“Ah, that’s another matter. But—for the moment, yes.”
“As a servant?”
“Why not—in such good company?”
“Does madame know?”
“Yes, she knows, Suzanne. Come, show me the way to my quarters; and no more ‘sir’ just now.”
We were standing by the stairs. I looked up and saw the other girls clustered on the landing above us.
“Go and tell them,” I said. “Warn them to show no surprise. Then come back and show me the way.”
Suzanne, her mirth half-startled out of her but yet asserting its existence in dimples round her mouth, went on her errand. I leaned against the lowest baluster and waited.
Suddenly the door of the duchess’ room was flung open and she came out. She stood for an instant on the threshold. She turned toward the interior of the room and she stamped her foot on the parqueted floor.
“No—no—no!” she said passionately, and flung the door close behind her, to the accompaniment of a harsh, scornful laugh.
Involuntarily I sprang forward to meet her. But she was better on her guard than I.
“Not now,” she whispered, “but I must see you soon—this evening—after dinner. Suzanne will arrange it. You must help me, Mr. Aycon; I’m in trouble.”
“With all my power!” I whispered, and with a glance of thanks she sped upstairs. I saw
