smile. She was sitting at a piano, idly strumming on the keys
without playing any definite tune. What drew Jean's eyes above
all was her hair, arranged in some fashion that struck him with
a sense of mystery and beauty.

She looked round, and smoothing the lace of her _peignoir_ with
one hand:

"You are Edgar's friend?" she asked, in a cordial tone, though
her voice struck Jean as harsh in this beautiful room that was
perfumed like a church.

"Yes, Madame."

"You like being at school?"

"Yes, madame."

"The masters are not too strict?"

"No, Madame."

"You have no mother?"

As she put the question Madame Evans' voice softened.

"No, Madame."

"What is your father?"