"How did you leave your mother?" asked Celeste, and her eyes swept him from head to foot. It was plain to the servant that her questions were merely perfunctory.
"Very well, thank you, madam. It is very kind of you to ask."
"I am glad to hear it, Michael." Celeste faced him more directly now. "I was afraid she was worse, for you know you were gone longer than usual."
"A few days longer, madam," Michael said. "I had no idea of being detained, but I actually ran across a trace of Mr. Charles, and, knowing your anxiety, I—"
"You have found him—you have seen him!" Celeste interrupted. "I know it from the way you look, Michael."
"Yes, madam, I found him. After some trouble and quite a journey I located him and managed to meet and talk with him."
"Sit down, Michael, sit down; you are tired."
He drew a chair back from the table and sat in it, his travel-stained hat on his knee.
"Now tell me about him. Is he well?"
"A perfect picture of health, madam," Michael beamed. "He is living on an old plantation down in the mountains of Georgia, working like a common laborer, but he seemed satisfied."