“No,” was the reply.  “The safest way for us all is to send Miss Merrick away.”

“That will be done as soon as possible.”

With this the old Frenchwoman was forced to be content, and she did not suspect that her report had made Miss Von Taer nearly frantic with fear—­not for Louise but for her own precious reputation.  Accustomed to obey the family she had served for so many years, Madame Cerise hesitated to follow her natural impulse to set the poor young lady free and assist her to return to her friends.  So she compromised with her conscience—­a thing she was not credited with possessing—­by resolving to make the imprisonment of the “pauvre fille” as happy as possible.

Scarcely had Louise opened her eyes the following morning when the old woman entered her chamber, unlocking the door from the outside to secure admission.

She first rebuilt the fire, and when it was crackling cheerfully she prepared a bath and brought an armful of clothing which she laid out for inspection over the back of a sofa.  She produced lingerie, too, and Louise lay cuddled up in the bedclothes and watched her keeper thoughtfully until the atmosphere of the room was sufficiently warmed.

“I’ll get up, now,” she said, quietly.

Madame Cerise was assuredly a skilled lady’s maid.  She bathed the girl, wrapped her in an ample kimono and then seated her before the dresser and arranged her coiffure with dextrous skill.

During this time Louise talked.  She had decided her only chance of escape lay in conciliating this stern-faced woman, and she began by relating her entire history, including her love affair with Arthur Weldon, Diana Von Taer’s attempt to rob her of her lover, and the part that Charlie Mershone had taken in the affair.

Madame Cerise listened, but said nothing.

“And now,” continued the girl, “tell me who you think could be so wicked and cruel as to carry me away from my home and friends?  I cannot decide myself.  You have more experience and more shrewdness, can’t you tell me, Madame Cerise?”

The woman muttered inaudibly.

“Mr. Mershone might be an enemy, because I laughed at his love-making,” continued Louise, musingly.  “Would a man who loved a girl try to injure her?  But perhaps his love has turned to hate.  Anyhow, I can think of no one else who would do such a thing, or of any reason why Charlie Mershone should do it.”

Madame Cerise merely grunted.  She was brushing the soft hair with gentle care.

“What could a man gain by stealing a girl?  If it was Mr. Mershone, does he imagine I could ever forget Arthur?  Or cease to love him?  Or that Arthur would forget me while I am away?  Perhaps it’s Diana, and she wants to get rid of me so she can coax Arthur back to her side.  But that’s nonsense; isn’t it, Madame Cerise?  No girl—­not even Diana Von Taer—­would dare to act in such a high-handed manner toward her rival.  Did you ever hear of Miss Von Taer?  She’s quite a society belle.  Have you ever seen her, Madame Cerise?”