"Anne," he said, "supposing one cared?"
Every fibre of her body was set in an effort of resistance. The mocking laugh rose readily enough to her lips, the words were crushed back in her throat. Only the faintest shadow shone for a moment in her eyes.
"Ah, Julien," she murmured lightly, "if one cared! But does that really come, I wonder? Not to such men as you. Not often, I am afraid, to such women as I."
The door was suddenly opened. Little Mademoiselle Rignaut was covered with confusion.
"But, miladi," she exclaimed, "a thousand pardons—"
"Janette," Anne interrupted, "if I hear that once more I leave—I seek another situation."
"But, mademoiselle, then," Mademoiselle Rignaut corrected, "a thousand pardons indeed! I had no idea—"
"My dear Janette," Lady Anne protested, "why do you apologize for entering your own workshop? It is foolish, this. I go now, dear Julien, to put on my hat. You shall drive me to where my mother is staying—the Ritz, I suppose? Afterwards you shall leave us. Wait in the street below. I shall be less than two minutes."
Mademoiselle Rignaut was still apologetic as she conducted Julien down the narrow stairs.
"But indeed," she declared, "there never was a young lady so strange, with such charming manners, so sweet, as dear Miladi Anne. All the time she smiles, inconveniences are nothing, one would imagine that she were happy. And yet at night—"