vidently she did not know Miss Ashe or the
cottage. "I have not the pleasure of knowing Miss Ashe. I never go to
Dorsham. I seldom go beyond my garden; in fact--I cannot walk much," and
Esther noticed for the first time that she was lame. "My name is
Mademoiselle Leperier. I am not one of your countrywomen, though I might
claim to be, having lived in England most of my life. Now I think," with
a bright smile, "we know each other. Come inside, do. Anne had just
brought in the tea-tray when he caught sight of you, and drew my
attention. We thought perhaps you had lost your way. Come in, we will
have tea at once, and you shall start very soon for home, or your cousin
will be anxious."

Esther, following her kind hostess, thought she had never in all her life
seen anything so pretty as the little firelit room into which she now
stepped, with its pure white walls, its green dresser hung with priceless
old blue china, the high white mantelpiece, loaded, too, with china, the
high-waisted lattice window, with its prim little creamy silk curtains.

By the fire stood two comfortable easy-chairs, and a little square table,
on which was spread a white cloth and dainty tea-things, bread-and-butter,
and tempting little cakes. To Esther it all seemed perfect, as perfect a
picture as Mademoiselle Leperier herself in her soft grey gown, with her
white hair, bright eyes, and pale face.

In a very short time they were seated on either side of the table,
drinking fragrant creamy tea and chatting as friendly as though they had
often met before. Anne, who had brought another cup and saucer, had been
told his errand, and with quiet politeness expressed his eagerness to
oblige. Esther looked at him with interest. Somehow she had expected to
see quite a young man, but Anne was old--older than his mistress.
That he was a foreigner, too, there could be no doubt; his speech,
his appearance, his every action bespoke the fact.

"Is--is Mr. Anne French too?" asked Esther, and then blushed, fearing she
had been rude.

But Mademoiselle nodded brightly. "Yes. Call him 'Anne,' please, dear.
His name is Anne Roth. His parents came to England with mine, when they
had to fly from France, and he and his have been with me and mine ever
since. Ah! but he is a dear, faithful soul is Anne, and so is Laura, his
English wife. They would not leave me, even when I came to this far-away
spot. At first it made them sad, I think, but now they h