Some of the visitors’ femmes de chambres were pretty, coquettish creatures, and I was delighted to find that they were all called by their mistresses’ titles.  The maid of my bete noire was “Duchesse”; she who pertained to our hostess was “Marquise,” and I blossomed into “Miladi.”  The girls were looking forward to rivalling their mistresses in chic, and also in the admiration of the real princes and dukes and counts; that they would have an exclusive right to the attentions of these gentlemen’s understudies also seemed to be expected.

After half an hour at table in the servants’ hall, there was nothing left for me to find out about the owners of the castle and their guests; but the principal interest of everyone seemed to centre upon the affair between Mr. Herbert Stokes and the heiress sister of Madame la Marquise.  There were even bets among the valets as to how it was to end, and Bertie’s man, who looked as if he could speak volumes if he would, was a person of importance.

All the men admired Miss Nelson extremely, but the women were divided in opinion.  Her own maid, a bilious Frenchwoman, with a jealous eye, said that the American miss was une petite chatte, who was playing off Mr. Stokes against the Duc de Divonne, and it was a pity that the handsome young English monsieur could not be warned of her unworthiness.  The duke was not handsome, and he was neither young nor rich, but—­these Americans were out for titles, just as titles were out for American money.  Why else had the marriage of Madame la Marquise, Miss Daisy’s elder sister, made itself?  Miss Daisy liked Mr. Stokes, but he could not give her a title.  The duke could—­if he would.  But would he?  She was rich, but there were others richer.  People said that he was wary.  Yet he admired Miss Daisy, it was true, and if by her flirtation with Mr. Stokes she could pique him into a proposal, she would have her triumph.

This was only one of many dramas going on in the house, but it was the most interesting to me, as to others, and I determined to look with all my might at the duke and at pretty Miss Nelson, of whom I had only had a glimpse on arriving.  If she were really nice, I did hope that Bertie wouldn’t get her!

My costume pressed as weightily on her ladyship’s mind, as if I had been a favourite poodle about to be sent, all ribboned and clipped, to a dog show.  She did not forget the slippers and stockings, and the chauffeur was ordered to take me into Clermont-Ferrand to buy them.  Fortunately she didn’t know how much I looked forward to the excursion!

At precisely three o’clock I walked out to the castle garage, near the stables, and found Jack getting the car ready; but I did not find him alone.  The garage is a big and splendid one, and not only were the three household dragons in their stalls, but four or five strange beasts, pets of visitors; and the finest of these (after our blue Aigle) was the white Majestic of the Duc de Divonne.  That gentleman, whom I recognized easily from a description breathed into my ear by a countess’s countess, at luncheon, was in the garage when I arrived, showing off his automobile to Miss Nelson.  The ducal chauffeur lurked in the background, duster in hand, and Mr. Herbert Stokes occupied as large a space as possible in the foreground.