It is a flat! In the very house where I went to-day.

The third story flat just under the attics where the poor Joneses daub portraits.

I passed the open doors and I saw the shabby old tables and chairs and the princesses--two fat old women in frowzy wrappers, and their hair in papers, eating that soup of pork and cabbages and raisins--the air was thick with the smell! And that is not the worst!" "Take breath, Jean," said Lucy calmly.
"The prince himself--the Joneses told me, there can be no doubt--the prince makes soap for a living! No wonder you turn pale, Miss Vance.
Soap! He is the silent partner in the firm of Woertz und Zimmer, and it is not a paying business either." Jean did not wait for an answer, but walked up and down the room, laughing angrily to herself.

"Yes, soap! He cannot sneer at Lucy's ancestral saddles, now.

Nor my father's saws! His rank is the only thing he has to give for Lucy's millions, and now she knows what it is worth!" Lucy rose and, picking up her work basket, walked quietly out of the room.