It had been raining all day. The wind moaned in the trees and sighed in the chimney, and now and again the blazing logs on the hearth hissed as drops fell on them from above.
“There is a good fire in the signorino’s dressing-room, I hope. He has been out all day, and it is so stormy that—”
“The signorino has come in, eccellenza. He—he brought a lady with him. She seemed faint and ill, and I sent for the gardener’s wife to come and look after her. I have given her the blue room, and the housekeeper is with her now. She was busy with the dinner when she first came.” The old butler rubbed his hands together.
“I hope I did right,” he said after a pause.
Hilaire roused himself. “Oh, quite right, of course. She will want something to eat.”
“I have sent up a tray—”
“Ah, when?”
“He—here he is.”
The old man drew back as Jean came in. “I am sorry to be late, Hilaire.”
“It does not matter.”