Back from the dusty roads, the heat and noise of the long day, Anna was resting on the couch in her sitting-room.

A bowl of roses and a note which she had read three or four times stood on a little table by her side.

One of the blossoms she had fastened into the bosom of her loose gown.

The blinds were drawn, the sounds of the traffic outside were muffled and distant.

Her bath had been just the right temperature, her maid's attention was skilful and delicate as ever.