"Monsieur Artois, madame."
"Emile!" cried Hermione, getting up out of her chair with a sort of eager slowness. "Where is he?"
"He is here!" said a loud voice, also speaking French.
Selim stood gracefully aside, and a big man stepped into the room and took the two hands which Hermione stretched out in his.
"Don't let any one else in, Selim," said Hermione to the boy.
"Especially the little Townly," said Artois, menacingly.
"Hush, Emile! Not even Miss Townly if she calls, Selim."
Selim smiled with grave intelligence at the big man, said, "I understand, madame," and glided out.
"Why, in Heaven's name, have you—you, pilgrim of the Orient—insulted the East by putting Selim into a coat with buttons and cloth trousers?" exclaimed Artois, still holding Hermione's hands.
"It's an outrage, I know. But I had to. He was stared at and followed, and he actually minded it. As soon as I found out that, I trampled on all my artistic prejudices, and behold him—horrible but happy! Thank you for coming—thank you."