The two friends with whom Germaine had been playing tennis followed her into the hall: Jeanne Gautier, tall, sallow, dark, with a somewhat malicious air; Marie Bullier, short, round, commonplace, and sentimental.
They came to the table at which Sonia was at work; and pointing to the pile of envelopes, Marie said, "Are these all wedding-cards?"
"Yes; and we've only got to the letter V," said Germaine, frowning at Sonia.
"Princesse de Vernan—Duchesse de Vauvieuse—Marquess—Marchioness? You've invited the whole Faubourg Saint-Germain," said Marie, shuffling the pile of envelopes with an envious air.
"You'll know very few people at your wedding," said Jeanne, with a spiteful little giggle.
"I beg your pardon, my dear," said Germaine boastfully. "Madame de Relzières, my fiancé's cousin, gave an At Home the other day in my honour. At it she introduced half Paris to me—the Paris I'm destined to know, the Paris you'll see in my drawing-rooms."
"But we shall no longer be fit friends for you when you're the Duchess of Charmerace," said Jeanne.
"Why?" said Germaine; and then she added quickly, "Above everything, Sonia, don't forget
