Then I wondered if Chance was there, and, like a foolish young schoolgirl, I called his name twice as we passed the house. There was an answering roar from some quarter—a rush of feet and a tussle with the porter, whose voice was very high, mingled with another, which I recognized as Zaidee’s, and then, when we were some distance from the house, the dog broke away and came rushing after us, with barks of delight. He had recognized my voice, and was in hot pursuit. I knew it would not do for him to overtake us, as I didn’t know what he might do in his excitement, and Mrs. Whitney was afraid of dogs.
“Drive fast, and don’t let him overtake us,” I said to the coachman, who had turned his head, and needed no second bidding to hurry, so that it was now a race between the horse and the dog, and the horse beat, for it seemed to dawn on Chance that he was doing a ridiculous thing, and he began to slacken his speed, while Zaidee came running, bareheaded and bare-armed, along the Nevsky till she reached the animal, and, seizing him by the mane, led him back to the house.
I knew then that Zaidee would find us very soon; nor was I mistaken, for that evening, as it began to grow dark, Mrs. Browne appeared at my door, saying there was a young person who wished to see me.
“I think she is some lady’s maid, or upper servant,” she said. “I thought she might have some message, and asked her, but she said no; she came to see Miss Harding—that you were her friend. She is in the kitchen. Will you see her there?”
“It’s Zaidee,” I said. “I’m sure it’s Zaidee. Bring her in here.”
“Here in your sitting room?” Mrs. Browne asked, with a look of surprise; and I knew that, with her blue blood and the “e” at the end of her name, she did not approve of what she probably attributed to American democracy. “Well, if you say so,” she said, and in a moment Zaidee came in, taller than when I last saw her, and improved in every way.
There was still a pleasant air about her, but there was also an air as if she had lived with cultivated people, and profited by it. She was in mourning for some friend, and my heart gave a great thump with fear of what she might tell me. In her hand were the flowers I had seen, in a window of the Seguin house.
“I brought these to you,” she said, putting them into a vase which stood on a small table in the center of the room.
She was very quick and handy in what she did, and, I could understand why Madame Seguin liked her so much. I was about to ask her some questions, after thanking her for the flowers, when there came upon the door the same pounding and scratching and whining I had heard twice before.
“Chance!” I exclaimed. “He came with you. Let him in. I must see him!”