"There is my wife," said the porter. "But she is old," he added
apologetically, "and the palace is big. Can she sweep out three
hundred rooms, cook for two families of masters and dress the
Princess's hair? She cannot do it."

This was stated with gloomy gravity. The Baroness also shook her head
in sympathy.

"There were sixteen servants in the house yesterday," continued the
porter. "I remember when there were thirty, in the times of the old
Prince."

"There would be still, if the family had been wise," said the Baroness
severely. "Is your wife upstairs?"

"Who knows where she is?" enquired the porter by way of answer, and
with the air of a man who fears that he may never see his wife again.
"There are three hundred rooms. Who knows where she is?"

The Baroness was a practical woman by nature and by force of
circumstances; she made up her mind to go upstairs and see for herself
how matters stood. The name of Donna Clementina might not just now
carry much weight beside those of the patronesses of a complicated
charitable organization; in fact the poor lady must be in a position
to need charity herself rather than to dispense it to others. But the
Baroness had a deep-rooted prejudice in favour of the old aristocracy,
and guessed that it would afterwards be counted to her for
righteousness if she could be the first to offer boundless sympathy
and limited help to the distressed family.