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 my cousin that is marry with the chauffeur at 'Colline des Roses.' You know what happen, I think?"

"No. I don't know."

"Well, my cousin she don' know herself," the femme de chambre admitted. "Her husban', 'e don' know too; but is somesing."

"Something happened at the Daurels' villa, you mean?"

"Yes, surely," she said, and nodded three times for emphasis. "Surely is somesing happen. It has been going to happen all the time since they were in North America, my cousin she think; but now it happen the most of all. It is yesterday and the day before. Mademoiselle Lucie Daurel, she cry very much and Mademoiselle Daurel is angry—oh, she is angry! They hear her say that Monsieur Hyacinthe Momoro is a bad, bad boy! Bad!"

"What!" Ogle exclaimed. "How on earth is he 'bad'? What's he been doing?"

She shook her head. "Nobody can tell. The servants in the 'ouse, that is all they know, but they say Mademoiselle Lucie cry so much because she think 'e is bad, too. Mademoiselle Daurel tell her so before they arrive; but she won' believe. Now she