Colonel Carlyle stood silently watching her for a little while, marveling at her beauty even while he felt angry with her for the uncontrollable emotion that had touched her fairness with the penciling of grief. Then, with a deep yet unconscious sigh, he kissed her several times and went softly away. It was noon when she started up from her restless slumbers, pushing off the silken coverlet that had been carefully spread over her. She sat up, pressing her hand upon her aching temples, and looked about the room with dazed, half-open eyes. For the moment she had forgotten her trouble of the previous night, and fully expected to see her faithful Lucy Moore keeping her patient vigil by the couch of her weary mistress. But memory returned all too swiftly. The kind, loving face of Lucy did not beam its welcome upon her as of old. Instead, the cold, hard face of a smartly-dressed, elderly Frenchwoman looked curiously at her as the owner rose and courtesied. "I am the new maid, madam," she explained. "I hope madam feels better." Bonnibel stared at her in bewilderment. "Where is Lucy? I want Lucy," she said almost appealingly. "Madam, I knows nothing of Lucy," she answered. "_Monsieur le colonel_, the husband of madam, engage me to attend upon madam. I will remove your ball dress, _s'il vous plait_." With those words the whole bitter truth rushed over Bonnibel's mind. A low, repressed cry, and she fell back on the sofa, again hiding her convulsed face in her hands. "Madam, you make yourself more sick by dis emotion," said the new maid in her broken English. "Allow me to bring you someding to break your fast--some chocolate, a roll, a bit of broiled bird." "I want nothing," Bonnibel answered, bitterly at first, but the next moment she sat up and struggled to regain her composure. "What is your name, my good woman?" she inquired. "Dolores, madam, at your service," said the maid, with one of her low courtesies, "Dolores Dupont." Bonnibel rose and moved slowly toward her dressing-room. "Dolores," she said, "you may come and remove this robe. I was very tired last night, and my maid having left me, I fell asleep in my ball costume." Dolores deftly removed the crushed and ruined robe, and substituted a dressing-gown, while she brushed and arranged the beautiful golden hair that was straying on her shoulders in wild disorder. "It is the most beautiful hair in de world," she said. "Dere are many ladies would give a fortune to have it on deir own heads." But Bonnibel did not heed the praise. She had no thought or care for her beauty now. She only said, listlessly: "Never mind removing the dressing-gown, Dolores, I will lie down again. I am very tired." "I shall bathe your head with the _eau de cologne_--shall I?" the maid inquired. "No, no, only let me rest." "You will breakfast, at least, madam?" the woman persisted. "Not now, Dolores. I wish for nothing but rest," she said, as she passed into her boudoir and lay down again upon the sofa.