decline in these signs of hospitality, and Undine, on calling one day on the Duchess, noticed that her appearance sent a visible flutter of discomfort through the circle about her hostess’s chair.  Two or three of the ladies present looked away from the new-comer and at each other, and several of them seemed spontaneously to encircle without approaching her, while another—­grey-haired, elderly and slightly frightened—­with an “Adieu, ma bonne tante” to the Duchess, was hastily aided in her retreat down the long line of old gilded rooms.

The incident was too mute and rapid to have been noticeable had it not been followed by the Duchess’s resuming her conversation with the ladies nearest her as though Undine had just gone out of the room instead of entering it.  The sense of having been thus rendered invisible filled Undine with a vehement desire to make herself seen, and an equally strong sense that all attempts to do so would be vain; and when, a few minutes later, she issued from the portals of the Hotel de Dordogne it was with the fixed resolve not to enter them again till she had had an explanation with the Princess.

She was spared the trouble of seeking one by the arrival, early the next morning, of Madame de Trezac, who, entering almost with the breakfast tray, mysteriously asked to be allowed to communicate something of importance.

“You’ll understand, I know, the Princess’s not coming herself—­” Madame de Trezac began, sitting up very straight on the edge of the arm-chair over which Undine’s lace dressing-gown hung.

“If there’s anything she wants to say to me, I don’t,” Undine answered, leaning back among her rosy pillows, and reflecting compassionately that the face opposite her was just the colour of the cafe au lait she was pouring out.

“There are things that are...that might seem too pointed...if one said them one’s self,” Madame de Trezac continued.  “Our dear Lili’s so good-natured... she so hates to do anything unfriendly; but she naturally thinks first of her mother...”

“Her mother?  What’s the matter with her mother?”

“I told her I knew you didn’t understand.  I was sure you’d take it in good part...”

Undine raised herself on her elbow.  “What did Lili tell you to tell me?”

“Oh, not to tell you...simply to ask if, just for the present, you’d mind avoiding the Duchess’s Thursdays ...calling on any other day, that is.”

“Any other day?  She’s not at home on any other.  Do you mean she doesn’t want me to call?”

“Well—­not while the Marquise de Chelles is in Paris.  She’s the Duchess’s favourite niece—­and of course they all hang together.  That kind of family feeling is something you naturally don’t—­”

Undine had a sudden glimpse of hidden intricacies.

“That was Raymond de Chelles’ mother I saw there yesterday?  The one they hurried out when I came in?”

“It seems she was very much upset.  She somehow heard your name.”