Not one of
us has eaten anything since the first _dejeuner_. And we have a hunger!"
Mary stared, disconcerted by this tale of misfortune suddenly flung at
her head, and scarcely sure if it were not a practical joke. The four
young women were so charmingly dressed, their hair was so carefully
waved, their complexions so pink and white, that it was impossible to
believe in their poverty. Besides, they could evidently afford perfume,
so luscious that it must be expensive. Mary thought that they smelled
very good; then, a little too good; then, far, far too good, and at last
almost unbearable.
"You are joking," she said, timidly.
"Indeed we are not," replied another of the group, a red-haired girl
with brown, almond-shaped eyes. "We so hope that you will be an angel,
and invite us all to supper."
"What nonsense, Clotilde!" exclaimed Madame d'Ambre. "We have already an
engagement for supper."
"Ah, then surely, Mademoiselle, you will share your luck with us in some
way? Otherwise, you can't hope to keep it."
"I should be glad to share it," Mary said, warmly. "What can I do?"
The red-haired lady broke into gestures. "She who has won a fortune asks
us who have nothing what she can do for us? How she is amusing, this
pretty English one!"
"Would you--might I--that is----" Mary began to stammer.
"We would--you might!" Clotilde finished for her, laughing.
"I wonder you have not more pride!" Madame d'Ambre reproached the four,
her white-rose cheeks flushing with annoyance.
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