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CHAPTER XXX.
SABRAN, that same afternoon, as he had walked down the Rue de la Paix, had been sigalled and stopped by a pretty woman wrapped to the eyes in blue fox furs, who was being driven in a low carriage by Hungarian horses, glorious in silver chains and trappings.
'My dear Réné,' had cried Mdme. Olga, 'do you not know me, that you compel me to flourish my parasol ? Yes: I am come to Paris. My sister-in-law, Zdenka, will do my waiting. I wanted to consult my physician; I am very unwell, though you look so incredulous. So Wanda has all the Noira collection? What a fortunate woman she is. The eighteenth century is the least suited to her taste. She will heartily despise all those shepherdesses en
