Irmingarde she rules supreme. If it is the pleasure of your royal steeds
to feed upon cushions they shall not be denied, even though they choose
my own coach pillows, of gold-cloth and velour."

"But what if Gabriel should tell Brossard?" questioned Jules, his teeth
almost chattering at the mere thought.

"Oh, never mind, Jules," she answered, laughingly. "Don't worry about a
little thing like that. I'll make it all right with madame as soon as
she gets home."

Jules, with utmost faith in Joyce's power to do anything that she might
undertake, drew a long breath of relief. Half a dozen times between the
gate and the lane that led into the Ciseaux field, he turned around to
wave his old cap in answer to the hopeful flutter of her little white
handkerchief; but when he was out of sight she went back to the
carriage-house and looked at the wreck of the cushions with a sinking
heart. After that second look, she was not so sure of making it all
right with madame.

Going slowly up to her room, she curled up in the window-seat to wait
for the sound of the carriage wheels. The blue parrots on the wall-paper
sat in their blue hoops in straight rows from floor to ceiling, and hung
all their dismal heads. It seemed to Joyce as if there were thousands of
them, and that each one was more unhappy than any of the others. The
blue roses on the bed-curtains, that had been in such gay blossom a few
hours before, looked ugly and unnatural now.

Over the mantel hung a picture that had been a pleasure to Joyce ever
since she had taken up her abode in this quaint blue room. It was called