"And that further one is Sir Karl's! Well, I'm sure you are getting quite a fashionable couple--to have separate rooms. I and your papa never had such a thing in our lives, Lucy." Lucy Andinnian grew crimson; as if a flush of the summer heat were settling in her face. She murmured, in reference to the remarks, some words about the nights being so very hot, and that she had felt a sort of fever upon her. The very consciousness of having the truth to conceal caused her to be more urgent in rendering some plea of excuse. Aglaé, whose national prejudice had been particularly gratified at the alteration, and who had lived too long in Mrs. Cleeve's service to keep in whatever opinion might rise to her tongue's end, hastened to speak. "But, and is it not the most sensible arrangement, madame, that my lady and Sir Karl could have made, when the summer is like an Afric summer for the hotness? Mademoiselle here knows that." "Don't appeal to me, Aglaé," cried Miss Blake, in a frozen tone. "Yes, yes, Aglaé; I say the fashion is coming up in England; and perhaps it induces to comfort," said Mrs. Cleeve. "But certainly. And, as madame sees"--pointing through the little sitting-room to the further chamber--"it is but like the same chamber. When Sir Karl is in that and my lady in this, they can look straight at one another." "Aglaé, see to these shoulder-knots," sharply interposed Lady Andinnian. "You have not put them on evenly." "And talk to each other too, if they please," persisted Aglaé, ignoring the ribbons to uphold her opinion. "Madame ought to see that the arrangement is good." "At any rate, Lucy, I think you should have kept to the large room yourself, and Sir Karl have come to the smaller one," said Mrs. Cleeve. "It's the very remark I made to my lady," cried Aglaé, turning at length to regard the ribbons with a critical eye. "But my lady chose herself this. It is commodious; I say nothing to the contrary; but it is not as large as the other." Oh how Lucy wished they would be silent. Her poor flushed face knew not where to hide itself; her head and heart were aching with all kinds of perplexity. Taking up the eau-de-cologne flask, she saturated her handkerchief and passed it over her brow. "Has my lady got ache to her head!" "Yes. A little. Alter these ribbons, Aglaé, and let me go." "It is because of this marvellous heat," commented Aglaé. "Paris this summer would not be bearable." Aglaé was right in the main; for it was an unusually hot summer. The intense heat began with Easter, and lasted late into autumn. In one sense it was favourable to Lucy, for it upheld her given excuse in regard to the sleeping arrangements.