, graceful women, dressed with taste and elegance, as befitted ladies who were interested in horsemanship.  The tone of the conversation changed.  Nothing was talked about but superb horses, leaps over ribbons and other obstacles.  The young girls interested themselves in the spring toilettes, which they either praised or criticised as they passed before their eyes.

“Oh! there is Madame Villegry,” cried Jacqueline; “how handsome she is!  I should like one of these days to be that kind of beauty, so tall and slender.  Her waist measure is only twenty-one and two thirds inches.  The woman who makes her corsets and my mamma’s told us so.  She brought us one of her corsets to look at, a love of a corset, in brocatelle, all over many-colored flowers.  That material is much more ‘distingue’ than the old satin—­”

“But what a queer idea it is to waste all that upon a thing that nobody will ever look at,” said Dolly, her round eyes opening wider than before.

“Oh! it is just to please herself, I suppose.  I understand that!  Besides, nothing is too good for such a figure.  But what I admire most is her extraordinary hair.”