handsomely decorated, and
not too high up. Have my luggage taken up to them. But what are you
tumbling over yourselves for? Why are you all tearing about? What
scullions these fellows are!--Who is that with you?" she added to
myself.

"A Mr. Astley," I replied.

"And who is Mr. Astley?"

"A fellow-traveller, and my very good friend, as well as an
acquaintance of the General's."

"Oh, an Englishman? Then that is why he stared at me without even
opening his lips. However, I like Englishmen. Now, take me upstairs,
direct to their rooms. Where are they lodging?"

Madame was lifted up in her chair by the lacqueys, and I preceded her
up the grand staircase. Our progress was exceedingly effective, for
everyone whom we met stopped to stare at the cortege. It happened that
the hotel had the reputation of being the best, the most expensive, and
the most aristocratic in all the spa, and at every turn on the
staircase or in the corridors we encountered fine ladies and
important-looking Englishmen--more than one of whom hastened downstairs
to inquire of the awestruck landlord who the newcomer was. To all such
questions he returned the same answer--namely, that the old lady was an
influential foreigner, a Russian, a Countess, and a grande dame, and
that she had taken the suite which, during the previous week, had been
tenanted by the Grande Duchesse de N.

Meanwhile the cause of the sensation--the Grandmother--was being borne
aloft in her armchair. Every person whom she met she scanned with an
inquisitive eye, after first of all interrogating me about him or her
at the top of her voice. She was stout of figure, and, though she could
not leave her chair, one felt, the moment that one first looked at her,
that she was also tall of stature. Her back was as straight as a board,
and never did she lean back in her seat. Also, her large grey head,
with its keen, rugged features, remained always erect as she glanced
about her in an imperious, challenging sort of way, with looks and
gestures that clearly were unstudied. Though she had reached her
seventy-sixth year, her face was still fresh, and her teeth had not
decayed. Lastly, she was dressed in a black silk gown and white mobcap.

"She interests me tremendously," whispered Mr. Astley as, still
smoking, he walked by my side. Meanwhile I was reflecting that probably
the old lady knew all about the telegrams, and even about De Griers,
though little or nothing about Mlle. Blanche. I