“A quarter to nine.”

“Good heavens!  Mariette, don’t stop to chatter.  The person my uncle expects may arrive at any moment.  If we had to give him breakfast, where should we be with nothing in the house?”

Mariette turned back to Penelope in a lather, and looked at Jacquelin as if she would say, “Mademoiselle has put her hand on a husband this time.”

“Now, Josette,” continued the old maid, “let us see where we had better put Monsieur de Troisville to sleep.”

With what joy she said the words, “Put Monsieur de Troisville” (pronounced Treville) “to sleep.”  How many ideas in those few words!  The old maid was bathed in hope.

“Will you put him in the green chamber?”

“The bishop’s room?  No; that’s too near mine,” said Mademoiselle Cormon.  “All very well for monseigneur; he’s a saintly man.”

“Give him your uncle’s room.”

“Oh, that’s so bare; it is actually indecent.”

“Well, then, mademoiselle, why not arrange a bed in your boudoir?  It is easily done; and there’s a fire-place.  Moreau can certainly find in his warerooms a bed to match the hangings.”

“You are right, Josette.  Go yourself to Moreau; consult with him what to do; I authorize you to get what is wanted.  If the bed could be put up to-night without Monsieur de Troisville observing it (in case Monsieur de Troisville arrives while Moreau is here), I should like it.  If Moreau won’t engage to do this, then I must put Monsieur de Troisville in the green room, although Monsieur de Troisville would be so very near to me.”

Josette was departing when her mistress recalled her.

“Stop! explain the matter to Jacquelin,” she cried, in a loud nervous tone.  “Tell him to go to Moreau; I must be dressed!  Fancy if Monsieur de Troisville surprised me as I am now! and my uncle not here to receive him!  Oh, uncle, uncle!  Come, Josette; come and dress me at once.”

“But Penelope?” said Josette, imprudently.

“Always Penelope!  Penelope this, Penelope that!  Is Penelope the mistress of this house?”

“But she is all of a lather, and she hasn’t had time to eat her oats.”

“Then let her starve!” cried Mademoiselle Cormon; “provided I marry,” she thought to herself.

Hearing these words, which seemed to her like homicide, Josette stood still for a moment, speechless.  Then, at a gesture from her mistress, she ran headlong down the steps of the portico.

“The devil is in her, Jacquelin,” were the first words she uttered.