on the angle farthest from the fire. She beat her heels lightly against
her throne, and hummed, with her face turned from the listless girl, who
watched all her antics.

Zélie brought the instrument case, unlocked it, and handed up a
crook-necked mandolin and its small ivory plectrum to her tyrant. At
once the hall was full of tinkling melody. The dwarf's threadlike
fingers ran along the neck of the mandolin, and as she made the ivory
disk quiver among its strings her head swayed in rapturous singing.

Zélie forgot the baby. The garments intended for its use were spread
upon the settle near the fire. She folded her arms, and wagged her head
with Le Rossignol's. But while the dwarf kept an eye on the stairway,
watching like a lover for the appearance of Madame La Tour, the outer
door again clanked, and Klussman stepped into the hall. His big presence
had instant effect on Le Rossignol. Her music tinkled louder and faster.
The playing sprite, sitting half on air, gamboled and made droll faces
to catch his eye. Her vanity and self-satisfaction, her pliant gesture
and skillful wild music, made her appear some soulless little being from
the woods who mocked at man's tense sternness.

Klussman took little notice of any one in the hall, but waited by the
closed door so relentless a sentinel that Zélie was reminded of her
duty. She made haste to bring perfumed water in a basin, and turned the
linen on the settle. She then took the child from its mother's limp
hands, and exclaimed and muttered under her breath as she turned it on
her knees.

"What hast thou done to it since my lady left thee?" inquired Zélie
sharply. But she got no answer from the girl.