“She may sit in the servants’ hall,” said he to one of the maids,

They took my shawl, as he went away, and showed me to a room where, evidently, the servants did their eating.  They were inquisitive, those kitchen maids, and now and then I was rather put to it for a wise reply.  I said as little as might be, using the dialect, long familiar to me, of the French Canadian.  My bonnet amused them.  It was none too new or fashionable, and I did not remove it.

“Afraid we ’ll steal it,” I heard one of them whisper in the next room.  Then there was a loud laugh.

They gave me a French paper.  I read every line of it, and sat looking out of a window at the tall trees, at servants who passed to and fro, at his Lordship’s horses, led up and down for exercise in the stable-yard, at the twilight glooming the last pictures of a long day until they were all smudged with darkness.  Then candle-light, a trying supper hour with maids and cooks and grooms and footmen at the big table, English, every one of them, and set up with haughty curiosity.  I would not go to the table, and had a cup of tea and a biscuit there in my corner.  A big butler walked in hurriedly awhile after seven.  He looked down at me as if I were the dirt of the gutter.

“They ‘re waitin’,” said he, curtly.  “An’ Sir Chawles would like to know if ye would care for a humberreller?”

“Ah, m’sieu’! he rains?” I inquired.

“No, mum.”

“Ah! he is going to rain, maybe?”

He made no answer, but turned quickly and went to a near closet, from which he brought a faded umbrella.

“There,” said he, as he led me to the front door, “see that you send it back.”

On the porch were the secretary and the ladies—­three of them.

“Ciel! what is it?” one of them whispered as I came out.

The post-lights were shining in their faces, and lovelier I never saw than those of the demoiselles.  They stepped lightly to the coach, and the secretary asked if I would go in with them.

“No, m’sieu’,” was my answer; “I sit by ze drivaire.”

“Come in here, you silly goose,” said one of the ladies in French, recognizing my nationality.

“Grand merci!” I said, taking my seat by the driver; and then we were off, with as lively a team as ever carried me, our lights flashing on the tree trunks.  We had been riding more than two hours when we stopped for water at a spring-tub under a hill.  They gave me a cup, and, for the ladies, I brought each a bumper of the cool, trickling flood.

“Ici, my tall woman,” said one of them, presently, “my boot is untied.”

Her dainty foot came out of the coach door under ruffles of silk.  I hesitated, for I was not accustomed to that sort of service.

“Lambine!” she exclaimed.  “Make haste, will you?” her foot moving impatiently.

My fingers had got numb in the cold air, and I must have been very awkward, for presently she boxed my ears and drew her foot away.