“You see,” she said, with her soft smile, “I have plenty to occupy me, and I venture to be proud of my work and to think I am creating marvels.”

As she spoke she turned round on her closed hand a cap that seemed microscopic to Fred.

“What!” he cried, “do you expect him to be small enough to wear that!”

“Him! you said him; and I am sure you will be right.  I know it will be a boy,” replied Giselle, eagerly, her fair face brightened by these words.  “I have some that are still smaller.  Look!” and she lifted up a pile of things trimmed with ribbons and embroidery.  “See; these are the first!  Ah!  I lie here and fancy how he will look when he has them on.  He will be sweet enough to eat.  Only his papa wants us to give him a name that I think is too long for him, because it has always been in the family—­Enguerrand.”

“His name will be longer than himself, I should say, judging by the dimensions of this cap,” said Fred, trying to laugh.

“Bah!” replied Giselle, gayly, “but we can get over it by calling him Gue-gue or Ra-ra.  What do you think?  The difficulty is that names of that kind are apt to stick to a boy for fifty years, and then they seem ridiculous.  Now a pretty abbreviation like Fred is another matter.  But I forget they have brought up my chocolate.  Please ring, and let them bring you a cup.  We will take our luncheon together, as we used to do.”

“Thank you, I have no appetite.  I have just come from a certain buffet where I lost it all.”

“Oh!  I suppose you have been to the Bazaar—­the famous Charity Fair!  You must have made a sensation there on your return, for I am told that the gentlemen who are expected to spend the most are likely to send their money, and not to show themselves.  There are many complaints of it.”

“There were plenty of men round certain persons,” replied Fred, dryly.  “Madame de Villegry’s table was literally besieged.”

“Really!  What, hers!  You surprise me!  So it was the good things she gave you that make you despise my poor chocolate,” said Giselle, rising on her elbow, to receive the smoking cup that a servant brought her on a little silver salver.

“I didn’t take much at her table,” said Fred, ready to enter on his grievances.  “If you wish to know the reason why, I was too indignant to eat or drink.”

“Indignant?”

“Yes, the word is not at all too strong.  When one has passed whole months away from what is unwholesome and artificial, such things as make up life in Paris, one becomes a little like Alceste, Moliere’s misanthrope, when one gets back to them.  It is ridiculous at my age, and yet if I were to tell you—­”

“What?—­you puzzle me.  What can there be that is unwholesome in selling things for the poor?”

“The poor!  A pretty pretext!  Was it to benefit the poor that that odious Countess Strahlberg made all those disreputable grimaces?  I have seen kermesses got up by actresses, and, upon my word, they were good form in comparison.”