“Bonjour, Mademoiselle!“ he exclaimed, bowing respectfully. “I came to inquire for the health of Madame.” His voice carried to Mrs. Nash’s sharp ears and she sat up in bed.
“Admit Pierre, Betty,” she directed. “I wish to speak to him.” At her imperious tone her niece opened the door still further and Pierre stepped inside. With a quick click of his heels, he bowed from the hips, his hands crossed before him, and then advanced.
“Madame is better!” And his respectful tone held a note of genuine relief. Mrs. Nash was a kind mistress and her servants were devoted to her. “Ah, Madame, I have been anxious—yes.”
“Thanks, Pierre.” Mrs. Nash was touched. She had, with Betty’s aid, slipped on a becoming dressing sacque, one of the articles brought from Washington by her husband the evening before, and her boudoir cap was attractively arranged. “Have you heard from Somers?”
“Yes, Madame. Doctor Nash directed her to take the afternoon train for Upper Marlboro, and I will be there to meet her,” explained the chauffeur. He turned to Betty. “Your bag, Mademoiselle, came by express just now and Corbin has placed it in your room.”
Mrs. Nash understood Betty’s quickly checked motion toward the hall.
“Run along, Betty, and see to your bag,” she said, good-naturedly. “I don’t need you in here every minute, and will ring the bell if I require anything,” touching the brass ornament which Martha had resurrected from a china cabinet for her use. “Well, Pierre, have you followed instructions?” she added in a lower key, as Betty vanished out of sight.
Pierre carefully closed the hall door and then came over to the bed, and placed a small paper in Mrs. Nash’s outstretched hand. Silently she read the few lines of familiar writing before addressing the expectant servant.
“Where did you find this?” she asked.
Pierre’s smile was illuminating. “Corbin has his price,” he admitted. “What next, Madame?”