them on.

She turned out the light and went softly down the carpeted stairs. The
servants were at their dinner, and she opened the front door and crossed
the lawn into a belt of trees, beyond which she knew, for she had been
in the house two days, was the gardener's cottage.

A dim light burnt in one of the two rooms and the window was
uncurtained. She saw the bed and its tiny occupant, but nobody else was
in the room. The maid had said that the mother had deserted the little
sufferer, but this was not quite true. The doctor had ordered the mother
into isolation, and had sent a nurse from the infection hospital to take
her place. That lady, at the moment, was waiting at the end of the
avenue for the ambulance to arrive.

Jean opened the door and stepped in, pulling up the saturated
handkerchief until it covered nose and mouth. The place was deserted,
and, without a moment's hesitation, she lifted the child, wrapped a
blanket about it and crossed the lawn again. She went quietly up the
stairs straight to Lydia's room. There was enough light from the
dressing-room to see the bed, and unwrapping the blanket she pulled back
the covers and laid him gently in the bed. The child was unconscious.
The hideous marks of the disease had developed with remarkable rapidity
and he made no sound.

She sat down in a chair, waiting. Her almost inhuman calm was not
ruffled by so much as a second's apprehension. She had provided for
every contingency and was ready with a complete explanation, whatever
happened.

Half an hour passed, and then rising, she wrapped the child in the
blanket and carried him back to the cottage. She heard the purr of the
motor and footsteps as she flitted back through the trees.

First she went to Lydia's room and straightened the bed, spraying the
room with the faint perfume which she found on the dressing table; then
she went back again into the garden, stripped off the dust coat, cap and
handkerchief, rolling them into a bundle, which she thrust through the
bars of an open window which she knew ventilated a cellar. Last of all
she stripped her gloves and sent them after the bundle.

She heard the voices of the nurse and attendant as they carried the
child to the ambulance.

"Poor little kid," she murmured, "I hope he gets better."

And, strangely enough, she meant it.

* * * * *

It had been a thrilling evening for Lydia, and she returned to the house
at Cap Martin