“Foreign telegram-forms, Miss?  Is it for Ameriky?”

“Oh, no!—­only for Paris,”—­and while the old lady fumbled nervously in her ‘official’ drawer, Maryllia glanced around the little business establishment with amused interest.  She had a keen eye for small details, and she noticed with humorous appreciation Mrs. Tapple’s pink sun-bonnet hanging beside the placarded ’Post Office Savings Bank’ regulations, and a half side of bacon suspended from the ceiling, apparently for ‘curing’ purposes, immediately above the telegraphic apparatus.  After a little delay, the required pale yellow ‘Foreign and Colonial’ forms were found, and Mrs. Tapple carefully flattened them out, and set them on her narrow office counter.

“Will you have a pencil, or pen and ink, Miss?” she enquired.

“Pen and ink, please,” replied Maryllia; whereat the old postmistress breathed a sigh of relief.  It would be easier to make out anything at all ‘strange and uncommon’ in pen and ink than in pencil-marks which had a trick of ‘rubbing.’  Leaning lightly against the counter Maryllia wrote in a clear bold round hand: 

    “Miss Cicely Bourne,

    “17 Rue CROISIE, Paris.

    “Come to me at once.  Shall want you all summer.  Have
     wired Gigue.  Start to-morrow.

“MarylliaVancourt.”

She pushed this over to Mrs. Tapple, who thankfully noting that she was writing another, took time to carefully read and spell over every word, and mastered it all without difficulty.  Meanwhile Maryllia prepared her second message thus: 

“Louis gigue,

“Conservatoire, Paris.

“Je desire que Cicely passe l’ete avec moi et qu’elle arrive
immediatement.  Elle peut tres-bien continuer ses etudes ici. 
Vous pouvez suivre, cher maitre, a votre plaisir.

“MarylliaVancourt.”

“It’s rather long,”—­she said thoughtfully, as she finished it.  “But for Gigue it is necessary to explain fully.  I hope you can make it out?”

Poor Mrs. Tapple quivered with inward agitation as she took the terrible telegram in hand, and made a brave effort to rise to the occasion.

“Yes, Miss,” she stammered, “Louis Gigue—­G.i.g.u.e., that’s right—­ yes—­at the Conservatory, Paris.”

“’No, no!” said Maryllia, with a little laugh—­“Not Conservatory—­ Conservatoire—­TOIRE, t.o.i.r.e., the place where they study music.”

“Oh, yes—­I see!” and Mrs. Tapple tried to smile knowingly, as she fixed her spectacles more firmly on her nose, and began to murmur slowly—­“Je desire, d.e.sire—­oh, yes—­desire!—­que—­q.u.e.—­Cicely--yes that’s all right!—­passe, an e to pass—­yes—­now let me wait a minute; one minute, Miss, if you please!—­l’ete—­l apostrophe e, stroke across the e,—­t, and e, stroke across the e—–­”

Maryllia’s eyebrows went up in pretty perplexity.