Time wrote wrinkles enough on the brows of the two old ladies, but
his frosty finger never touched their glossy brown hair, for both wore
wigs of nearly the same shade. These wigs were almost symbolic of
the evenness of their existence, which had got beyond the reach of
happenings. The Church calendar, so richly dyed with figures of saints
and martyrs, filled life with colour enough, and fast-days were almost
as welcome as feast-days, for if the latter warmed the general air,
the former cloaked economy with dignity. As for _Mardi Gras_, that
shook you up for weeks, even though you did not venture out of your
apartment; the gay serpentine streamers remained round one's soul as
round the trees.
At intervals, indeed, secular excitements broke the even tenor. A
country cousin would call upon the important Parisian relative, and
be received, not in the little bedroom, but in state in the mustily
magnificent salon of the hotel--all gold mirrors and mouldiness--which
the poor country mouse vaguely accepted as part of the glories of
Paris and success. Madame Depine would don her ponderous gold brooch,
sole salvage of her bourgeois prosperity; while, if the visitor were
for Madame Valiere, that _grande dame_ would hang from her yellow,
shrivelled neck the long gold chain and the old-fashioned watch, whose
hands still seemed to point to regal hours.
Another break in the monotony was the day on which the lottery was
drawn--the day of the pagan god of Luck. What delicious hopes of
wealth flamed in these withered breasts, only to turn grey and cold
when the blank was theirs again, but not the less to soar up again,
with each fresh investment, towards the heaven of the hundred thousand
francs! But if ever Madame Depine stumbled on Madame Valiere buying a
section of a _billet_ at the lottery agent's, she insisted on having
her own slice cut from another number. Fortune itself would be robbed
of its sweet if the "Princess" should share it. Even their common
failure to win a sou did not draw them from their freezing depths
of silence, from which every passing year made it more difficult to
emerge. Some greater conjuncture was needed for that.
It came when Madame la Proprietaire made her _debut_ one fine morning
in a grey wig.