Monsieur himself
was a dried-up little rat of a man, grizzled, and as brown as a walnut.
Madame was large and superb and young, smooth faced, brown haired, regal
in manner. It was said that Madame had had a predecessor, a lady now
living in France, whose claim upon Jules Montiverte was still valid.
However that might be, it did not seem to worry Jules, nor his calm and
lovely companion, nor their two daughters, black-eyed baby girls, whose
heavy straight hair was crimped at the ends into bands of brownish-black
fuzz, and who wore white stockings and tasselled boots, and flounced,
elaborately embroidered white dresses on Sundays. Whatever their bar
sinister, the Montivertes flourished and grew rich, and a suspicion of
something irregular, some high-handed disposition of the benefit of
clergy, helped rather than hurt their business.
Julia and Connie were early to-night, and took their regular places at a
long table that was as yet surrounded only by empty chairs. Madame, who
was feeding bread and milk to a black-eyed three-year-old at a little
table in a corner, nodded a welcome, and a young Frenchwoman, putting
her head in through a swinging door at the back, nodded, too, and said,
showing a double row of white teeth:
"Wait--een?"
"Yes, we'll wait for the others!" Connie called back.
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