“But how did you feel when you were loved by a servant?  Were you—­moved—­flattered?”

“Moved? no, flattered—­yes a little.  One is always flattered to be loved by a man, no matter who he may be.”

“Oh, Margot!”

“Yes, indeed, my dear!  For instance, I will tell you of a peculiar incident which happened to me.  You will see how curious and complex our emotions are, in such cases.

“About four years ago I happened to be without a maid.  I had tried five or six, one right after the other, and I was about ready to give up in despair, when I saw an advertisement in a newspaper of a young girl knowing how to cook, embroider, dress hair, who was looking for a position and who could furnish the best of references.  Besides all these accomplishments, she could speak English.

“I wrote to the given address, and the next day the person in question presented herself.  She was tall, slender, pale, shy-looking.  She had beautiful black eyes and a charming complexion; she pleased me immediately.  I asked for her certificates; she gave me one in English, for she came, as she said, from Lady Rymwell’s, where she had been for ten years.

“The certificate showed that the young girl had left of her own free will, in order to return to France, and the only thing which they had had to find fault in her during her long period of service was a little French coquettishness.

“This prudish English phrase even made me smile, and I immediately engaged this maid.

“She came to me the same day.  Her name was Rose.

“At the end of a month I would have been helpless without her.  She was a treasure, a pearl, a phenomenon.

“She could dress my hair with infinite taste; she could trim a hat better than most milliners, and she could even make my dresses.

“I was astonished at her accomplishments.  I had never before been waited on in such a manner.

“She dressed me rapidly and with a surprisingly light touch.  I never felt her fingers on my skin, and nothing is so disagreeable to me as contact with a servant’s hand.  I soon became excessively lazy; it was so pleasant to be dressed from head to foot, and from lingerie to gloves, by this tall, timid girl, always blushing a little, and never saying a word.  After my bath she would rub and massage me while I dozed a little on my couch; I almost considered her more of a friend than a servant.

“One morning the janitor asked, mysteriously, to speak to me.  I was surprised, and told him to come in.  He was a good, faithful man, an old soldier, one of my husband’s former orderlies.

“He seemed to be embarrassed by what he had to say to me.  At last he managed to mumble: 

“‘Madame, the superintendent of police is downstairs.’

“I asked quickly: 

“‘What does he wish?’

“‘He wishes to search the house.’

“Of course the police are useful, but I hate them.  I do not think that it is a noble profession.  I answered, angered and hurt: