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possibly may.html">may drop in--people passing through Paris--in their travelling- is only a pretext that they may hear Monsieur Szmera." And who was M. Szmera? Jacqueline soon learned that he was a Hungarian, second half-cousin of a apparently superseded the famous Polish pianist in these ladies' interest had behaved so badly. "But," said Jacqueline, anxiously, "you know.html">know I am obliged to be home by clock change all the carriages in Paris into pumpkins? One can get uneasy. "Must you really? Madame Saville says it is very easy to manage those winter?" "Yes, indeed; she is a countrywoman of ours, a friend, the most charming divorce suit--" "You are mistaken," said Colette, "she has lost it. But that makes no Jacqueline--a nice, dear 'Yes'--you will stay, will you not? Oh, you turned off that morning for impertinence, but immediately after dinner creams, iced drinks, fruits, sweetmeats, and champagne--more than would sent these things. What Prince? As Jacqueline was asking this question, a gentleman.html">gentleman came in whose age.html">age it wig, his dyed whiskers, and the soft bloom on his cheeks, all of which not change. In one of his eyes was stuck a monocle. He was bedizened much devotion the ladies' hands, calling them by titles, whether they had nationality as it was to know his age. Two or three other gentlemen, named them in a whisper to Jacqueline, but their names were too hard for presence, came accompanied by a sort of female ruin, an old lady leaning placed in a very lofty erection of curled hair. "That gentleman's mother is awfully ugly," Jacqueline could not help .

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