The world was all brightness to Petrea: the song carried her back to the beautiful days of knighthood: Lieutenant Y. appeared to her as the ideal of knightly honour, and the glass opposite showed her own face and nose in such an advantageous light, that she, meeting herself there all beaming with joy, fancied herself almost handsome. A beautiful rose-tree was blossoming in the window, and Petrea, breaking off a flower, presented it to the Lieutenant, with the words—
Honneur au plus vaillant.
Petrea thought that this was remarkably striking and apropos, and secretly expected that her knight would lay the myrtle-spray with which he was playing at her feet, adding very appropriately—
Hommage à la plus belle.
"Most humble thanks!" said Lieutenant Y., taking the rose with misfortune-promising indifference. But Fate delivered Petrea from the unpleasantness of waiting in vain for a politeness she desired, for suddenly there arose a disturbance in the ball-room, and voices were heard which said, "She is fainting! Gracious heaven! Sara!"
Myrtle-spray, knight, conquest, all vanished now from Petrea's mind, and with a cry of horror she rushed from Lieutenant Y. into the ball-room at the very moment when Sara was carried out fainting. The violent dancing had produced dizziness; but taken into a cool room, and sprinkled with eau de Cologne and water, she soon recovered, and complained only of horrible headache. This was a common ailment of Sara's, but was quickly removed when a certain remedy was at hand.
"My drops!" prayed Sara, in a faint voice.
"Where? where?" asked Petrea, with a feeling as if she would run to China.
"In the little box in our chamber," said Sara.
Quick as thought sped the kind Petrea across the court to the east wing. She sought through the chamber where their things were, but the box was not to be found. It must have been left in the carriage. But where was the carriage? It was locked up in the coach-house. And where was the key of the coach-house?