Lady Bastable was roused from
the world of newspaper lore by hearing a Japanese screen in
the hall go down with a crash. Then the door leading from
the ball flew open and her young guest tore madly through
the room, shrieked at her in passing, ``The jacquerie!
They're on us!'' and dashed like an escaping hawk out
through the French window. The scared mob of servants burst
in on his heels, the gardener still clutching the sickle
with which he had been trimming hedges, and the impetus of
their headlong haste carried them, slipping and sliding,
over the smooth parquet flooring towards the chair where
their mistress sat in panic-stricken amazement. If she had
had a moment granted her for reflection she would have
behaved, as she afterwards explained, with considerable
dignity. It was probably the sickle which decided her, but
anyway she followed the lead that Clovis had given her
through the French window, and ran well and far across the
lawn before the eyes of her astonished retainers.
*
Lost dignity is not a possession which can be restored at
a moment's notice, and both Lady Bastable and the butler
found the process of returning to normal conditions almost as
painful as a slow recovery from drowning.
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