22 THE MARKHOR 



continues to explain in an apologetic voice : " The 

 Duke of the Abruzzi, with his suite, and Colonel and 

 Mrs Clifton-Brown are staying here, and we are 

 rather cramped for room. Unfortunately, too, there 

 is a typhoid epidemic, and my maid is sick unto 

 death, I fear." 



Servants in crimson livery hand me tea, etc., and 

 Lady Younghusband sweetens it with interesting 

 remarks about the country and its people. 



But she soon leaves it to hurry into a very 

 different land. We wander through the rooms of 

 the Tuileries, through the castles and gardens of 

 Versailles. Sure of her locality, my hostess leads me 

 from spot to spot, enlivening our wanderings with 

 bubbling witticisms, until one fancies one hears the 

 echo of her words from the heart of the Faubourg 

 Saint Germain. 



I should have completely forgotten that I was in 

 Cashmere if Indian slaves had not appeared every 

 minute to take orders from their gracious mistress 

 and to carry out her wishes. The aide-de-camp is 

 also flying about with messages, and tells us that the 

 lady's maid is still struggling with death. 



But in spite of many interruptions we always 

 return to our muttons, otherwise Louis XVI. and 

 Marie Antoinette, and for a long time we discuss 

 that lovely Queen, whose golden locks turned white 

 in a single night. 



But where can Younghusband be all this time ? 



