The salon was to be dusted carefully, and the china in the corridor; flowers could be gathered from the garden. Fanchette was to be interviewed; and if anything were wanted from the village, would she see to it? Also, would she get the salads and vegetables from the garden? Louis or Gaston would accompany her, but they were not to be trusted to do it alone. Would she do a little gardening round the house? There were seeds to be sown, and weeding to be done. It was too much for Jacques, as he was cutting the grass in the big meadow for the cows. Would she return to the house before eleven to assist Madame in the last stages of her toilet. Déjeuner was at half-past eleven. Adrienne saw that her morning would be fully occupied, but she went off cheerfully at once to her duties, and very soon Madame heard her singing in the gardens. At eleven o'clock she was back in Madame's room, helping her arrange her hair, and tidying up generally. And while she was so employed, she was hearing for the twentieth time an account of all Madame's illnesses since her husband's death. The one person who was sincerely appreciated by her aunt was her doctor, Monsieur Caillot. He came to see her pretty frequently. Monsieur Bouverie was mentioned with bated breath. "If he comes here, my dear, you must be very, very polite and pleasant. He is a little man, but he is a great power here; his wife is my abomination, but I dare not quarrel with her. I will tell you all my troubles one day. I feel sometimes like a tangled ball of silk—impossible, quite impossible to be disentangled and unknotted! Monsieur pulls here and there, but for a little smooth bit, there appears more knots and tangles to come. Ah! It's a weary world for a forlorn and lonely woman!" "I should think," said Adrienne tentatively, "that Cousin Guy is a very good one for disentangling tangles." Madame threw up her hands: "Ah! No! He is an American, hard and keen and implacable! Everything with him is black or white. No mellowing greys, no misty uncertainties. He terrifies me; though I am his stepmother, I am afraid of him. He bends everyone to his will. He is a mass of steel and iron, and does not possess a heart." "Oh, Aunt Cecily, think of his music! A man with such music at his fingers' end must possess feeling!" "Tut! Tut! Music is an accomplishment. He is clever. He takes after his father in that. My dear Philippe—ah!" Out came the scented handkerchief; tears began to fall. Then Adrienne listened to a long account of her Uncle Philippe's perfections. She was relieved when the bell sounded for déjeuner. It was a long meal, but her aunt talked incessantly, and Adrienne vainly tried to get her away from herself. After it was over, Adrienne accompanied her back to her room, made her comfortable for her afternoon siesta, and was given a quantity of old lace to mend. "We have tea at four, and then we will walk for a little in the garden or wood."