The bedroom of my Aunt Lidivine now served as a lumber-room. One would have said it was the wardrobe of a lady of fortune. Several wicker lay-figures covered with extremely elegant toilettes, formed a crowd of armless and headless coquettes. The mantelpiece and tables were like a dressmaker’s show-cases, where feathers and ribbons go to make up those tiny or huge contraptions, which only become pretty hats once they are on the head. A battalion of dress shoes were fitted on their trees, and a thousand feminine trifles were heaped up everywhere, in the midst of a delicate and suggestive aroma, which was the one Emma loved. Poor dear Aunt! I should have preferred your room to have been still further profaned, and that Mlle. Bourdichet had made _it_ hers, rather than to hear laughter in the next one--that of your husband; for this left one no illusions. On my appearance, Emma and Barbe seemed stupefied. The girl immediately understood, and began to laugh. She was lunching in bed, and with a turn of the wrist, she twisted her flaming Bacchante hair into a knot. I saw the outline of her arm through the sleeve, and she did not think of closing her nightdress. A table covered with bottles and brushes had been pushed against the bed. Barbe, who was serving her mistress, cut huge slices out of a ham. My first thought was that Barbe would be much in my way. * * * * * “And what about Lerne?” said Emma. I reassured her. He would only come back at 5 o’clock. I guaranteed that. She gave that little cheerful cluck, which is the sob of joy. Barbe, who was obviously devoted to her, got so uproariously delighted that her whole person took part in the festival. It was half past twelve. We had four hours before us. I suggested that that was rather short, but “Let us have lunch, will you, dearie?” said she. I had nothing better to do for the moment, because of Barbe, and I sat down face to face with her. * * * * * CHAPTER VII THUS SPAKE MLLE. BOURDICHET “Well, my dear,” she said, “now that we have got as far as that, it is no use trying not to begin again, but I entreat you, no imprudences--safety first! Lerne, you know, Lerne! Ah, you don’t know what dangers there are for you--you above all--you especially!” I saw that she was brooding over the memory of tragic scenes. “But what _are_ the dangers?” “That is just the worst of it, I do not know. I do not understand anything that is happening around. Anything! Anything! Except that Donovan Macbeth went mad because I loved him,--and I love you, too.” “Come, Emma, let us be cool. We are allies now. Between us we shall find out the truth. When did you come to Fonval, and what has happened since?”