u'll laugh at me--"

"Heaven forbid!" said the Duke gravely.

"Well, what is hard is, never to get a letter ... an envelope that one
opens ... from some one who thinks about one--"

She paused, and then added gravely: "But I tell myself that it's
nonsense. I have a certain amount of philosophy."

She smiled at him--an adorable child's smile.

The Duke smiled too. "A certain amount of philosophy," he said softly.
"You look like a philosopher!"

As they stood looking at one another with serious eyes, almost with
eyes that probed one another's souls, the drawing-room door flung open,
and Germaine's harsh voice broke on their ears.

"You're getting quite impossible, Sonia!" she cried. "It's absolutely
useless telling you anything. I told you particularly to pack my
leather writing-case in my bag with your own hand. I happen to open a
drawer, and what do I see? My leather writing-case."

"I'm sorry," said Sonia. "I was going--"

"Oh, there's no need to bother about it. I'll see after it myself,"
said Germaine. "But upon my word, you might be one of our guests,
seeing how easily you take things. You're negligence personified."

"Come, Germaine ... a mere oversight," said the Duke, in a coaxing tone.

"Now, excuse me, Jacques; but you've got an unfortunate habit of
interfering in household matters. You did it only the other day. I can
no longer say a word to a servant--"

"Germaine!" said the Duke, in sharp protest.

Germaine turned from him to Sonia, and pointed to a packet of envelopes
and some letters, which Bernard Charolais had knocked off the table,
and said, "Pick up those envelopes and letters, and bring everything to
my room, and be quick about it!"

She flung out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

Sonia seemed entirely unmoved by the outburst: no flush of
mortification stained her cheeks, her lips did not quiver. She stooped
to pick up the fallen papers.

"No, no; let me, I beg you," said the Duke, in a tone of distress. And
dropping on one knee, he began to gather together the fallen papers. He
set them on the table, and then he said: "You mustn't mind what
Germaine says. She's--she's--she's all right at heart. It's her manner.
She's always been happy, and had everything she wanted. She's been
spoiled, don't you know. Those kind of people never have any
consideration for any one else. You mustn't let her outburst hurt you."

"Oh, but I don't. I don't really," protested Sonia.

"I'm