Miss French, who found herself greeted with effusion by the strange lady, saw before her a woman of fifty, marvellously preserved.  Madame d’Estrees had grown stout; so much time had claimed; but the elegant gray dress with its floating chiffon and lace skilfully concealed the fact; and for the rest, complexion, eyes, lips were still defiant of the years.  If it were art that had achieved it, nature still took the credit; it was so finely done, the spectator could only lend himself and admire.  Under the pretty hat of gray tulle, whereof the strings were tied bonnet-fashion under the plump chin, there looked out, indeed, a face gay, happy, unconcerned, proof one might have thought of an innocent past and a good conscience.

Kitty, who had drawn back a little, eyed her mother oddly.

“I thought you were in Paris.  Your letter said you wouldn’t be able to move for weeks—­”

“Ma chere!—­un miracle!” cried Madame d’Estrees, blushing, however, under her thin white veil.  “When I wrote to you, I was at death’s door—­wasn’t I?” She appealed to her companion, without waiting for an answer.  “Then some one told me of a new doctor, and in ten days, me voici!  They insisted on my going away—­this dear woman—­Donna Laura Vercelli—­my daughter, Lady Kitty Ashe!—­knew of an apartment here belonging to some relations of hers.  And here we are—­charmingly installees!—­and really nothing to pay!”—­Madame d’Estrees whispered, smiling, in Kitty’s ear—­“nothing, compared to the hotels.  I’m economizing splendidly.  Laura looks after every sou.  Ah! my dear William!”

For Ashe, puzzled by the voices within, had entered the chapel, and stood in his turn, open-mouthed.

“Why, we thought you were an invalid.”

For, some three weeks before, a letter had reached him at Haggart, so full of melancholy details as to Madame d’Estrees’ health and circumstances that even Kitty had been moved.  Money had been sent; inquiries had been made by telegraph; and but for a hasty message of a more cheerful character, received just before they started, the Ashes, instead of journeying by Brussels and Cologne, would have gone by Paris that Kitty might see her mother.  They had intended to stop there on their way back.  Ashe was not minded that Kitty should see more of Madame d’Estrees than necessity demanded; but on this occasion he would have felt it positively brutal to make difficulties.

And now here was this moribund lady, this forsaken of gods and men, disporting herself at Venice, evidently in the pink of health and attired in the freshest of Paris toilettes!  As he coldly shook hands, Ashe registered an inner vow that Madame d’Estrees’ letters henceforward should receive the attention they deserved.