"Isn't it bad?" she observed to Lola.
"Terrible!" said that little lady, joining her. "I hope it snows enough to go sleigh riding."
"Oh, dear," said Carrie, with whom the sufferings of Father Goriot were still keen. "That's all you think of. Aren't you sorry for the people who haven't anything to-night?"
"Of course I am," said Lola; "but what can I do? I haven't anything."
Carrie smiled.
"You wouldn't care, if you had," she returned.
"I would, too," said Lola. "But people never gave me anything when I was hard up."
"Isn't it just awful?" said Carrie, studying the winter's storm.
"Look at that man over there," laughed Lola, who had caught sight of some one falling down. "How sheepish men look when they fall, don't they?"
"We'll have to take a coach to-night," answered Carrie, absently.
In the lobby of the Imperial, Mr. Charles Drouet was just arriving, shaking the snow from a very handsome ulster. Bad weather had driven him home early and stirred his desire for those pleasures which shut out the snow and gloom of life. A good dinner, the company of a young woman, and an evening at the theatre were the chief things for him.
"Why, hello, Harry!" he said, addressing a lounger in one of the comfortable lobby chairs. "How are you?"
"Oh, about six and six," said the other.
"Rotten weather, isn't it?"
"Well, I should say," said the other. "I've been just sitting here thinking where I'd go to-night."
