Rachel might have been ill for days.

She experienced the peace that is left by illness of sufficient gravity.

But all she ailed was a slight headache, quickly removed by an inimitable cup of tea, that fortified her against the perplexing memories which now came swarming to her mind.

This morning, however, enlightenment was due, and meanwhile Rachel received a hint, though a puzzling one, from the Swiss maid, as to the new identity which had been thrust upon her for the time being in lieu of her own.
"It was very sad for madame to lose all her things," cooed the girl, as she busied herself about the room.
"It was irritating," Rachel owned, beginning to wonder how much the other knew.
"But it was better than losing your life, madame!" the girl added with a smile.
And now Rachel lay silent.

Could this amiable young woman know all?
In one way Rachel rather hoped it was the case; it would be something to have received so much kindness and attention, even though bought and paid for, from one of her own sex who knew all there was to know, and yet did not shrink from her.