"Oh! dear, oh! dear," she exclaimed, "whatever shall I do? Here I have gone into Marcel's room, and kissed him on the forehead and put a huge mustard plaster on his chest, and now I dare not take it off again for fear of waking him up. Oh! what will become of me?" Violette was in despair. Heartily wishing the ground would open and swallow her up, she walked up and down the passage wringing her hands in an agony of mind, and wondering what the end of it all would be. At length Violette went to her bedroom, and falling on her knees burst into a flood of tears. But her tears were soon over as the absurdity of the situation dawned on her. A few minutes later she undressed and was soon in the arms of Morpheus, quite oblivious of the mischief she was creating. Violette had not been in bed more than half an hour when she was awakened by hearing the most appalling noise. Somebody was shouting at the top of his voice, "Help! Help! Murder! Fire! Thieves!" Hastily putting on her slippers and dressing-gown, she ran into the passage. By this time the entire establishment was aroused, and men and women attired in all sorts of costumes came hurrying up the stairs to see what all the row was about. Mine host flew to the fire alarm and rang up the fire brigade without waiting to ascertain the real cause of the mischief. At the same time the portier telephoned to the police. The hubbub and confusion increased every moment. Waiters flew wildly up and down stairs, each one asking his neighbour what all the noise was about. A few minutes later a fire engine came dashing up and half a dozen firemen with their hatchets and brass helmets ran up the stairs followed by three or four gendarmes in uniform. The proprietor ran towards them with his arms outstretched gesticulating wildly. Violette, who was standing in front of her door, looked up and saw the gentleman who was the author of all the scene rush past her clad in pajamas with an embroidered cap ornamented with a gold tassel, and almost flinging himself into the arms of the landlord. "Voilà!" he shouted, "see what some miscreant has done to me," and he laid bare his chest all blazing red and fearfully inflamed with the mustard, while he shook the offending plaster in monsieur's face. Violette caught sight of his face. Oh, horror, it was Marcel sure enough, his eyes gleaming, his face flushed, and shouting with a voice almost inarticulate with rage and pain. "If I can only lay my hands on the scoundrel who has done it, I will flay him alive no matter who he may be." Violette turned scarlet and looked away for fear he should see her. She hurried back to her bedroom and sank down on the sofa, asking herself how she ever dare face him again, and wondering whether he would ever forgive her if he found her out. What added to her misery was that she felt in her heart she really cared for him. At length a feeling of weariness overcame her, and crawling into bed she soon fell asleep. CHAPTER XXIII AT BEAULIEU