THE LIGHT BEGINS TO BREAK"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!"
The urgent, hurried voice came to Melissa out of a loud knocking. She stirred restlessly in her bed. "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" She opened her eyes. The turret room was grey with the mournful daylight of another snowy morning, the air raw. Through the open widow the snow came whirling: it was piled deep on the window seat.
She sat up abruptly, glanced at the clock beside the bed. Seven-fifteen—Charles did not usually call her until eight-thirty. It was Charles at the door now, rattling the handle and knocking. "What is it?" she called.
"Mademoiselle, it is Monsieur. He is not well. I think you should come. I have brought your hot water."
She was out of bed, into her dressing-gown and at the door in a second. Charles fully dresse
