“Oh, excuse!” she exclaimed in confusion, her pretty color mounting.
Susanne picked up the lingerie which Gretchen’s unexpected collision had knocked from her hand and smiled kindly.
“Mon Dieu. You are in a hurry,” she commented. “But, petite, why so white?” as Gretchen’s color receded as rapidly as it had come.
“I”—Gretchen caught her breath sharply—“it is this house; it make me nervous.” Tears hung on her eyelashes and she brushed them away. She edged closer to the French maid, who was eyeing her in real concern. “Did you go with madame to the funeral?”
“But, yes.” Susanne’s kindly expression altered to one of deep seriousness. “The services were of the most simple at the chapel, but at the grave were many strangers and they crowded about until some one in authority ordered them back. Mademoiselle Anne was greatly upset and Madame Meredith very angry.”
“Have they returned?” questioned Gretchen timidly.
“Oui. Here comes madame now,” as Mrs. Meredith’s voice was heard on the staircase. With an alarmed look behind her, Gretchen darted past Susanne and down the corridor toward the back stairs. The French maid regarded the flying figure thoughtfully for a second, then advanced in time to meet Mrs. Meredith at the head of the circular staircase.
“Shall I pack madame’s trunks?” she asked as the older woman paused to take breath after her rapid climb upstairs.
“No; Mr. Hollister wishes us to remain here for several days longer,” replied Mrs. Meredith. “Have you seen Miss Anne?”
“Oui, madame; she has gone to her room.” Susanne followed her mistress down the corridor. “Doctor McLane just telephoned, madame, that he call soon to see Mademoiselle Anne.”