s to stare. Tynn might well heave her hands and eyes in
dismay. On the chairs, on the tables, on the drawers, on the floor, on
every conceivable place and space they lay; a goodly mass of vanity,
just unpacked from their cases.

Flitting about amidst them was a damsel of coquettish appearance, with a
fair skin, light hair, and her nose a turn-up. Her gray gown was
flounced to the waist, her small cap of lace, its pink strings flying,
was lodged on the back of her head. It was Mademoiselle Benoite, Mrs.
Verner's French maid, one she had picked up in Paris. Whatever other
qualities the damsel might lack, she had enough of confidence. Not many
hours yet in the house, and she was assuming more authority in it than
her mistress did.

Mr. and Mrs. Verner had returned the night before, Mademoiselle Benoite
and her packages making part of their train. A whole _fourgon_ could not
have been sufficient to convey these packages from the French capital to
the frontier. Phoeby, the simple country maid whom Sibylla had taken
to Paris with her, found her place a sinecure since the engagement of
Mademoiselle Benoite. She stood now on the opposite side of the room to
Tynn, humbly waiting Mademoiselle Benoite's imperious commands.

"Where on earth will you stow 'em away?" cried Tynn, in her wonder.
"You'll want a length of rooms to do it in."

"Where I stow 'em away!" retorted Mademoiselle Benoite, in her fluent
speech, but broken English. "I stow 'em where I please. Note you that,
Madame Teen. Par example! The chateau is grand enough."

"What has its grandeur got to do with it?" was Mary Tynn's answer. She
knew but little of French phrases.

"Now, then, what for you stand there, with your eyes staring and your
hands idle?" demanded Mademoiselle Benoite sharply, turning her attack
on Phoeby.

"If you'll tell me what to do, I'll do it," replied the girl. "I could
help to put the things up, if you'd show me where to begin."

"I like to see you dare to put a finger on one of these things!"
returned Mademoiselle Benoite. "You can confine your services to sewing,
and to waiting upon me; but not you dare to interfere with my lady's
toilette. Tiens, I am capable, I hope! I'd give up the best service
to-morrow where I had not sole power! Go you down to the office, and
order me a cup of chocolate, and wait you and bring it up to me. That
maudite drogue, that coffee, this morning, has made me as thirsty as a
panthere."

Phoeby, glancing