I'm afraid Mrs. Antoine is scandalised at the inhospitable rigours she supposes me to be applying to my guests. My order to Antoine this morning not to light the fire will have increased her growing suspicion that I am developing into a cheese-paring Madame. She must have expressed her fears to Antoine; for the other day, when I told her to leave the sugar and lemons out of the lemonade and send in only the water, she looked at him, and as I went away I heard her saying to him in a low voice--he no doubt having told her I usedn't to be like this, and she being unable to think of any other explanation--'_C'est la guerre_.' About eleven, having done little good by my presence in the hall whose cheerlessness wrung from me a thoughtless exclamation that I wished I smoked a pipe, upon which Dolly instantly said, 'Wouldn't it be a comfort,' and Mrs. Barnes said, 'Dolly,' I went away to the kitchen, pretending I wanted to ask what there was for dinner but really so as to be for a few moments where there was a fire. Mrs. Antoine watched me warming myself with respectful disapproval. '_Madame devrait faire faire un peu de feu dans la halle_,' she said. '_Ces dames auront bien froid_.' '_Ces dames_ won't let me,' I tried to explain in the most passionate French I could think of. '_Ces dames_ implore me not to have a fire. _Ces dames_ reject a fire. _Ces dames_ defend themselves against a fire. I perish because of the resolve of _ces dames_ not to have a fire.' But Mrs. Antoine plainly didn't believe me. She thought, I could see, that I was practising a repulsive parsimony on defenceless guests. It was the sorrows of the war, she concluded, that had changed Madame's nature. This was the kindest, the only possible, explanation. _Evening._ There was a knock at my door just then. I thought it must be Mrs. Antoine come to ask me some domestic question, and said _Entrez,_ and it was Mrs. Barnes. She has not before this penetrated into my bedroom. I hope I didn't look too much surprised. I think there could hardly have been a gap of more than a second between my surprise and my recovered hospitality. 'Oh--_do_ come in,' I said. 'How nice of you.' Thus do the civilised clothe their real sensations in splendid robes of courtesy. 'Dolly and I haven't driven you away from the hall, I hope?' began Mrs. Barnes in a worried voice. 'I only came up here for a minute,' I explained, 'and was coming down again directly.' 'Oh, that relieves me. I was afraid perhaps--' 'I wish you wouldn't so often be afraid you're driving me away,' I said pleasantly. 'Do I look driven?' But Mrs. Barnes took no notice of my pleasantness. She had something on her mind. She looked like somebody who is reluctant and yet impelled. 'I think,' she said solemnly, 'that if you have a moment to spare it might be a good opportunity for a little talk. I would like to talk with you a little.' And she stood regarding me, her eyes full of reluctant but unconquerable conscientiousness.