"You must surpass yourself to-night, Richardson," she said complacently to her maid; "I must be looking my fairly best. We must all surpass ourselves."

The maid said nothing, but from the concentrated look inside her eyes and the deft play of her fingers it was evident that she was beset with the ambition to surpass herself.

A knock came at the entrance, a quiet but peremptory knock, as of some one who would not be denied.

"Go and see whom it is," exclaimed Sophie; "it may be something about the wine."

Richardson held a hurried conference with an invisible messenger at the door; when she returned there was noticeable a curious listlessness in place of her hitherto alert manner.

"What is it?" asked Sophie.

"The homehold servants have 'downed tools,' madame," exclaimed Richardson.