The Secret Orchard

The sound of merry voices and the clinking of wine glasses came through the closed door of a child's room in an apartment situated in a quarter of Paris where night life predominates and where revelers know they may come and go as they please. It was late at night. The child had been asleep, but awakening, frightened, she stepped to the door a moment to listen and then fearlessly, having heard the musical laugh of her mother, she opened the door and entered a large room. It was filled with men and women, whose gaiety may have had some inspiration from the bottles which poked their heads above the rim of ice buckets, which formed an outer fortification around the banquet table. At the sight of the child the conversation ceased for a moment, then burst forth at some indiscreet remark. A woman arising from the head of the table hurried across the room, caught the child in her arms and carried her back into her room. The woman was Cora May, the child her daughter, Diane, age four. Cora ...