You may possibly remember a very small room in the galleries, exceedingly small as compared with the rest, chiefly hung with English portraits.  They were in this room, amidst the little crowd that filled it, when Lord Hartledon became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lost friend.  There was much greeting and shaking of hands.  He caught the name—­Kattle; and being a somewhat singular name, he recognised it for that of the lady who had been sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the news of Miss Ashton’s supposed engagement to the countess-dowager.  There was the usual babble on both sides—­where each was staying, had been staying, would be staying; and then Lord Hartledon heard the following words from Mrs. Kattle.

“How strange I should have seen you!  I have met you, the Fords, and the Ashtons here, and did not know that any of you were in Paris.  It’s true I only arrived yesterday.  Such a long illness, my dear, I had at Turin!”

“The Ashtons!” involuntarily repeated Maude.  “Are they here?—­in the chateau?” And it instantly occurred to her how she should like to meet them, and parade her triumph.  If ever a spark of feeling for her husband arose within Maude’s heart, it was when she thought of Anne Ashton.  She was bitterly jealous of her still.

“Yes, here; I saw them not three minutes ago.  They are only now on their road home from Cannes.  Fancy their making so long a stay!”

“You wrote mamma word that Miss Ashton was about to marry some Colonel Barnaby.”

Mrs. Kattle laughed.  It is possible that written news might have been asked for by the countess-dowager.

“Well, my dear, and so I did; but it turned out to be a mistake.  He did admire her; there was no mistake about that; and I dare say she might have had him if she liked.  How’s your brother and his poor leg?”

“Oh, he is well,” answered Maude.  “Au revoir; I can’t stand this crush any longer.”

It was really a crush just then in the room; and though Maude escaped from it dexterously, Lord Hartledon did not.  He was wedged in behind some stout women, and had the pleasure of hearing another word or two from Mrs. Kattle.

“Who was that?” asked a lady, who appeared to be her companion.

“Lady Hartledon.  He was only the younger brother until a few months ago, but the elder one got drowned in some inexplicable manner on his own estate, and this one came into the title.  The old dowager began at once to angle for him, and succeeded in hooking him.  She used to write me word how it progressed.”

“She is very beautiful.”

“Very.”

Lord Hartledon made his escape, and found his wife looking round for him.  She was struck by the aspect of his face.

“Are you ill, Percival?”

“Ill?  No.  But I don’t care how soon we get out of these rooms.  I can’t think what brings so many people in them to-day.”

“He has heard that she’s here, and would like to avoid her,” thought Maude as she took the arm he held out.  “The large rooms are empty enough, I’m sure,” she remarked.  “Shall we have time to go to the Trianon?”