Aline glanced at herself in the mirror. She was just out of her mistress's range of vision, and she made a little grimace at her reflection.
"I met him twice this morning in the hall," she remarked. "He wished me good morning the first time. The second time he did not speak. He did not seem to see me."
Louise finished her breakfast and strolled presently to the window. She gave a little sigh of pleasure as she looked out.
"But, Aline," she exclaimed, "how exquisite!"
The maid glanced over her shoulder and went on preparing her mistress's clothes.
"It is as madame finds it," she replied. "For myself, I like the country for fête days and holidays only, and even then I like to find plenty of people there."
Louise heard nothing. She was gazing eagerly out of the casement-window. Immediately below was a grass-grown orchard which stretched upward, at a precipitous angle, toward a belt of freshly plowed field; beyond, a little chain of rocky hills, sheer overhead. The trees were pink and white with blossom; the petals lay about upon the ground like drifted snowflakes. Here and there yellow jonquils were growing among the long grass. A waft of perfume stole into the room through the window which she had opened.
"Fill my bath quickly, Aline," Louise ordered. "I must go out. I want to see whether it is really as beautiful as it looks."
Aline dressed her mistress in silence. It was not until she had finished lacing her shoes that she spoke another word. Then, suddenly, she stopped short in the act of crossing the room. Her eyes had happened to fall upon the emblazoned genealogical record. A little exclamation escaped her. She swung round toward her mistress, and for once there was animation in her face.
"But, madame," she exclaimed, "I have remembered! The name Strangewey—you see it there—it was in our minds all the time that we had seen or heard of it quite lately. Don't you remember—"