"You're getting quite impossible, Sonia!" she cried. "It's
absolutely useless telling you anything. I told you particularly to
pack my leather writing-case in my bag with your own hand. I happen
to open a drawer, and what do I see? My leather writing-case."

"I'm sorry," said Sonia. "I was going--"

"Oh, there's no need to bother about it. I'll see after it myself,"
said Germaine. "But upon my word, you might be one of our guests,
seeing how easily you take things. You're negligence personified."

"Come, Germaine . . . a mere oversight," said the Duke, in a coaxing
tone.

"Now, excuse me, Jacques; but you've got an unfortunate habit of
interfering in household matters. You did it only the other day. I
can no longer say a word to a servant--"

"Germaine!" said the Duke, in sharp protest.

Germaine turned from him to Sonia, and pointed to a packet of
envelopes and some letters, which Bernard Charolais had knocked off
the table, and said, "Pick up those envelopes and letters, and bring
everything to my room, and be quick about it!"

She flung out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

Sonia seemed entirely unmoved by the outburst: no flush of
mortification stained her cheeks, her lips did not quiver. She
stooped to pick up the fallen papers.