furniture is dropping to pieces under its coverings. There are
not three visitors in the course of a month."

She was evidently incensed, and the new footman seemed to share
her indignation. "Why, how is it?" he exclaimed. "Is the count
an owl? A man who's not yet fifty years old, and who's said to be
worth several millions."

"Yes, millions; you may safely say it--and perhaps ten, perhaps
twenty millions too."

"Then all the more reason why there should be something going on
here. What does he do with himself alone, all the blessed day?"

"Nothing. He reads in the library, or wanders about the garden.
Sometimes, in the evening, he drives with Mademoiselle Marguerite
to the Bois de Boulogne in a closed carriage; but that seldom
happens. Besides, there is no such thing as teasing the poor man.
I've been in the house for six months, and I've never heard him
say anything but: 'yes'; 'no'; 'do this'; 'very well'; 'retire.'
You would think these are the only words he knows. Ask M. Casimir
if I'm not right."

"Our guv'nor isn't very gay, that's a fact," responded the valet.

The footman was listening with a serious air, as if greatly
interested in the character of the people whom he was to serve.
"And mademoiselle," he asked, "what does she say to such an
existence?"