‘That mirror!’ cried Rozebaiel all at once, and indicated, with indignantly pointing finger, a spot on the rough-stone wall which was, as far as Margot could see, quite bare of interest. ‘There it was! I saw it, just now! Mistral! It glittered at me in a detestably winking fashion, and then off it wriggled, and now it is gone again!’ Incensed, Rozebaiel stamped her silk-shod foot, and began to mutter a string of invective under her breath. Then she darted for the door, where a few, bold tendrils thick with rose-leaves were creeping around the frame, and took hold of them with both hands. ‘The one thing my poor, starved flowers have done well in this miserable place is grow. You have taken it over entirely, my beauties, have you not, and made it all your own? You shall find the mirror for m
