“Madame la Princesse, as you know, has been greatly upset by reports from below there,” and she nodded in the direction of the village, “about some contagious illness or other. She needs quiet and the best of care. This morning’s incident was--er--regrettable, but happily no harm was done, excepting to Fidèlka’s silly pate--an accident he richly deserved. Moreover, he’ll get over that in a day or two. Let me, however, warn you, Célèste, that, devoted as you are to your mistress, you must see how wrong it would be of you to get her into any more scrapes. You conducted yourself very well a while ago. You are brave. I like that.” “It is Madame la Duchesse who is brave!” burst forth Célèste, who had been quite carried away by Tatiana’s masterly _entrée-en-scène_. “Brave as a lion! It was magnificent to witness Madame la Duchesse’s boxing of their ears!” Tatiana laughed her spontaneous laugh, willingly overlooking the girl’s lack of deportment. She could see that she too was over-excited, which really was not surprising. “I’m glad you liked it!” she said, simply. “_They_ probably didn’t! And for the present please abandon your warlike propensities. Everybody is going to behave here now, and in a few days the Prince will be back. Meanwhile take the greatest possible care of your mistress. You can go!” she added, and the gesture with which she dismissed her made Célèste mutter as she went: “Bravo! there’s one who has no cold in her eyes! _Sapristi!_ She’s the genuine article, this Duchess, with her boyish ways and her big, laughing eyes. One might love this one _pour-tout-de-bon_!” “You are making yourself at home!” sneered Laurence as soon as the door had closed again. “That’s precisely what I came for!” replied Tatiana. “And so should you--if I may continue to advise--seeing that this is your own hearth and fireside, after being mine for fifteen years--the age at which I had the luck to marry my dear _Jean-sans-peur_.” “It’s a long time ago?” Tatiana got to her feet without any haste. “So it is,” she admitted. “Our first-born is twenty already, which makes me exactly thirty-seven. A ripening time; but what matters? We Palitzins are said to improve with years, like good wine; which is a mercy, my temper not being always of the sweetest! I trust I have controlled it satisfactorily during this charming hour, my dear, but if perchance I did hurt your feelings I am heartily sorry for it. Lie down now and go to sleep for a few hours; it will refresh you immensely; and trust me to attend to everything needful.” With which valediction she left the room, before Laurence had a chance to recommence hostilities. CHAPTER XIV Your secret thought, or foul or fair, Thrills in the currents of the air, And oft may breathe in careless play From lips unwitting what they say.