I bowed and was about to withdraw, when the duchess motioned me to stop.  For an instant her eyes rested on mine.  Then she said, in gentle tones: 

“I am glad, Sampson, that the duke thinks it safe to give you an opportunity of retrieving your character.”

“That for his character!” said the duke, snapping his fingers.  “I want him to help when Mme. and Mlle. Delhasse are here.”

On the words the duchess went red in the face, and then white, and sprang up, declaring aloud in resolute, angry tones, that witnessed the depth of her feelings in the matter: 

“I will not receive Mlle. Delhasse!”

I was glad I had not missed that:  it was a new aspect of my little friend the duchess.  Alas, my pleasure was short-lived! for the duke, his face full of passion, pointed to the door, saying “Go!” and, cursing his regard for the dignity of the family, I went.

In the hall I paused.  At first I saw nobody.  Presently a rosy, beaming face peered at me over the baluster halfway up the stairs, and Suzanne stole cautiously down, her finger on her lips.

“But what does it mean, sir?” she whispered.

“It means,” said I, “that the duke takes me for the dismissed groom—­and has re-engaged me.”

“And you’ve come?” she cried softly, clasping her hands in amazement.

“Doesn’t it appear so?”

“And you’re going to stay, sir?”

“Ah, that’s another matter.  But—­for the moment, yes.”

“As a servant?”

“Why not—­in such good company?”

“Does madame know?”

“Yes, she knows, Suzanne.  Come, show me the way to my quarters; and no more ‘sir’ just now.”

We were standing by the stairs.  I looked up and saw the other girls clustered on the landing above us.

“Go and tell them,” I said.  “Warn them to show no surprise.  Then come back and show me the way.”

Suzanne, her mirth half-startled out of her but yet asserting its existence in dimples round her mouth, went on her errand.  I leaned against the lowest baluster and waited.

Suddenly the door of the duchess’ room was flung open and she came out.  She stood for an instant on the threshold.  She turned toward the interior of the room and she stamped her foot on the parqueted floor.

“No—­no—­no!” she said passionately, and flung the door close behind her, to the accompaniment of a harsh, scornful laugh.

Involuntarily I sprang forward to meet her.  But she was better on her guard than I.

“Not now,” she whispered, “but I must see you soon—­this evening—­after dinner.  Suzanne will arrange it.  You must help me, Mr. Aycon; I’m in trouble.”

“With all my power!” I whispered, and with a glance of thanks she sped upstairs.  I saw her stop and speak to the group of girls, talking to them in an eager whisper.  Then, followed by two of them, she pursued her way upstairs.