“Bien, madame!”

“Mon Dieu!” muttered the maid, as she went to turn the keys, “is she going mad?  What has she?  There is no one here, there is no one coming, and all this tohu-bohu!”

“Get out the white hat with the white picotees!”

“Ah, mon Dieu!”

“Do you hear?  The white—­”

“I hear, I hear, madame!  Oh, la, la, la!”

“Make haste!”

“Bien, madame, tres bien!”

The girl ran for the hat, and Mrs. Armine, who had lighted all the candles, sat down before the glass.  She remembered Nigel’s desire expressed to her that day that she would give up “doing things” to her face.  Well, she would respond to it in this way!

Very carefully and cleverly she began to whiten her face, to touch up her eyes and her narrow, definite eyebrows.

“All is ready, madame!”

Marie was standing at the dressing-room door; she started and swung round on her heels as there came a knock at the door of the bedroom, the creak of the handle turning.

“Be quiet!”

Mrs. Armine had caught her arm.  The girl stood still, staring and marvelling, while her mistress went noiselessly into the bedroom and sat down on the far side of the bed, leaning backwards till her head was near the pillows, which she took care not to touch.

“Ruby!  Ruby!”

“What is it?  Who’s there?  Who’s there?”

The voice that replied sounded both languid and surprised.

“I—­Nigel!”

Mrs. Armine sat up.

“What is it, Nigel?  I’m lying down.”

“Oh, I’m—­I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you, but—­you’re not ill?”

“No, only resting.  What is it, Nigel?”

“I’ve brought Baroudi over to see you and the villa, and to dine with us to-night.”

“Oh—­very well.”

“You don’t mind, Ruby?”

The voice outside the door was suddenly very low.

“Go down and entertain him, and I’ll come almost directly.”

The handle creaked, as he let it go, but for a moment there was no sound of retreating footsteps.

“Look here, Ruby, if—­”

“Go down!  I’ll come directly.”

Footsteps went towards the stairs.

“Get me into my gown!  Wait—­change my stockings first.”

Marie knelt down quickly on the floor.  As she bent her head, she was smiling.

She began to understand.

XIV

When Mrs. Armine came into the little drawing-room, it was empty, but she smelt cigars, and heard the murmur of voices outside near the terrace.  The men were evidently walking up and down enjoying the soft air of the evening.  She did not go out immediately, but stood and listened to the voices.

Ah, they were talking about the Fayyum—­doubtless discussing some question of sowing, planting, of the cultivation of land!