irl did not turn her head she looked for approbation to the
third person in the room, a tall, severely handsome Frenchwoman in
black, whose face had the beauty of chiseled marble and the same
quality of cold perfection. This was Madame de Coulevain, teacher of
French and literature to the _jeunes filles_ of Cairo, former
governess of Aimee, returned now to her old room in the palace for
the wedding preparations.

There was history behind madame's sculptured face. In an incredibly
impulsive youth she had fled from France with a handsome captain of
Algerian dragoons; after a certain matter at cards he had ceased to
be a captain and became petty official in a Cairo importing house;
later yet, he became an invalid.

Life, for the Frenchwoman, was a matter of paying for her husband's
illness, then for his funeral expenses, and then of continuing to
pay for the little one which the climate had required them to send
to a convent in France.

There was, at first, the hope of reunion, extinguished by each
added year. What could madame, unknown, unfriended, unaccredited,
accomplish in France? The mere getting there was impossible--the
little one required so much. Her daughter was no dependent upon
charity. And in Cairo madame had a clientele, she commanded a price.
And so for the child's sake she taught and saved, concentrating now
upon a dot, and feeding her heart with the dutifully phrased letters
arriving each week of the years, and the occasional photographs of
an ever-growing, unknown young creature.

It was to madame's care that Aimee had been given when the
motherless girl had grown beyond old Miriam's ministrations, and for
nearly nine years in the palace madame had maintained her courteous
and tactful supervision. Indeed, it was only this last year that
madame had undertaken new relations with the world outside,
perceiving that Aimee would not longer require her.

"Excellent," she said now in her careful, unfamiliar English to Mrs.
Hendricks, and in French to Aimee she added, with a hint of
asperity, "Do give her a word. She is trying to please you."

"It is very nice, Mrs. Hendricks," said the girl dutifully, bringing
her glance back from that far sky.

The little seamstress was instantly all vivacity. "H'and now for the
sash--shall we 'ave it so--or so?" she demanded, attaching the wisp
of tulle experimentally.

"As you wish it.... It is very nice," Aimee repeated vaguely. She
picked up a bit of the shimmerin