Wise Cora had seen the propriety of giving to this unwelcome sister-in-law with the heavy purse, apartments of the best in the newly fitted-up portion of the mansion. "I want you to be _especially_ careful with my hair and complexion," Miss Arthur continued. "Yes, mademoiselle," demurely. Then, as if the information might bear upon the question of the toilet, "Does mademoiselle know that Monsieur Davlin left an hour ago?" "Certainly, Celine, but I expect a visitor. He may arrive at any time to-day, and you must do your very best with my toilet." "Mademoiselle _est charmante_; slight need of Celine's poor aid," cooed the little hypocrite, and the toilet proceeded. At length, the resources of art having been exhausted, Miss Arthur stood up, and approved of Celine's handiwork. "I really do look nicely, Celine; you have done well, very. Now go send me a pot of chocolate and a bit of toast." "Yes, mademoiselle." "And a bit of chicken, or a bird's wing." "Oui." "And a French roll, Celine, with perhaps an omelette." "Pardonne, mademoiselle, but might I suggest we must not forget this," touching Miss Arthur's tightly laced waist. "True, Celine, quite right; the toast, then. And, Celine, remain down-stairs and when Mr. Percy comes," (her maid visibly started at the name) "show him into the little parlor, and tell him I am somewhere in the grounds--you understand? Then come and let me know. I prefer to have him fancy me surprised, you see," smiling playfully. "I see; mademoiselle has _such_ tact," and the French maid disappeared. "Mr. Percy?" muttered the French maid, in very English accents; "I will certainly look for your coming, Mr. Percy. Can it be that I am to meet you at last?" Mrs. John Arthur was restless that morning. She fidgeted about after the departure of her brother; tried to play the agreeable to her husband, but finding this a difficult task, left him to his cigar and his morning paper, in the solitude of his sanctum, and seizing her crimson shawl, started out for a turn upon the terrace. The "little parlor," as it was called, commanded a view of one end of the terrace walk, but no portion of it was visible from the immediate front of Oakley mansion, the terrace running across the grounds in the rear of the dwelling, and being shut off from the front by a thicket of flowering shrubs and trees. The hall facing the front entrance to Oakley was deserted now, save for the figure of Celine Leroque, who was ensconsed in one of the windows thereof. She had been watching there for more than an hour, and Cora had promenaded the terrace half that time, when a gentleman approached the mansion from the front gate-way. Celine's eyes were riveted upon the coming figure, as it appeared and disappeared among the trees and shrubbery along the winding walk. At length he emerged into open space and approached nearer.