louses.
Besides, madame is mistaken; I am not a servant. I am an artist--a
culinary artist."

"You can cook, truly?"

"But yes, madame!"

"Excellent sauces?"

"_Mon Dieu_--Bechamel--Hollandaise--chaud-froid--maitre
d'hotel--Espagnole--Bearnaise--" Patsy completed the list with an
ecstatic kiss blown into the air.

Madame sighed and spoke in English: "It is unbelievable--absurd. I
shouldn't trust my own eyes or palate if I sat down to-night to the
most remarkable dinner in the world; but one must feed one's guests."
She looked Patsy over again. "Your trunk?"

"Trunk? Is it toilettes or sauces madame wishes me to make for her
guests? _Ma foi!_ Trunks--references--one is as unimportant as the
other. Is it not enough for the present if I cook for madame?
Afterward--" She ended with the all-expressive shrug.

Evidently madame conceded the point, for without further comment she
led the way to the kitchen and presented the bill of fare for dinner.

"'For twelve,'" read Patsy. "And to-morrow is Sunday. Ah, Providence
is good to madame, _mais-oui?_"

But madame's thoughts were on more practical matters. "Your wages?"

"One hundred francs a week, and the kitchen to myself. I, too, have a
temper, madame." Patsy gave a quick toss to her head, while her eyes
snapped.

* * * * *

That night the week-end guests at Quality House sat over their
coffee, volubly commenting on the rare excellence of their dinner and
the good fortune of their hostess in her possession of such a cook.
Madame kept her own counsel and blessed Providence; but she did not
allow that good fortune to escape with her better judgment--or
anything else. She ordered the butler, before retiring, to count the
silver and lock it in her dressing-room; this was to be done every
night--as long as the new cook remained.

And the new cook? Her work despatched, and her kitchen to herself,
she was free to get dinner for one more of madame's guests.

"Faith! he'd die of a black fit if he ever knew he was a guest of
Quality House--and she'd die of another if she found out whom she
was entertaining. But, glory be to Peter! what neither of them knows
won't hurt them." And Patsy, unobserved, opened the back door and
retraced the road to the deserted stable with a full basket and a
glad heart.

She found the tinker under some trees at the back, smoking a
disreputable cuddy pipe with a worse accompaniment of tobacco. When
he saw her