"Not _from_ him in person," corrected Pryor, straightening up till he looked like a hickory stick. "_About_ him, through me. Good news for us, bad news for him. Until then good-bye." *PART V* *HEARTS AND TREASURES* *CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE* *I* On a cool February morning a private office in the Maison Paulette, Boulevard Houssman, was occupied by five persons of the feminine sex. Four of the five, gorgeous as to clothes and cosmetics, moved busily about in comet-like orbits that brought them periodically near the desk. The fifth, seated at the desk itself, dominated the room. She was a striking blonde, whose handsome dull-green dress challenged the glint of gold alike in her pupils and her hair. Seemingly occupied with a book of accounts, this lady was really engaged in inventing petty tasks for the four young women dancing attendance upon her. (_Mariette, ou est le livre bleu? Mon dieu, Gabrielle! les ciseaux; quelqu’un a enleve mes petites ciseaux. Toinette, apportez-moi le boite aux lettres. Tiens, Amelie! Prends ce mouchoir_, etc., etc.) These requests for service continued in a fairly steady stream, amidst much hurrying and scurrying, sharp cries of _tout de suite, Madame_, and a general atmosphere of sulky obsequiousness. In the thick of the confusion the door was opened by a young woman in a soft suit of brown heather. She stood on the threshold for a moment and, as she looked questioningly towards the lady in command, a slight frown brought a bar of hazel brown over her beautiful gray eyes. The lady at the desk, who saw everything, affected not to see the figure on the threshold and went on languidly issuing orders. Thereupon the newcomer, in clear, agreeable English, called out: "Evidently you don’t want me, Cornelia. Good, I’ll go back upstairs. I’ve stacks and stacks of work to do—" "Araminta, wait! Of course I want you. I want you most particularly." "You’ve got an army here, already. What do you want me for? If you keep on calling me away from the manikins whenever Harry is explaining matters, he’ll never be able to train me into taking charge of them." "My dear!" trilled Cornelia, bringing her most musical _arpeggio_ into play. "When you’ve been married as long as I have, you’ll understand that no sensible woman ever interferes with her husband’s work except for a positively overwhelming reason." "Really, the reasons here in Paris are as bad as the seasons," said Janet with a smile. "I wish they’d calm down and not overwhelm us quite so often." "Ah, Janet, you well may jest. Little do you know of the heavy responsibilities involved in managing both a business and a husband. If I had only myself to think of the worries and risks would be as a whisper in the wind. But I think of Hercules sharing my anxieties, working himself thin and gray—"