CHAPTER III.

A CHANGE OF DYNASTY.

With the cold November sunlight flooding her room, Grace rose next
morning, dressed and went down stairs. Very neat and lady-like she
looked, in her spotted gingham wrapper, her snowy collar and cuffs, and
her dark hair freshly braided.

A loud-voiced clock in the entrance-hall struck seven. No one seemed to
be astir in the house but herself, and her footsteps echoed weirdly in
the dark passages. A sleepy scullery maid was lighting the kitchen fire
when she got there, gaping dismally over her work; and Grace, leaving
some directions for Ma'am Ledru, the cook, departed again, this time for
the dining-room, where footman James was lighting another fire. Grace
opened the shutters, drew back the curtains, and let in the morning
sunburst in all its glory. Then she dusted and re-arranged the
furniture, swept up the marble hearth, and assisted Babette to lay the
cloth for breakfast. It was invariably her morning work; and the table
looked like a picture when she had done, with its old china and
sparkling silver.

It was almost eight before she got through; and she ran upstairs for her
bonnet and shawl, and started for her customary half-hour's walk before
breakfast. She took the road leading to the village, still and deserted,
and came back all glowing from the rapid exercise.

Captain Danton stood on the front steps smoking a meerschaum pipe, as
she came up the avenue.

"Good morning, Hebe!" said the Captain. "The November roses are brighter
in Canada than elsewhere in August!"

Grace laughed, and was going in, but he stopped her.

"Don't go yet. I want some one to talk to. Where have you been?"

"Only out for a walk, sir."

"So early! What time do you get up, pray?"

"About half-past six."

"Primitive hours, upon my word. When is breakfast time?"

"Nine, sir. The bell will ring in a moment."

It rang as she spoke, and Grace tripped away to take off her bonnet and
smooth her hair, blown about by the morning wind. The Captain was in the
dining-room when she descended, standing in his favourite position with
his back to the fire, his coat-tails drawn forward, and his legs like
two sides of a triangle.

"Are the girls up yet, Grace? Excuse the prefix; we are relatives, you
know. Ah! here is one of them. Good-morning, Mademoiselle."

"Good-morning, papa," said Eeny, kissing him. "Where is Kate?"

"Kate is here!" said the voice that was like silver bells; and Kate ca