Haverleigh there as interpreter, she thought; and there began to grow in her a sense of nearness to her husband, a feeling of dependence upon and protection in him such as she had not experienced before. ‘I believe I could love him after all; anyway, I mean to try, and will begin to-night,’ she thought, just as there came a knock upon the door, and in answer to her ‘_Entrez_,’ the one French word besides oui which she knew, a smart-looking young woman entered, followed by a man, who was bringing in her trunks. “With a low courtesy, the girl managed to make Anna understand that her name was Celine, and that she was to be her waiting-maid, and had come to dress her for dinner. “‘_Voyez les clefs_,’ she said, holding up the keys which her master had given her, one of which she proceeded to fit to a certain trunk, as if she knew its contents, and that it contained what she wanted. “Anna had not before had the luxury of a maid, but she accepted it naturally as she did everything else, and gave herself at once into the deft hands of Celine, who brushed and arranged her beautiful hair with many expressions of delight, not one of which Anna understood. But she knew she was being complimented, and when her toilet was completed, and she saw herself in one of the long mirrors arrayed in a soft, light gray silk, with trimmings of blue and lace, with flowers in her hair, and pearls on her arms and neck, she felt that Celine’s praises were just, and laughed back at the vision of her own loveliness. “‘Oh, if the folks at home could see me now they would say it paid,’ she thought, as she walked up and down the apartment, trailing her silken robe after her, and catching frequent flashes of her beauty in the mirrors as she passed. “And still there was a little of the old homesickness left, a yearning for companionship, for somebody to see her, somebody to talk to, and then she remembered her resolution to try to love her husband, and she said again: ‘I’ll do it, and I’ll begin to-night.’ “But where was he that he left her thus alone, walking up and down, until, too tired to walk longer, she seated herself upon a satin couch to await his coming, little dreaming as she sat there of the scene which had taken place between him and Madame Verwest, who had invited him to her own room, and then turning fiercely upon him, demanded: ‘Tell me, is she your wife, or another Agatha, brought here to beat her wings against her prison bars until death gives her release? She is too young for that, too beautiful, too innocent, with those childish eyes of blue. Tell me you mean well by her, or——’