“Oh, there’s no need to bother about it. I’ll see after it myself,” said Germaine. “But upon my word, you might be one of our guests, seeing how easily you take things. You’re negligence personified.” “Come, Germaine ... a mere oversight,” said the Duke, in a coaxing tone. “Now, excuse me, Jacques; but you’ve got an unfortunate habit of interfering in household matters. You did it only the other day. I can no longer say a word to a servant—” “Germaine!” said the Duke, in sharp protest. Germaine turned from him to Sonia, and pointed to a packet of envelopes and some letters, which Bernard Charolais had knocked off the table, and said, “Pick up those envelopes and letters, and bring everything to my room, and be quick about it!” She flung out of the room, and slammed the door behind her. Sonia seemed entirely unmoved by the outburst: no flush of mortification stained her cheeks, her lips did not quiver. She stooped to pick up the fallen papers. “No, no; let me, I beg you,” said the Duke, in a tone of distress. And dropping on one knee, he began to gather together the fallen papers. He set them on the table, and then he said: “You mustn’t mind what Germaine says. She’s—she’s—she’s all right at heart. It’s her manner. She’s always been happy, and had everything she wanted. She’s been spoiled, don’t you know. Those kind of people never have any consideration for any one else. You mustn’t let her outburst hurt you.” “Oh, but I don’t. I don’t really,” protested Sonia. “I’m glad of that,” said the Duke. “It isn’t really worth noticing.” He drew the envelopes and unused cards into a packet, and handed them to her. “There!” he said, with a smile. “That won’t be too heavy for you.” “Thank you,” said Sonia, taking it from him. “Shall I carry them for you?” said the Duke. “No, thank you, your Grace,” said Sonia. With a quick, careless, almost irresponsible movement, he caught her hand, bent down, and kissed it. A great wave of rosy colour flowed over her face, flooding its whiteness to her hair and throat. She stood for a moment turned to stone; she put her hand to her heart. Then on hasty, faltering feet she went to the door, opened it, paused on the threshold, turned and looked back at him, and vanished. CHAPTER V A LETTER FROM LUPIN