"No, no, write it I wish to be strong
—'vile letters may be addressed to me on
the subject.' Here, give me the pen, and
I sign it—mon Dieu! Petite—what a
good hand you write. Now, then, that is
done. Here is the book, and here is where
you left off. 'Artamène regarda le Roy
d'Assirie avec une douleur inconcevable,
et le Roy d'Assirie regarda Artamène avec
un désespoir que l'on ne scauroit
exprimer.' Ah! que c'est beau! que c'est
touchant! Do you know who the Grand
Cyrus was, child?"

"He was the King of Persia, wasn't he,
ma'am?"

"No, no, he was the great Condé; the
most brave, the most charming prince of
his time, and Mandane was the Duchesse
de Longueville, his sister. Did they teach
you French history at your school, eh?"

"I have learnt a little of it, ma'am. I
know that the great Condé was the hero
of Rocroi."

"Tiens! Tiens! So you know that, do
you? Well, then, this is all an allegory,
you see. All the fine company, all the
wit and intellect of the time that used
to meet at the Hôtel Rambouillet, is here
depicted. Ah! what nobility! what purity
of sentiment! what a style!"

"Is it not rather lengthy, ma'am?"

"Lengthy? bah! not a bit! In the
grand monarque's time, look you, people
were not in such a hurry to bolt a book.
They have no time to taste it now, but
gulp it down, like a pill! Bah! Everything
is decaded together; religion, literature,
art: it is all gone—all!"

Maud began reading, and she read for
some time; but, in spite of her best efforts,
she found her thoughts wander from the
lofty and long-winded conversations of
Cyrus and Mandane to subjects of strong
personal interest: her own position in the
house, and the strange character of the
old lady whom she had undertaken to
serve. She read with her eyes and with
her voice, but not with her mind; and
Mrs. Cartaret stopped her at last with an
impatient exclamation:

"There! that will do, shut up the book.
You have never been in love yet, eh,
Mary Hind, or you could not read that
touching passage like a frog—so cold.
Now, get me my bath. Ah! but that
miserable creature, Jane, has let out the
fire!"

She clutched at the bell-rope, tore at it,
hung on it, with an energy which brought
the blood into her tace, and which Maud
expected would rouse the entire household.
But some minutes elapsed before
Jane answered the summons, in no way
discomposed by its violence, and regarding
it apparently as a matter of course.

"Why do you not bring coal here, you
wretched do-nothing?" screamed Mrs.
Cartaret, beating her little fat hands upon
the bed. "Am I to be left to die of cold,
with ten servants in the house? How
often do I tell you to come and look at the
fire once in the hour? Hé? Thought
the new maid was with me? Well, and
if she was, she can't make coal, I suppose?
Hold your tongue, you lazy wretch, you are
only good to eat—eat—eat all day long.
Come, don't stand staring there at me, but
away with you, and fetch the wood. Now,
Mary Hind, there is your dinner-bell. Go
along. I shall not get up till you come
back;" and she flounced down again
among her pillows, secretly by no means
sorry of the excuse for indulging in another
half-hour of her beloved bed.

Leaving the inflammable little lady as
she was desired, Maud descended with
some hesitation, it must be confessed, to
the servants' hall. It was her first really
severe ordeal, but she would not flinch
from it. Her place was to the left of Mr.
Dapper; on his right, and presiding over
the board, glared Mrs. Rouse. The eye of
suspicion which the formidable housekeeper
directed towards Maud was far from
reassuring; but if Dapper would only have
regarded her in like manner she would
have been glad. His amenities, his jokes,
his delicate attentions, in the way of
titbits, and a constantly replenished tumbler,
were peculiarly offensive; all the more so,
that she saw how they aggravated Mrs.
Rouse's hostility. It was in vain that
Maud repelled the fascinating butler's
advances; he was one of those men who are
never discouraged; and, as all his good
stories and smart sayings were received
with rounds of applause and laughter by
the appreciative audience "below the salt,"
she only succeeded in producing an effect
of extreme churlishness and ungeniality
upon the table at large. She was aware
of this, but how could it be otherwise?
She felt ill at ease, and out of place; and
yet she repeated over and over again to
herself that she had no false pride, though
she heard Jane confide to the kitchen-maid
that the new maid was evidently "a awful
stuck-up thing." They all seemed to get
on very well together, and dealt chiefly in
jokes and allusions which were