Henriette replied to her queries bashfully, bobbing her head at every reply. She was much impressed by the lady’s attention. Finally the latter looked full at Ruth, and asked:
“Your friend is from the hospital, Hetty?”
“Oh, yes, Madame!” Henriette hastened to say. “She is an Americaine. Of the Red Cross.”
“I could imagine her nativity,” said the countess, bowing to Ruth, and with cordiality. “I traveled much with the count—years ago. All over America. I deem all Americans my friends.”
“Thank you, Madame,” replied Ruth gravely.
At the moment the stern-faced Bessie came through the little postern gate. She approached the countess and stood for a moment respectfully waiting her mistress’ attention.
“Ah, here is the good Bessie,” said the countess, and passed the serving woman the loop of the dog’s leather leash. “Take him away, Bessie. Naughty Bubu! Do you know, he should be punished—and punished severely. He had slipped his collar again. See his legs? You must draw the collar up another hole, Bessie.”
The harsh voice of the old woman replied, but Ruth could not understand what she said. The dog was led away; but Ruth saw that Bessie stared at her, Ruth, curiously—or was it threateningly?
The countess turned again to speak to the two girls. “Old Bessie comes from America, Mademoiselle,” she explained. “I brought her over years ago. She has long served me.”
“She comes from Mexico, does she not?” Ruth asked quietly.