"I am the new maid, madam," she explained. "I hope madam feels better."
Bonnibel stared at her in bewilderment.
"Where is Lucy? I want Lucy," she said almost appealingly.
"Madam, I knows nothing of Lucy," she answered. "Monsieur le colonel, the husband of madam, engage me to attend upon madam. I will remove your ball dress, s'il vous plait."
With those words the whole bitter truth rushed over Bonnibel's mind. A low, repressed cry, and she fell back on the sofa, again hiding her convulsed face in her hands.
"Madam, you make yourself more sick by dis emotion," said the new maid in her broken English. "Allow me to bring you someding to break your fast—some chocolate, a roll, a bit of broiled bird."
"I want nothing," Bonnibel answered, bitterly at first, but the next moment she sat up and struggled to regain her composure.
"What is your name, my good woman?" she inquired.
"Dolores, madam, at your service," said the maid, with one of her low courtesies, "Dolores Dupont."
Bonnibel rose and moved slowly toward her dressing-room.