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gives to children, even of the fortunate class, struck Mademoiselle Valle at once. Madame Gareth-Lawless had not done this. Who then, had?

The good Dowson she at once affiliated with. She knew the excellence of her type as it had revealed itself to her in the best peasant class. Trustworthy, simple, but of kindly, shrewd good sense and with the power to observe. Dowson was not a chatterer or given to gossip, but, as a silent observer, she would know many things and, in time, when they had become friendly enough to be fully aware that each might trust the other, gentle and careful talk would end in unconscious revelation being made by Dowson.

That the little girl was almost singularly attached to her nurse, she had marked early. There was something unusual in her manifestations of her feeling. The intense eyes followed the woman often, as if making sure of her presence and reality. The first day of Mademoiselleā€™s residence in the place she saw the little thing suddenly stop playing with her doll and look at Dowson earnestly for several moments. Then she left her seat and went to the kind creatureā€™s side.

ā€œI want to KISS you, Dowie,ā€ she said.

ā€œTo be sure, my lamb,ā€ answered Dowson, and, laying down her mending, she gave her a motherly hug. After which Robin went back contentedly to her play.

The Frenchwoman thought it a pretty bit of childish affectionateness. But it happened more than once during the day, and at night Mademoiselle commented upon it.

ā€œShe has an affectionate heart, the little one,ā€ she remarked. ā€œMadame, her mother, is so pretty and full of gaieties and pleasures that I should not have imagined she had much time for caresses and the nursery.ā€

Even by this time Dowson had realized that with Mademoiselle she was upon safe ground and was in no danger of betraying herself to a gossip. She quietly laid down her sewing and looked at her companion with grave eyes.

ā€œHer mother has never kissed her in her life that I am aware of,ā€ she said.

ā€œHas neverā€”!ā€ Mademoiselle ejaculated. ā€œNever!ā€

ā€œJust as you see her, she is, Mademoiselle,ā€ Dowson said. ā€œAny sensible woman would know, when she heard her talk about her child. I found it all out bit by bit when first I came here. Iā€™m going to talk plain and have done with it. Her first six years she spent in a sort of dog kennel on the top floor of this house. No sun, no real fresh air. Two little holes that were dingy and gloomy to dull a childā€™s senses. Not a toy or a bit of colour or a picture, but clothes fine enough for Buckingham Palace childrenā€”and enough for six. Fed and washed and taken out every day to be shown off. And a bad nurse, Missā€”a bad one that kept her quiet by pinching her black and blue.ā€

ā€œMon Dieu! Mon Dieu! That little angel!ā€ cried Mademoiselle, covering her eyes.

Dowson hastily wiped her own eyes. She had shed many a motherly tear over the child. It was a relief to her to open her heart to a sympathizer.

ā€œBlack and blue!ā€ she repeated. ā€œAnd laughing and dancing and all sorts of fast fun going on in the drawing-rooms.ā€ She put out her hand and touched Mademoiselleā€™s arm quite fiercely. ā€œThe little thing didnā€™t know she HAD a mother! She didnā€™t know what the word meant. I found that out by her innocent talk. She used to call HER ā€˜The Lady Downstairsā€™.ā€

ā€œMon Dieu!ā€ cried the Frenchwoman again. ā€œWhat a woman!ā€

ā€œShe first heard of mothers from a little boy she met in the Square Gardens. He was the first child she had been allowed to play with. He was a nice child and he had a good mother. I only got it bit by bit when she didnā€™t know how much she was telling me. He told her about mothers and he kissed herā€”for the first time in her life. She didnā€™t understand but it warmed her little heart. Sheā€™s never forgotten.ā€

Mademoiselle even started slightly in her chair. Being a clever Frenchwoman she felt drama and all its subtle accompaniments.

ā€œIs that whyā€“-ā€ she began.

ā€œIt is,ā€ answered Dowson, stoutly. ā€œA kiss isnā€™t an ordinary thing to her. It means something wonderful. Sheā€™s got into the way of loving me, bless her, and every now and then, itā€™s my opinion, she suddenly remembers her lonely days when she didnā€™t know what love was. And it just wells up in her little heart and she wants to kiss me. She always says it that way, ā€˜Dowie, I want to KISS you,ā€™ as if it was something strange and, so to say, sacred. She doesnā€™t know it means almost nothing to most people. Thatā€™s why I always lay down my work and hug her close.ā€

ā€œYou have a good heartā€”a GOOD one!ā€ said Mademoiselle with strong feeling.

Then she put a question:

ā€œWho was the little boy?ā€

ā€œHe was a relation ofā€”his lordshipā€™s.ā€

ā€œHis lordshipā€™s?ā€ cautiously.

ā€œThe Marquis. Lord Coombe.ā€

There was a few minutesā€™ silence. Both women were thinking of a number of things and each was asking herself how much it would be wise to say.

It was Dowson who made her decision first, and this time, as before, she laid down her work. What she had to convey was the thing which, above all others, the Frenchwoman must understand if she was to be able to use her power to its best effect.

