So, mounting the stone steps, she found the left-hand door on the third floor, and rang the bell.
The door opened, and the good-looking young French girl, who had been her maid for six months at Brighton, confronted her.
"Well, Céline!" exclaimed Ena merrily in French. "You didn't expect to see me—did you?"
The girl stood aghast and open-mouthed.
"Dieu! Madame!" she gasped. "I—I certainly did not!"
"Well, I chanced to be passing through Melun, and I thought I would call upon you."
The girl stood in the doorway, apparently disinclined to invite her late mistress into the small flat which she and her mother, the widow of the local postmaster, occupied.
"I wrote to you, Madame, two months ago—but you never replied!"
"I have never had any letter from you, Céline," Ena declared. "But may I not come in for a moment to have a chat with you? Ah! but perhaps you have visitors?"
"No, Madame," was her reply; "I am alone. My mother went to my aunt's, at Provins, this morning."