shouldn't even look at her roses."

"No. I see her. Dark red and very foolish. I do not like her or her
flowers. They look stupid flowers--thick and pink, like fat, smiling
cheeks. Take them away."

"You have read what she says, Tante, here on the back? I call that very
pretty."

"I see it. I see it too often. No. Go now, and take your hat off. Good
heavens, child, why did you wear that ancient sealskin cap?"

Karen paused at the door, the rejected roses in her arms. "Why, Tante,
it was snowing a little; I didn't want to wear my best hat for a morning
walk."

"Have you no other hat beside the best?"

"No, Tante. And I like my little cap. You gave it to me--years
ago--don't you remember; the first time that we went to Russia
together."

"Years ago, indeed, I should imagine from its appearance. Well; it makes
no difference; you will soon be leaving town and it will do for Cornwall
and Tallie."

When Karen returned, Madame von Marwitz, whose feet were now finished,
took her place in an easy chair and said: "Now to work. Leave the
accounts for Schultz. I've glanced at some of them this morning and, as
usual, I seem to be spending twice as much as I make. How the money runs
away I cannot imagine. And Tallie sends me a great batch of bills from
Cornwall, _bon Dieu_!" _Bon Dieu_ was a frequent ejaculation with Madame
von Marwitz, often half sighed, and with the stress laid on the first
word.

"Never mind, you will soon be making a great deal more money," said
Karen.

"It would be more to the point if I could manage to keep a little of
what I make. Schultz tells me that my investments in the Chinese
railroads are going badly, too. Put aside the bills. We will go through
the rest of the letters."

For some time they worked at the pile of correspondence. Karen would
open each letter and read the signature; letters from those known to
Madame von Marwitz, or from her friends, were handed to her; the letters
signed by unknown names Karen read aloud:--begging letters; letters
requesting an autograph; letters recommending to the great woman's
kindly notice some budding genius, and letters of sheer adulation,
listened to, these last, sometimes with a dreamy indifference to the
end, interrupted sometimes with a sudden "_Assez_."

There were a dozen such letters this morning and when Karen read the
signature of the last: "Your two little adorers Gladys and Ethel
Bocock," Madame von Marwitz remarked: "We need not have th