WHEN THE CURTAIN WAS DOWN
he soft-eyed, innocent girl who had inspired the thought went into the hotel, and was rather cross to the youthful concierge, because the ascenseur was not working. There were three flights of stairs to mount before she reached her room, and she was so anxious to open her bag to see what was inside, that she ran up very fast, so fast that she stepped on her dress and ripped out a long line of gathers. Her eyes were not nearly as soft as they had been, while she picked up the hanging folds of pink cloth, and went on.
The narrow corridor at the top of the staircase was somewhat dark, and, her eyes accustomed to the brilliant light out of doors, the girl stumbled against a child who was coming towards her.
"Petit bête!" she snapped. "You have all but made me fall. Awkward little thing, why don't you keep out of people's way?"
The child flushed. She would have liked to answer that it was Mademoiselle who had got in her way; but Mother wished her to be always polite. "I am sorry," she replied instead, not saying a word about the poor little toes which the pretty pink lady had crushed.
"Well, then, if you are sorry, why don't you let me pass?" asked the girl of the soft eyes.
"If you please, I want to give you a note," said the child, anxiously searching a small pocket. "It's from Mother, for Madame. She told me to take it to your door; so I did, several times, but nobody answered. Here 'tis, please, Mademoiselle."