"Did you speak to me?"
"There comes your husband. I hear his slow, heavy step upon the stairs. Open the door."
As an elderly white-haired man entered, Mrs. Orme put put her hand.
"Letters from home, Mr. Waul?"
"One from America, two from London, and a note from the American minister."
"You saw the minister then? Did he give you the papers we shall require?"
"He has been sick, I believe, but said he would be at the theatre to-night, and would call and see you to-morrow."
"Hear this sentence, good people, from his note: 'Only indisposition prevented my attendance at the theatre last night to witness the brilliant triumph of my countrywomen. Since the palmy days of Rachel I have not heard such extravagant eulogies, and as an American I proudly and cordially congratulate you——'"
"Are you going to faint! Stand back, William, and let me bathe her face with cologne. What is the matter, Mrs. Orme? You shake as if you had an ague."
But her mistress sat with eyes fixed upon a line visible only to herself: "Your countrymen here are very much elated, and to-night I shall be accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbert Laurance, son of General René Laurance, whose wealth and social eminence must have at least rendered his name familiar to all Americans travelling in Europe."