The little woman turned away, trying in vain to hide her tearful smile, and they laughed together, Olive mingling a daughter's fond kiss with her laughter.
"There is something else," she said, "and you shall tell me." "Yes," replied Madame Delphine, "only let me get composed." But she did not get so.

Later in the morning she came to Olive with the timid yet startling proposal that they would do what they could to brighten up the long-neglected front room.

Olive was mystified and troubled, but consented, and thereupon the mother's spirits rose.
The work began, and presently ensued all the thumping, the trundling, the lifting and letting down, the raising and swallowing of dust, and the smells of turpentine, brass, pumice and woollen rags that go to characterize a housekeeper's _emeute_; and still, as the work progressed, Madame Delphine's heart grew light, and her little black eyes sparkled.
"We like a clean parlor, my daughter, even though no one is ever coming to see us, eh ?" she said, as entering the apartment she at last sat down, late in the afternoon.

She had put on her best attire.
Olive was not there to reply.

The mother called but got no answer.