No, I would kindly not mention it, but it was worse for me than for them.  The Hotel Majestic Palace looked rich; very, very rich.  It had heaps of splendid mirrors and curtains, and imitation Louis XVI. sofas, and everything that a hotel needs to make it happy and successful, while I had nothing in the world except what I stood up in, one fitted bag, one small box, and thirty-two francs.  I didn’t quite see, at first sight, what I was to do; but neither did the assistant manager see what that had to do with him.

Once I knew a girl who was an actress, and on tour in the country she nearly drowned herself one day.  When the star heard of it, he said:  “How should we have played to-night if you’d been dead—­without an understudy, too?”

At this moment I knew just how the girl must have felt when the star said that.

“I—­I think I must stay here a day or two, until I can—­arrange things,” I managed to stammer.  “Have you a small single room disengaged?”

“We have one or two small north rooms which are usually occupied by valets and maids,” the young man informed me.  “They are twelve francs a day.”

“I’ll take one,” I replied.  And then I added anxiously:  “Have any relatives of the Princess come?”

“None have come; and certainly none will come, as it would now be too late.  Her death was very sudden.  The Princess’s maid knows what to do.  She is an elderly woman, experienced.  The suite occupied by Her Highness will be free to-morrow.”

“Oh!  And had she no friends here?”

“I do not think the Princess was a lady who made friends.  She was very proud and considered herself above other people.  Would you like to see your room, mademoiselle?  I will send some one to take you up to it.  It will be on the top floor.”

I was in a mood not to care if it had been on the roof, or in the cellar.  I hardly knew where I was going, as a few minutes later a still younger youth piloted me across a large square hall toward a lift; but I was vaguely conscious that a good many smart-looking people were sitting or standing about, and that they glanced at me as I went by.  I hoped dimly that I didn’t appear conspicuously pale and stricken.

Just in front of the lift door a tall woman was talking to a little man.  There was an instant of delay while my guide and I waited for them to move, and before they realized that we were waiting.

“They say the poor thing is no worse than yesterday, however, my maid tells me—­” The lady had begun in a low, mysterious tone, but broke off suddenly when it dawned upon her that she was obstructing the way.

I knew instinctively who was the subject of the whispered conversation, and I couldn’t help fixing my eyes almost appealingly on the tall woman; for though she was middle-aged and not pretty, her voice was so nice and she looked so kind that I felt a longing to have her for a friend.  She had probably been acquainted with Princess Boriskoff, I said to myself, or she would not be talking of her now, with bated breath, as a “poor thing.”