Ernestine could think of only one cause for a lady's unhappiness. Had Monsieur le Général then been making her infidelities? All allowances should be made for the war. On every side she had heard tales of the effects of such long separations. But, on the other hand, she had heard of many reconciliations. Apply a little goodwill--that was all. Monsieur le Général was a man, _comme tout le monde_. She was certain that the object of his warrior fancy was not worth Madame--and he would quickly realize the fact. She only had to make much of him and give him everything he liked to eat. As soon as the stream of words ceased Elodie vehemently denounced the disgusting state of her mind. She must have a foul character to think such things. She bade her haughtily to mind her own business. Why then, asked the outraged Ernestine, did Madame declare she was miserable? To invite sympathy and then reject it did not argue a fine character on the part of Madame. Also when a woman sits down and weeps like a cow, _mon Dieu_, there must be a reason. Perhaps if Monsieur was not at fault, then-- "I order you to be silent," stormed Elodie, interrupting the intolerable suggestion. "My reasons you couldn't possibly understand. Get on with your work and set the table." She made a dignified exit and returned to the _salon_ where Andrew was writing. "Ah, these servants--since the war! The insolence of them!" "What have they been doing now?" he asked sympathetically. She would not say. Why worry him with such vulgarities? But the housekeeper's life, these days, was not an easy one. "_Tiens_," she cried, with a swift resolve, "I'll tell you all. What you said about yourself, a general only in name, rejected and cast on the world without money made me very unhappy. I didn't want you to see me cry. So I went into the _salle à manger_--" And then a dramatic reproduction of the scene. The insolence of the woman! Andrew rose and drew out his pocket-book. "She shall go at once. What's her wages?" But Elodie looked at him aghast. What? Dismiss Ernestine? He must be mad. Ernestine, a treasure dropped from Heaven? Didn't he know that servants did not grow like the leaves on the trees in the Champs Elysées? And cooks--they were worth their weight in gold. In the army he could say to an orderly "_Fiche-moi le camp_," because there were plenty of others. But in civil life--no. She forbade him to interfere in domestic arrangements, the nice conduct of which she had proved herself perfectly capable of determining. And then, in her queer, twisted logic, she said, clutching the lapels of his coat and looking up into his face: "And it's not true what she said? You have never made me infidelities?" He passed his delicate hand over her forehead, and smiled somewhat wearily. "You may be sure, my dear, I have been faithful to you."