The maid ushered the wondering girls to Ma’amselle’s apartments and found her in her dressing-room, in the hands of her maid, who was assisting her in a hasty toilette.

The tears were rolling down the old lady’s cheeks, and she seemed to be in a state of trembling agitation.

“Ah, mes enfants” she cried, “but it is news of the most dreadful!  Mon Henri, my well-beloved nephew,—­his arm,—­it is broken!  Ah the sadness for the poor boy.  Me, I fly to him at once,—­but at once!  You, but you will excuse me, you will forgive, because of the dear boy!  I go to Paris, but I return, bringing my boy with me.”

It was rather a mixed-up explanation, but the girls finally gathered that Henri had had the misfortune to break his arm, and had sent for his aunt to come to Paris and spend the New Year Day with him instead of taking his intended trip to St. Germain.

Henri had not known that his aunt had the young ladies visiting her, and so had no idea that he was disarranging her plans to such an extent.

“He can come!” she exclaimed; “bah, it is not his legs; it is but his arm.  Of a certainty, one does not walk on one’s arm!  But the dear boy!  I shall go to him and explain all.  Then we will return, and there shall be feasting and happiness.  A broken arm is not so much,—­it will mend,—­but to him I must fly!”

Patty endeavoured to find out definitely the old lady’s plan, but she could only gather that there was no time to be lost, that Ma’amselle must catch the seven o’clock train.

To be sure of this, she must leave the house at half-past six.

And so she started, in her swift touring car, accompanied by her maid and a groom, in addition to her capable and trusty chauffeur.

Away they went, and the girls returned to the drawing-room to consider the situation.

“It was all over so quickly,” said Patty, “that I hardly know whether I’m on my head or my heels.  What a whirlwind Ma’amselle is!”

“Yes, she flew around like a hen with its head off, or whatever French hens do,” said Rosamond; “if she whisks that broken-armed boy home as fast as she whisked herself off they’ll be here in a minute.”

“She can’t,” said the practical Elise.  “If she takes that seven o’clock train, she won’t get to Paris until nearly eight, and then, I don’t know where the interesting invalid lives, but anyway, to kidnap him and get back here again is a matter of several hours.  I don’t expect to see them before midnight.”

“What shall we do?” said Patty; “shall we have our dinner?”

“I don’t believe we’ll have any say in the matter,” volunteered Elise.  “I think that waxwork butler, and the ‘feetmen,’ as Rosamond calls them, will arrange our lives for us, and we’ll be simply under orders.”

“What an exciting experience,” exclaimed Patty; “to think of us three American girls, alone except for the servants, in a gorgeous old French Chateau!  I feel as if I must do something to live up to my privileges.”