CHAPTER THREEThe Duchesse propped herself up on her pillows. Obviously the cachet faivre had begun to work and she looked slightly less exhausted.
“I think you had better start at the beginning of the story, Gardenia,” she said. “What has happened?”
Gardenia, who was deathly pale, clasped her hands together, striving for self-control and trying to keep her voice steady.
“We have been desperately poor since my father died,” she began in a low voice. “I often suggested to my mother that she should write to you and tell you about the circumstances that we found ourselves in. But she did not want to trouble you.”
The Duchesse gave a little cry.
“I never thought of it. How terrible of me! And I am so rich that I have had everything!” She put her hands to her eyes and went on in a voice tha
