"Miss Dumont has not yet come downstairs, madame."
"Not come down? Then will you please call her, Maggie?"
The Baroness was always polite to her servants. She had observed
that a graciousness of speech toward her servants often made up for a
deficiency in wages. Maggie ascended to Miss Dumont's room, and
returned with the information that Miss Dumont had a severe headache,
and begged the indulgence of madame this morning.
Again that strange smile curved the corners of the Baroness's lips.
Maggie was requested to bring up hot water and coffee, and great was
her surprise to find the Baroness moving about the room when she
appeared with the tray.
Half-an-hour later Berene Dumont, standing by an open window with her
hands clasped behind her head, heard a light tap on her door. In
answer to a mechanical "Come," the Baroness appeared.
The rustle of her silken morning gown caused Berene to turn suddenly
and face her; and as she met the eyes of her visitor the young
woman's pallor gave place to a wave of deep crimson, which dyed her
face and neck like the shadow of a red flag falling on a camellia
blossom.
"Maggie tells me you are ill this morning," the Baroness remarked
after a moment's silence. "I am surprised to find you up and
dressed. I came to see if I could do anything for you.
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