“Oh! _what_ is this?” interrupted her mistress in a strange voice, snatching up a telegram that lay upon a table, its tan-coloured envelope as yet intact, and which had hitherto been concealed by a silver-backed hand-glass, as if it were of no importance. “Oh, I forgot! I fell asleep, you see. It came for you at eleven o’clock last night, just as the company were arriving, and I could not disturb you. I hope it is of no consequence.” But, evidently, it was of great consequence, for the young lady was reading it with a drawn, ghastly countenance, and her hand holding the message shook so much that the paper rattled as if in a breeze of wind. And this is what she was reading with strained eyes. “Mrs. Holt to Miss West, 9.30.--Come immediately; there is a change.” And this was sent eight hours ago. “Josephine,” she said, with a look that appalled the little Frenchwoman, “why did you not give me this? It is a matter of life and death. If--if,” with a queer catch in her breath, “I am too late, I shall never, never, never forgive you! Here”--with a gesture of frenzy, tearing off her dress--“take away this rag and these hateful things,” dragging the tiara out of her hair and flinging it passionately on the floor, “for which I have sold myself. Get me a common gown, woman. Quick, quick! and don’t stand looking like a fool!” Josephine had indeed been looking on as if she was petrified, and asking herself if her mistress had not suddenly gone stark-staring mad? Mechanically she picked up the despised ball-dress and brought out a morning cotton, which Madeline wrested from her hands and flung over her head, saying-- “Send for a hansom--fly--fly!” And thus exhorted and catching a spark of the other’s excitement, she ran out of the room and hurriedly dispatched a heavy-eyed and amazed footman for the cab, with many lively and impressive gesticulations. When she returned she found that Madeline had already fastened her dress, flung on a cape and the first hat she could find, and, with a purse in one hand and her gloves in another, was actually ready. So was the hansom, for one had been found outside, still lingering and hoping for a fare. Madeline did not delay a second. She ran downstairs between the fading lights, the tropical palms, the withering flowers, which had had their one little day, and it was over. Down she fled along the red-cloth carpetings, under the gay awnings, and sprang into the vehicle. Josephine, who hurried after her, was just in time to see her dash from the door. “Grand ciel!” she ejaculated to two amazed men-servants, who now stood beside her, looking very limp in the bright summer morning. “Did any one ever see the like of that? She has gone away in her white satin ball-slippers.” “What’s up? What’s the matter?” demanded one of her companions authoritatively. “What’s the meaning of Miss West running out of the house as if she was going for a fire-engine or the police? Is she mad?”