Presently she set her teeth together
and swallowed hard, for there was a rustling in the hall. The portiere
was pushed aside and madame swept into the room in a dinner-gown of dark
red velvet.
To Joyce's waiting eyes she seemed more imposing, more elegant, and more
unapproachable than she had ever been before. At madame's entrance Joyce
rose as usual, but when the red velvet train had swept on to a seat
beside the fire, she still remained standing. Her lips seemed glued
together after those first words of greeting.
"Be seated, mademoiselle," said the lady, with a graceful motion of her
hand towards a chair. "How have you enjoyed your holiday?"
Joyce gave a final swallow of the choking lump in her throat, and began
her humble confession that she had framed up-stairs among the rows of
dismal blue wall-paper parrots. She started with Clotilde Robard's story
of Jules, told of her accidental meeting with him, of all that she knew
of his hard life with Brossard, and of her longing for some one to play
with. Then she acknowledged that she had planned the barbecue secretly,
fearing that madame would not allow her to invite the little goatherd.
At the conclusion, she opened the handkerchief which she had been
holding tightly clenched in her hand, and poured its contents in the red
velvet lap.
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