Leaving the train, the girl took the path through the woods. When she had traversed it half way, she came upon old Hagar, who was seated upon a fallen log awaiting her. Looking cautiously about, to assure herself that the interview would have no spectators, Madeline, or Celine, as we must now call her, seated herself to listen to the report of Davlin's visit, and the success of Hagar's interview with Cora. Expressing herself fully satisfied with what she heard, Celine made the old woman acquainted with the result of her visit to the city, or as much of it as was necessary and expedient. Then, after some words of mutual council, and a promise to visit her that evening, if possible, the girl lost no time in making her way to the manor, and straight into the presence of her mistress. Considering that her maid was--her maid, Miss Arthur welcomed her with an almost rapturous outburst. Celine had held high place in the affections of Miss Arthur, truth to tell, since her astonishing discovery of Mr. Edward Percy, in the character of young Romeo, promenading within sight of his lady's window. "Celine," simpered Miss Arthur, while the damsel addressed was brushing out her mistress's hair, preparatory to building it into a French wonder; "Celine, I may be wrong in talking so freely to you about myself and my--my friends, but I observe that you never presume in the least--" "Oh, mademoiselle, I could never do that!" cooed the girl, with wicked double meaning. "And," pursued Miss Arthur, graciously, "you are really quite a sagacious and discreet young person." "Thanks, miladi." Then, as if recollecting herself, "Pardon, _mademoiselle_, but you are so like her ladyship, _Madame Le Baronne De Orun_, my very first mistress--" "Oh, I don't mind it at all, Celine. As I was saying, you seem quite a superior young person, and no doubt I am not the first who has made you a sort of _confidante_. "Merci! no; my lady. _Madame Le Baronne_ used to trust me with _everything_, and often deigned to ask my advice. But French ladies, oui, mademoiselle, always put confidence in their maids. And a maid will die rather than betray a good mistress--" "Exactly, Celine--are you going to put my hair so high?" "Very high, _miladi_." "Oh, well; will it be becoming?" "Oui; La mode la Francaise," relapsing into ecstacy and French. _"Le coiffeur comme il faut! Chere amie, le-chef-a-oeuvre!_" Miss Arthur collapsed, and Celine continued to build up an atrociously unbecoming pile of puffs and curls in triumphant silence. Celine never indulged in her native tongue, so she assured her mistress, except when carried away by momentary enthusiasm, or unwonted emotion. It was bad taste, she averred, and she desired to cultivate the beautiful American language. Presently Miss Arthur made another venture, feeling quite justified in following in the footsteps of so august a personage as _Madame Le Baronne_. "Did you see Mr. Percy after you left Bellair?" "No, mademoiselle."