She crossed the upper hall and disappeared from view down the corridor leading to her own room. Her lips were set with decision; a wild, reckless light filled her eyes, and the smile of scorn had given way to one of exaltation. Her breath came fast and tremulously through quivering nostrils as she closed her door and hurried across to the little vine-covered balcony.
“The time has come—the time has come, thank God!” she was saying to herself, over and over again. The French doors stuck. She was jerking angrily at them when her maid hurried in from the bedroom, attracted by the unusual commotion.
“Que faites vous, madame?” she cried anxiously.
Her mistress turned quickly.
“Listen! Go downstairs at once and tell them that I have dismissed you. At once, do you hear?”
“Oui madame!” cried Céleste, her eyes dancing with a sudden, incomprehensible delight.
“You are to leave the house immediately. I dismiss you. You have been stealing from me, do you understand?”
“Oui, madame. Je comprendes parfaitement, madame!” cried the maid, actually clapping her hands.
“You will pack two steamer-trunks and get them out of the house before five o'clock. You are going back to Paris. You are dismissed.”
The little Frenchwoman beamed.