Mais, oui! Two at least. Or, if not, they must needs be close friends with mine. I shall have six, as my mother did.

[ Alexandrie's eyes sparkle with mirth as she sips her tea at length with exaggerated primness. It's a fine theatrical look until she suddenly convulses with laughter that all but forces her to spit her mouthful back into the cup.

As soon as she can manage, she explains through a half-splutter: ]

I have thought of the face my husband would have made.

[ Although it will be unfamiliar to Wysteria, it gladdens her heart to mimic it; the way he drops instantly from smug confidence to a slack and absolute blankness, his eyes wide and a touch wild like a startled cat's.

Then she laughs again, and not softly. It's bright and gay and hearty enough that she has to put down her teacup before it spills. ]