She tidied the bed coverings, and before the other, languidly sighing, had brought some faded silks and embroideries from a box, Betty had made smooth the wondrous bed of the Latin Quarter to its intention of many-coloured lounge by day. Betty’s quick fingers were soon hiding all signs of bed under silk and satin. She arose, flushed from the tuckings-in, and the smoothings-out; and, taking an edge of battered silk pillow-case in her teeth, she slipped a pillow into it, shook it into place, and buttoned it down. As the pillow disappeared into its crumpled once-gorgeous covering, the last sign of bed-hood passed out of the bed, and the sommier took on the splendour of an Eastern ottoman. Betty laughed; sat down on the edge of the ottoman, and ran her eyes over the room. Moll Davenant went to her, flung herself on the floor at her feet, and burst into tears. Betty stroked her shoulder: “Come, come, Molly,” said she--“we must get on. Don’t be stupid----” The girl made a pitiful effort to stop her sobs. Betty stood up; raised the poor girl to her feet; and led her to the stove: “Come, Moll--we’ll talk as soon as the room is in order....” Wherever Betty went, order resulted. The easel was swung into position and a sketch placed upon it--sketches were set out on a ledge that ran along the wall. Chairs were slewed into position. And soon there was but a little pile of stray impossible things in the middle of the room that had no ordered place therein. Betty completed the pile with a pair of dingy slippers. “I think,” said she--“it is time to bury the refuse.” And the two of them, laughing, soon had the litter thrust under the bed. A silk hanging descended over it, and it was gone. Order was everywhere. “I’ll finish the coffee,” said Betty--“you go and tidy yourself, Moll.” Betty made herself tidy, and, flushed with the exertion, sat down on the lounge: “Heigho!” sighed she. Moll Davenant came to her, and nestled on the rug at her knee. “Now, Moll, what is it? But we had better unlock the door--all’s clear.” She rose to go to the door. Moll drew her down by the skirt: “No, Betty--not yet.” Betty sat down and drew the dainty head into her lap: “What is it, Molly?” “Betty”--she hesitated, and added miserably--“I ought never to have come to Paris.” “Why?” “Because--because there is no one to look after father--and--he never said a word to prevent me coming to Paris--he said he thought it would be just splendid for me--but--I know now how lonely he is--he’s such a _man_--he never said a word to hinder me leaving him all alone--never said a word that hinted of the lonely home I left behind me--but--well, it was the night before I left, I was lonely and got out of bed and crept downstairs, and he was sitting at a table, a lighted candle beside him, and he was looking at a little pair of shoes--they were the first little shoes I ever wore----” She fell a-sobbing: “And now I know--I know--I know.”