This, too, was a bright, cheery, prettily-furnished room, and Floy was not sorry to be left alone in it for the next hour. Quietness and solitude had become rare luxuries in the busy, crowded life of the homeless young orphan. How quiet the house was! were there no children in it? No, surely only a childless woman could be so foolishly fond of an animal as this Madame evidently was. CHAPTER XXI. GHOSTS OF THE PAST. “Oh, it comes o’er my memory As doth the raven o’er the infected house.” SHAKESPEARE, _Othello_. No wonder Floy found the house so quiet. Madame’s dressing-room, adjoining the one where she sat, was tenantless, the lady herself sleeping soundly in the bedroom beyond, Frisky curled up by her side, and Mary dozing on a sofa near by, while Kathleen had locked up her kitchen and gone out upon some household errand. As the clock on the mantel struck ten Madame awoke. “Mary!” she called plaintively, “Mary, why did you let me sleep so long?” “Because if I had not you would have reproved me for waking you,” returned the maid, shaking off her drowsiness and assuming a sitting posture upon the sofa. “Mary, you are impolite, not to say unkind and disrespectful, to answer me so,” whimpered the mistress, applying a handkerchief to her eyes. “You don’t appreciate all I do for you. It isn’t every girl that can live in the luxury you do--fed and clothed like a lady--and lay by her five or six dollars every week too.” “That’s true enough, Madame; but I’m sure I earn it all, and you know as well as I that you couldn’t get anybody else to serve you as much to your liking for twice the money. What will you be pleased to have for your breakfast?” “Nothing,” returned Madame, sobbing behind her handkerchief. “How will you have it prepared?” asked Mary with unmoved gravity. Madame burst into a laugh. “I’ll have a broiled sweet-bread, hot buttered muffins, coffee, and marmalade.” “Shall I prepare it?” “No, ring for Kathleen.” Mary touched the bell. “What gown will Madame be pleased to wear?” she asked, bringing a basin of water and a towel to the bedside. “That blue silk wrapper. Has Mrs. Sharp come?” “No, but she has sent a young girl to work for you. I left her in the sewing-room making your skirts.” “The top o’ the mornin’ to yees, Madame!” cried Kathleen, coming in fresh and rosy from her walk. “I hope ye’re aisy, an’ feel like atin’ a big breakfast. Ye breathe aisier nor ye do sometimes.” Madame was seized at that moment with a wheezing asthmatic cough. “I had a bad night,” she said pantingly, “and have no breath to spare. Tell her what to get me, Mary.”