She got into bed again. Perhaps after all it would be better to allow them
to bring up her "little breakfast" in the foreign fashion. She would still
be in plenty of time for Jack. Once in the studio he would be in no hurry,
or so she feared, to come back--especially if on his way out he had opened
her door and seen how soundly she was sleeping.

She waited some time, and then, as no one came, grew what she so seldom
was, impatient and annoyed. What an odd hotel, and what dilatory,
disagreeable ways! But just as she was thinking of getting up again she
heard a hesitating knock.

It was Madame Poulain, and suddenly Nancy--though unobservant as is youth,
and especially happy youth--noticed that mine hostess looked far less well
in the daytime than by candle-light.

Madame Poulain's stout, sallow face was pale, her cheeks puffy; there were
rings round the black eyes which had sparkled so brightly the night before.
But then she too must have had a disturbed night.

In her halting French Mrs. Dampier explained that she would like coffee and
rolls, and then some hot water.

"C'est bien, mademoiselle!"

And Nancy blushed rosy-red. "Mademoiselle?" How odd to hear herself so
addressed! But Madame Poulain did not give her time to say anything, even
if she had wished to do so, for, before Mrs. Dampier could speak again, the
hotel-keeper had shut the door and gone downstairs.

And then, after a long, long wait, far longer than Nancy had ever been made