So he was not in the most agreeable frame of mind when he stepped out of his dog-cart, that Tuesday evening, before the little villa of the Avenue Maillot.
At his reception by Madame Lescande and her mother he took heart a little.

They appeared to him what they were, two honest-hearted women, surrounded by luxury and elegance.

The mother--an ex-beauty--had been left a widow when very young, and to this time had avoided any stain on her character.

With them, innate delicacy held the place of those solid principles so little tolerated by French society.

Like a few other women of society, Madame had the quality of virtue just as ermine has the quality of whiteness.