ā€œA woman in my place hears enough talk,ā€ was her beginning. ā€œServants are given to it. The Servantsā€™ Hall is their theatre. It doesnā€™t matter whether tales are true or not, so that theyā€™re spicy. But itā€™s been my way to credit just as much as I see and know and to say little about that. If a woman takes a place in a house, let her go or stay as suits her best, but donā€™t let her stay and either complain or gossip. My business here is Miss Robin, and Iā€™ve found out for myself that thereā€™s just one person that, in a queer, unfeeling way of his own, has a fancy for looking after her. I say ā€˜unfeelingā€™ because he never shows any human signs of caring for the child himself. But if thereā€™s a thing that ought to be done for her and a body can contrive to let him know itā€™s needed, itā€™ll be done. Downstairsā€™ talk that Iā€™ve seemed to pay no attention to has let out that it was him that walked quietly upstairs to the Nursery, where heā€™d never set foot before, and opened the door on Andrews pinching the child. She packed her box and left that night. He inspected the nurseries and, in a few days, an architect was planning these rooms,ā€”for Miss Robin and for no one else, though there was others wanted them. It was him that told me to order her books and playthingsā€”and not let her know it because she hates him. It was him I told she needed a governess. And he found you.ā€

Mademoiselle Valle had listened with profound attention. Here she spoke.

ā€œYou say continually ā€˜heā€™ or ā€˜himā€™. He isā€”?ā€

ā€œLord Coombe. Iā€™m not saying Iā€™ve seen much of him. Consideringā€”ā€ Dowson pausedā€”ā€œitā€™s queer how seldom he comes here. He goes abroad a good deal. Heā€™s mixed up with the highest and itā€™s said heā€™s in favour because heā€™s satirical and clever. Heā€™s one thatā€™s gossiped about and he cares nothing for whatā€™s said. What business of mine is it whether or not he has all sorts of dens on the Continent where he goes to racket. He might be a bishop for all I see. And heā€™s the only creature in this world of the Almightyā€™s that remembers that childā€™s a human being. Just himā€”Lord Coombe. There, Mademoiselle,ā€”Iā€™ve said a good deal.ā€

More and more interestedly had the Frenchwoman listened and with an increasing hint of curiosity in her intelligent eyes. She pressed Dowsonā€™s needle-roughened fingers warmly.

ā€œYou have not said too much. It is well that I should know this of this gentleman. As you say, he is a man who is much discussed. I myself have heard much of himā€”but of things connected with another part of his character. It is true that he is in favour with great personages. It is because they are aware that he has observed much for many years. He is light and ironic, but he tells truths which sometimes startle those who hear them.ā€

ā€œJennings tells below stairs that he says things itā€™s queer for a lord to say. Jennings is a sharp young snip and likes to pick up things to repeat. He believes that his lordshipā€™s idea is that thereā€™s a time coming when the high ones will lose their places and thrones and kings will be done away with. I wouldnā€™t like to go that far myself,ā€ said Dowson, gravely, ā€œbut I must say that thereā€™s not that serious respect paid to Royalty that there was in my young days. My word! When Queen Victoria was in her prime, with all her young family around her,ā€”their little Royal Highnesses that were princes in their Highland kilts and the princesses in their crinolines and hats with drooping ostrich feathers and broad satin streamersā€”the people just went wild when she went to a place to unveil anything!ā€

ā€œWhen the Empress Eugenie and the Prince Imperial appeared, it was the same thing,ā€ said Mademoiselle, a trifle sadly. ā€œOne recalls it now as a dream passed awayā€”the Champs Elysees in the afternoon sunlightā€”the imperial carriage and the glittering escort trotting gailyā€”the beautiful woman with the always beautiful costumesā€”her charming smileā€”the Emperor, with his waxed moustache and saturnine face! It meant so much and it went so quickly. One moment,ā€ she made a little gesture, ā€œand it is goneā€”forever! An Empire and all the splendour of it! Two centuries ago it could not have disappeared so quickly. But now the world is older. It does not need toys so much. A Republic is the peopleā€”and there are more people than kings.ā€

ā€œItā€™s things like that his lordship says, according to Jennings,ā€ said Dowson. ā€œJennings is never quite sure heā€™s in earnest. He has a satirical wayā€”And the company always laugh.ā€

Mademoiselle had spoken thoughtfully and as if half to her inner self instead of to Dowson. She added something even more thoughtfully now.

ā€œThe same kind of people laughed before the French Revolution,ā€ she murmured.

ā€œIā€™m not scholar enough to know much about thatā€”that was a long time ago, wasnā€™t it?ā€ Dowson remarked.

ā€œA long time ago,ā€ said Mademoiselle.

Dowsonā€™s reply was quite free from tragic reminiscence.

ā€œWell, I must say, I like a respectable Royal Family myself,ā€ she observed. ā€œThereā€™s something solid and comfortable about itā€”besides the coronations and weddings and procession with all the pictures in the Illustrated London News. Give me a nice, well-behaved Royal Family.ā€

CHAPTER XVII

ā€œA nice, well-behaved Royal Family.ā€ There had been several of them in Europe for some time. An appreciable number of them had prided themselves, even a shade ostentatiously, upon their domesticity. The moral views of a few had been believed to border upon the high principles inscribed in copy books. Some, however, had not. A more important power or so had veered from the exact following of these commendable axiomsā€”had high-handedly behaved according to their royal will and tastes. But what would you? With a nation making proper obeisance before one from infancy; with trumpets blaring forth joyous strains upon oneā€™s mere appearance on any scene; with the proudest necks bowed and the most superb curtseys swept on oneā€™s mere passing by, with all the splendour of the Opera on gala night rising to its feet to salute oneā€™s mere entry into the royal or imperial box, while the national anthem bursts forth with adulatory and

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