The Grey Wig | Page 6

would be more sensible to acquire a wig together, and draw lots for it," said Madame D��pine.
The "Princess's" eyes rekindled. "Yes, and then save up again to buy the loser a wig."
"Parfaitement" said Madame D��pine. They had slid out of pretending that they had large sums immediately available. Certain sums still existed in vague stockings for dowries or presents, but these, of course, could not be touched. For practical purposes it was understood that neither had the advantage of the other, and that the few francs a month by which Madame D��pine's income exceeded Madame Vali��re's were neutralised by the superior rent she paid for her comparative immunity from steam-trams. The accumulation of fifty francs apiece was thus a limitless perspective.
They discussed their budget. It was really almost impossible to cut down anything. By incredible economies they saw their way to saving a franc a week each. But fifty weeks! A whole year, allowing for sickness and other breakdowns! Who can do penance for a whole year? They thought of moving to an even cheaper hotel; but then in the course of years Madame Vali��re had fallen three weeks behind with the rent, and Madame D��pine a fortnight, and these arrears would have to be paid up. The first council ended in despair. But in the silence of the night Madame D��pine had another inspiration. If one suppressed the lottery for a season!
On the average each speculated a full franc a week, with scarcely a gleam of encouragement. Two francs a week each--already the year becomes six months! For six months one can hold out. Hardships shared are halved, too. It will seem scarce three months. Ah, how good are the blessed saints!
But over the morning coffee Madame Vali��re objected that they might win the whole hundred francs in a week!
It was true; it was heartbreaking.
Madame D��pine made a reckless reference to her brooch, but the Princess had a gesture of horror. "And wear your heart on your shawl when your friends come?" she exclaimed poetically. "Sooner my watch shall go, since that at least is hidden in my bosom!"
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Madame D��pine. "But if you sold the other things hidden in your bosom!"
"How do you mean?"
"The Royal Secrets."
The "Princess" blushed. "What are you thinking of?"
"The journalist below us tells me that gossip about the great sells like Easter buns."
"He is truly below us," said Madame Vali��re, witheringly. "What! sell one's memories! No, no; it would not be convenable. There are even people living--"
"But nobody would know," urged Madame D��pine.
"One must carry the head high, even if it is not grey."
It was almost a quarrel. Far below the steam-tram was puffing past. At the window across the street a woman was beating her carpet with swift, spasmodic thwacks, as one who knew the legal time was nearly up. In the tragic silence which followed Madame Vali��re's rebuke, these sounds acquired a curious intensity.
"I prefer to sacrifice the lottery rather than honour," she added, in more conciliatory accents.

IX
The long quasi-Lenten weeks went by, and unflinchingly the two old ladies pursued their pious quest of the grey wig. Butter had vanished from their bread, and beans from their coffee. Their morning brew was confected of charred crusts, and as they sipped it solemnly they exchanged the reflection that it was quite equal to the coffee at the cr��merie. Positively one was safer drinking one's own messes. Figs, no longer posing as a pastime of the palate, were accepted seriously as pi��ces de r��sistance. The Spring was still cold, yet fires could be left to die after breakfast. The chill had been taken off, and by mid-day the sun was in its full power. Each sustained the other by a desperate cheerfulness. When they took their morning walk in the Luxembourg Gardens--what time the blue-aproned Jacques was polishing their waxed floors with his legs for broom-handles--they went into ecstasies over everything, drawing each other's attention to the sky, the trees, the water. And, indeed, of a sunshiny morning it was heartening to sit by the pond and watch the wavering sheet of beaten gold water, reflecting all shades of green in a restless shimmer against the shadowed grass around. Madame Vali��re always had a bit of dry bread to feed the pigeons withal--it gave a cheerful sense of superfluity, and her manner of sprinkling the crumbs revived Madame D��pine's faded images of a Princess scattering New Year largess.
But beneath all these pretences of content lay a hollow sense of desolation. It was not the want of butter nor the diminished meat; it was the total removal from life of that intangible splendour of hope produced by the lottery ticket. Ah! every day was drawn blank now. This gloom, this gnawing emptiness at the heart, was worse than either had foreseen or now