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“The lady called me,” explained Grafton, calmly. “It was impossible for me to disobey her. She thought I was a fitter.”

As he spoke she opened her door and showed her head. The attendants, with serious faces, began to pour out apologies. “Pardon, Your Serene Highness! We hope that your—”

“It was my fault,” she interrupted, in French, and he noted that she had a German accent. Her look of condescending good-nature was not flattering to him. It said that in the mind of Her Serene Highness he and the two attendants formed a trio of inferior persons before whom she could conduct herself with almost as much freedom as before so many blocks of wood.

“No apology is necessary,” he said, with abrupt courtesy. “You wish a fitter. I’ll see that you get one at once.”

Her Serene Highness flushed and withdrew her head. “Take him away,” she called through the door, in a haughty tone, “and send a fitter.”

Grafton faced the attendants. He drew from his pocket two ten-franc pieces and gave one to each. “Have the goodness to get mademoiselle her fitter instantly,” he said.