There is a knock at her boudoir door as she stands thus soliloquising to herself.
“Come in,” she answers.
It is Marie, the French maid, and she is the bearer of a note.
“A letter for madame,” she says.
“Marie, what a fearful crowd!” exclaims her mistress. “What will happen? Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
“Mais jamais, jamais de ma vie, madame,” answers the Frenchwoman shuddering. “C’est terrible.”
“Marie, you can bring me my coffee and bread-and-butter now,” continues Vivi, as she turns the note over in her hand and looks at it curiously. It is from Mr. Trevor.
“Madame will have to take café noir this morning,” remarks the maid gloomily.
“Café noir? You know I hate it, Marie.”
“Tant pis, madame,” replies the woman, with a shrug of the shoulders. “But no milkman has called, and there is no milk in the house.”