"No, thank you. Pull off my boots, Meta. I'll change my dress and then go out again."
Modestly, almost humbly, she bowed before him and set his spurred foot gently on her lap. Then she loosened the top straps. He let his glance rest, well pleased, upon her smooth, silvery blonde hair.
How would it work if he sent his mistress packing and installed this girl in her place?
But he immediately abandoned the thought. He had seen the thing done by some of his friends. In a single year the chastest and most modest servant girl was so thoroughly corrupted that she had to be driven into the streets.
"We men seem to emit a pestilential air," he reflected, "that corrupts every woman."
"Or at least men of my kind," he added carefully.
"Have you any other wishes, sir?" asked the girl, daintily wiping her hands on her apron.
"No, thank you."
She turned to the door.
"One thing more, Meta. When did Madame say she would be back?"