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276 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
"Go and tell your mistress to go to bed at once," I
said. "Tell her that if she refuses I shall come down
myself and shake her in the presence of the whole
company."
Marie came up-stairs at once. She seemed ashamed,
and with an air of injured innocence she asked me why
I had sent her so strange a message ; why I would not
allow her to stay in the drawing-room, although there
were other ladies present?
"I don’t mind your staying in the drawing-room," I
replied angrily. ""
But I do object to your sly ways of
getting rid of me whenever you want to be there by
yourself."
"If you insist, very well, I’ll go to bed."
This candour, this sudden submission. . . . What had
happened ?
Winter had set in in good earnest. There was an
abundance of snow ; the sky was leaden, and we were
cut off from all society. Everybody had left ; we were
the last guests in the modest hotel. The extreme cold
compelled us to take our meals in the large public dining-
room of the restaurant.
One morning, while we were at luncheon, a strong,
thick-set man, rather nice-looking, evidently belonging
to the servant class, entered, sat down at one of the
tables, and asked for a glass of wine.
Marie scrutinised the stranger in her free and easy
manner, took his measure, as it were, and became lost
in a reverie.
The man went away, confused and flattered by her
attention.
"A nice-looking man," she remarked, turning to the
host.
"He used to be my porter."
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