“Oh, don’t be foolish! I’m only joking!” she prudently remarked, retreating from an untenable position with as much grace as she could muster. “See, it’s getting late already,” and she pointed to a little traveling-clock on the jewel-table that was nervously hurrying over the minute marks. “Why don’t you go and try at once, _ma petite_?” Somewhat mollified, Célèste smoothed her eyebrows with a delicate touch. “Eight o’clock,” she consented, “and Madame la Princesse has had nothing to eat since tea; also Madame la Princesse looks frightful in that bedraggled tea-gown.” “Never mind the gown. Tell me, Célèste, can you slip out to the stables? The men must just have had their supper. You’d find that Fidèlka, perhaps!” The girl did not move. She had a habit of instantly repaying any small roughness meted out to her by the lady she served without love. She rather fancied seeing her on a silver gridiron, and the clock was still racing to the accompaniment of a wee musical tick, very enervating to hear. Laurence was beaten! She would not beg, she could not order after the recent laxity of her talk, and quickly she unfastened a circlet of large turquoises from her slender wrist. “Catch!” she cried, with assumed gaiety, tossing the trinket to the girl. Dexterously Célèste caught it in mid-air, and looked at it thoughtfully. “Madame la Princesse is going to undress?” she asked, demurely. “Why--no! It’s for you!” responded the inwardly boiling Laurence. “A bribe!” Célèste’s voice was flute-like. “Madame la Princesse is too good. I do not deserve it!” “But you do, Célèste--I mean a small present--since you’re going to help me, you and your handsome admirer. No, don’t put it away; keep it. I’m sure it will look well on your arm.” “So do I, Madame la Princesse,” Célèste admitted, carelessly dropping the jewel in the transparent pocket of her absurd lace apronlet. “If Madame la Princesse insists, I must naturally accept it. And now I will try to sneak out with a shawl over my head like the peasant women here; but it’s only to please Madame la Princesse, because that Fidèlka may not be alone, and, of course, I can’t compromise myself before the other men.” “Here, put on my hooded fur cloak!” Laurence exclaimed, rising as though to fetch it herself--she was apparently willing to drain the cup to its bitterest dregs. “_Madame n’y pense pas!_” remonstrated Célèste. “I’ll be back in a moment, and Madame la Princesse must lock the door behind me, for fear the second or third or fourth maid should happen round. _En voilà des arias!_” she concluded, with a funny twist of the shoulders as she left the room.