Marie Josephine lay very still, the wooden-faced doll beside her. She heard a clock strike ten and then eleven, and after waiting a few moments, jumped lightly out of bed, and going over to the door, bolted it. Then, aided only by the moonlight streaming in through the wide casement near her bed, she went over to a cupboard and, standing on a chair, reached back as far as she could and lifted out a box. She jumped down and went over to the bed with the box and opened it. She drew out a shabby, rather soiled, black calico apron. She began to dress herself rapidly, discarding her lace-trimmed petticoat and putting on plain garments such as a peasant child would wear. Over them she put the black, smocklike apron. She went over to the dressing table, and opening a drawer, fished about until she found a pair of scissors. Then she began to clip her hair. It fell in soft, warm waves on to her shoulders and thence to the floor. When she had finished, she looked into the glass and by the light of the moon was able to see herself plainly. She saw a pale little girl with big, black eyes, whose ragged, unkempt-looking black locks flapped about her face! She smiled into the glass and the forlorn, black-clad figure smiled back at her. Then she put on a warm, worn jacket with a torn sleeve, tucked a black handkerchief about her neck and tossed back her uneven wisps of black hair. She took a bundle from the box on the bed and, after one glance about the room, unbolted the door and went out, closing it softly behind her. She crept along the hall until she came to Madame Le Pont’s room. She stopped by the closed door and wrapped a note about the knob. After waiting a moment and listening, she went back to her own door. There was a whine and a scratch on the other side. It was Flambeau, who had slept soundly while she was dressing, but who had awakened and missed her. “Listen, Flambeau,” she breathed through the keyhole. “I’d love to take you with me, doggie, but I’m going where you couldn’t go. I want you and Jean to go along more than, more than——” Her voice trailed into a soft sob. This would never do. She turned away and ran silently and swiftly through the great house, unlocked a small door leading on to a little balcony over the rose garden, and jumped lightly down a distance of a few feet on to the soft new grass of the east terrace.