She woke in the dull gray light of the winter morning and sprang up instantly, half trembling with affright at thought of the lateness of the hour. At Mrs. Sharp’s, breakfast was long since over. To-morrow was Christmas, and, though not expecting either to go out or to receive company at home, the Madame must have her new dress to wear on that occasion. But no one found fault with Floy; the buxom Kathleen had an excellent breakfast ready for her, and greeting her cheerily with “The top o’ the mornin’ to ye, miss,” waited upon her with a smiling face. She took her meal alone, as on the previous day, and had the cosey work-room to herself for a couple of hours; then the Madame waddled in, wheezing and groaning, dropped into a chair, and told a pitiful tale of her wearisome night and Mary’s crossness, weeping and sighing as she talked. Floy pitied and tried to console her, but fortunately found it necessary to say but little, as the lady talked on with scarcely a pause except for breath, and presently fell to petting and caressing her lap-dog, then to examining the dress, commenting with much satisfaction upon its beauty and probable becomingness, querying whether it could be finished that day, and consulting Floy about the style of trimming. Floy advised a deep, heavy silk fringe to match in color, or of a little darker shade. The Madame caught at the idea, and Mary, coming in at that moment, was sent to order the carriage that she might go at once and select it herself. Frisky pricked up his ears, gave a short, joyous bark, ran to the window overlooking the side entrance, and jumped upon a chair whence he could see into the street. “See that, miss?” queried the laughing Kathleen, who was present, engaged in running the sewing-machine as on the day before. “The little baste knows more’n a babby. He always rides with the Madame, an’ whin he hears the carriage ordered he’s ready for a start. He’ll stay there watchin’ now till it comes.” “Yes,” said the Madame, overhearing the remark, “he’s the most intelligent little creature you ever saw, and the prettiest. I wouldn’t part with him for any money--the darling! Now, Mary,” as her maid re-entered the room, “dress me at once.” “Certainly, Madame. What will you be pleased to wear?” “That green silk suit and the green velvet hat,” answered her mistress, waddling into the dressing-room; “gloves to match, and my emerald set, ear-rings, pin, and bracelets, and a point-lace collar and sleeves. Get out one of my worked white skirts too, and a pair of silk stockings and gaiters.” “It’s very cold, Madame; the wind from the lake cuts like a knife, and you’ll suffer in thin shoes,” Mary objected to the last clause of the order. “Lamb’s-wool stockings, then, and kid boots.” Bureau-drawers, wardrobe, and closets were laid under contribution, and the Madame’s toilet began. It had progressed to the putting on of her hat, when, glancing in the mirror, she suddenly changed her mind.