There was nobody at the window, however. The blinds in the drawing-room were down, and the aspect of the house was morne—which is the best adjective, though French, that I can think of. We rang the bell, and, after a pause, the door was opened, and we went up stairs. At the door of our apartment, instead of Miss Allallami, we encountered a strange woman in a white apron. For a moment we stood, direly perplexed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax?" asked the strange woman, with a pleasant smile.
It was extraordinary. To be asked at one's own door if one were oneself!
We entered without replying. Letitia kept well in the background. I imagined that we should find our apartment looted. Perhaps the strange woman was—looting!
The drawing-room was untouched. Everything was in its proper place, not an ornament missing; not a gewgaw disturbed. The woman was still smiling.
"I congratulate you, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax," she said with a Finnish intonation. "You will be glad, I know. It occurred yesterday, and it was too late to telegraph. Olga—"
"What about Olga?" cried Letitia.
"Go on," I commanded imperiously.
The strange woman simpered, and looked down. "Olga," she murmured, "Olga has twins—two of the sweetest little babies, a boy and a girl. One she is going to call Archie, and the other Letitia. Oh, she is as well as can be expected. She—"