“Yes, indeed. She has had supper and gone to bed. And strange to say,” she continued reflectively, “although for the last twenty-five years I have been trying to cure myself of impulsiveness as one of my besetting sins, and was just thinking as I drove home to-night that at last I had quite succeeded, yet now I cannot help loving her at sight, as much,” she added softly, “as if she were my own sister.” “That is fortunate for her,” replied he. “She appears so destitute.” “And I don’t doubt fortunate for me. It is not often one receives a traveller from the forest.” “You have ascertained, then, that she really came from there?” “Of course! I ascertained it by attending simply to her voice and manner. One needs no other guarantees.” “Well, I can but hope your friendship stands the test of time. For myself, I can only say, as usual, I think you showed true discernment in admitting her to shelter for the night, though at first, to speak truthfully, I must admit your conduct greatly astonished me. What is her name?” “Rosalie Paleaf.” CHAPTER XXII A NEW LEASE OF LIFE When Rosalie awoke next morning, it was in a comfortable modern bedroom, furnished with regard to health, and a conception of beauty thrown in. For the first time truly in her life and experience she awoke with a light heart, and such unusual brightness of spirits that she seemed at last, for the time at least, to have realised the pleasure and joy of simply being alive. The tired sickness of the night before had entirely vanished. The sky overhead was blue and bright, the air cold. Nothing could have been more promising for a new entry into an old world. Brightcoat, who had spent the night on the marble washing-stand, now took recreation in the basin of water Rosalie poured for him, whilst she, being less cold-blooded, as it were, was nothing loath to accept the warm water that was brought for her. But this part of the day’s programme being finished, Rosalie turned disconsolately to her dress. “It’s so shabby and short,” said she. “Well, look amongst your luggage,” said Brightcoat, who was engaged in jumping for further recreation over all the articles on the washstand. “My luggage,” said she, looking towards the little hand-bag. “It can’t be in there.” “No harm in looking,” said the frog, and jumped clean over the water-jug, and then sat as still as if jumping were the last thing it would ever think of doing. Rosalie laughed, and then opened the bag and looked. There was packed into that little leather hand-bag everything to make a perfect though not extravagant outfit. A coat and skirt that no fashionable tailor would be ashamed to turn out, a pretty, simple dress for household wear, the evening dress which she had worn the other night, slippers, gloves, and all accessories. Last but not least, there was a little box of jewellery in perfect taste and finish.