GRAHAM and Jill were having their petit déjeuner next morning, each in their little bed and each—a special favour of Madame Michon's—with their own tray, when Amélie brought in a letter from the Manoir and told them that Monsieur Trumier waited below for an answer.
'At this hour! What time can they get up!' Jill exclaimed. Graham said that the old lady had probably written from her bed.
The letter was very ceremonious. It asked if they would give Madame de Lamouderie the great pleasure of spending the evening with her. It was, as they would know, a poor hospitality she had to offer, but their kindness would overlook deficiencies and Mademoiselle Ludérac had promised a performance on the harp. Mademoiselle Ludérac, she reminded them, was a professional, and they could not fail to be pleased by her proficiency. It was signed in full panoply: 'Veuillez agréer, Madame, l'expression de mes sentiments les plus distingués. Comtesse de Lamouderie.'
It was difficult to believe, Graham reflected, that it was written by the old lady who talked about biting into peaches.
'Isn't it grand!' laughed Jill. 'And why not have asked you when you went up to-day?'
