When he did speak it was to count the servants. "One, two, three, four,
five," he said. "And two of them women. Mademoiselle is but poorly
attended. Are there not"--and he turned to her--"some lacking?"

The girl opened her lips twice, but no sound issued. The third time--

"Two went out," she muttered in a hoarse, strangled voice, "and have not
returned."

"And have not returned?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. "Then I fear
we must not wait for them. We might wait long!" And turning sharply to
the panic-stricken servants, "Go you to your places! Do you not see that
Mademoiselle waits to be served?"

The girl shuddered and spoke.

"Do you wish me," she muttered, in the same strangled tone, "to play this
farce--to the end?"

"The end may be better, Mademoiselle, than you think," he answered,
bowing. And then to the miserable servants, who hung back afraid to
leave the shelter of their mistress's skirts, "To your places!" he cried.
"Set Mademoiselle's chair. Are you so remiss on other days? If so,"
with a look of terrible meaning, "you will be the less loss! Now,
Mademoiselle, may I have the honour? And when we are at table we can
talk."

He extended his hand, and, obedient to his gesture, she moved to the
place at the head of the table, but without letting her fingers come into