Then she noticed that, while the girl’s cotton sleeves were tucked up above her elbow, her arms were round, white, and plump, the hands small and pretty. Turning to the _chef_ standing behind her, she remarked: “Your kitchenmaid looks hardly up to her work, _chef_.” “Oh, she is all right,” he replied. “She has not been in a situation just lately and she is a bit soft.” The reply was satisfactory, and, being a busy woman, the manageress went on with her orders. Next morning she was again strongly attracted by her new little kitchenmaid, who was busy in the scullery washing dishes. The girl was so ladylike in appearance, so delightful in manner, so charming in voice, her superior felt that there was something unusual, even wrong, about the matter; so she searched for the original letter from the _chef_ to see under what conditions the underling had been engaged. It said that, as he preferred to work with his own kitchenmaid, he wished to bring her with him, more especially as she was now his wife. Some days went on, and the little maid looked paler each morning, sadder and more depressed. At last a tap came at the manageress’s door, and the girl, in her cotton frock, white apron, neat hair and dainty cap, was standing on the threshold. “May I come in, madam?” asked the plaintive voice. “Yes, certainly; come along. Are you not well?” “Oh yes, I am quite well, but I want to know if you will do me a favour. I have got a cheque for ten pounds from a lady whose service I used to be in, and I want to know if you will change it for me without letting my husband know.” The manageress looked up, surprised. “Yes, I can change it; but how does this lady come to be sending you such a big cheque?” (As she took it in her hand she saw a well-known name upon it.) The girl made some excuse and told a long and rambling story, but blushed to the roots of her hair when given the money. Imploringly she said, “You will never tell _him_, will you?” “No,” replied the kindly woman; “mind you keep the money safe. You may want it some day.” Some hours went by. The manageress was pondering over the girl and her reticence, over the cheque and its mystery, when a servant rushed in asking her to come to the kitchen at once, as something dreadful had happened. She flew. There on the floor, with blood streaming from her head, lay the little kitchenmaid. Near her, sullen, stern, and menacing, stood the _chef_. At once the manageress ordered that the girl should be carried to her room and forbade the husband to enter. Then she sent for him to the office and asked for an explanation. But he gave none, except that his subordinate had cheeked him, so he hit her rather harder than he meant to do and stunned her. A blow against the oven door had caused the bleeding. Such was his story. Very different was that of the girl. As she recovered consciousness, she moaned, “Save me!” and as her senses became more acute, she begged, “Don’t let him come near me.”