M. de Salmonnet was unmistakably a Scot by descent, though he had never seen the land of his ancestors.  His grandfather bad been ennobled, but only belonged to the lesser order of the noblesse, being exempted from imposts, but not being above employment, especially in diplomacy.  He had acted as secretary, interpreter, and general factotum, to a whole succession of ambassadors, and thus his little loge, as he called it, had become something of a home.  His wife had once or twice before had to take charge of young ladies, French or English, who were confided to the embassy, and she had a guest chamber for them, a small room, but with an oriel window overhanging the Thames and letting in the southern sun, so as almost to compensate for the bareness of the rest, where there was nothing but a square box-bed, a chest, and a few toilette essentials, to break upon the dulness of the dark wainscoted walls.  Madame herself came to sleep with her guest, for lonely nights were regarded with dread in those times, and indeed she seemed to regard it as her duty never to lose sight of her charge for a moment.

Madame de Salmonnet’s proper bed-chamber was the only approach to this little room, but that mattered the less as it was also the parlour!  The bed, likewise a box, was in the far-off recesses, and the family were up and astir long before the November sun.  Dressed Madame could scarcely be called—­the costume in which she assisted Babette and queer wizened old Pierrot in doing the morning’s work, horrified Cicely, used as she was to Mistress Susan’s scrupulous neatness.  Downstairs there was a sort of office room of Monsieur’s, where the family meals were taken, and behind it an exceedingly small kitchen, where Madame and Pierrot performed marvels of cookery, surpassing those of Queen Mary’s five cooks.

Cicely longed to assist in them, and after a slight demur, she was permitted to do so, chiefly because her duenna could not otherwise watch her and the confections at the same time.  Cis could never make out whether it was as princess or simply as maiden that she was so closely watched, for Madame bristled and swelled like a mother cat about to spring at a strange dog, if any gentleman of the suite showed symptoms of accosting her.  Nay, when Mr. Talbot once brought Diccon in with him, and there was a greeting, which to Cicely’s mind was dismally cold and dry, the lady was so scandalised that Cicely was obliged formally to tell her that she would answer for it to the Queen.  On Sunday, Mr. Talbot always came to take her to church, and this was a terrible grievance to Madame, though it was to Cicely the one refreshment of the week.  If it had been only the being out of hearing of her hostess’s incessant tongue, the walk would have been a refreshment.  Madame de Salmonnet had been transported from home so young that she was far more French than Scottish; she was a small woman full of activity and zeal of all kinds, though perhaps most