When she was gone, I sat listlessly looking out of the window, and saw some chance equipages drive by, and now and then a fashionable pedestrian; and wondered if this quiet thoroughfare could really be one of the arteries so near the heart of the tumultuous capital.

I think my nervous vitality must have burnt very low just then, for I felt perfectly indifferent about all the novelty and world of wonders beyond, and should have hated to leave the dull tranquillity of my window for an excursion through the splendours of the unseen streets and palaces that surrounded me.

It was one o’clock before Madame joined me; and finding me in this dull mood, she did not press me to accompany her in her drive, no doubt well pleased to be rid of me.

After tea that evening, as we sat alone in our room, she entertained me with some very odd conversation—­at the time unintelligible—­but which acquired a tolerably distinct meaning from the events that followed.

Two or three times that day Madame appeared to me on the point of saying something of grave import, as she scanned me with her bleak wicked stare.

It was a peculiarity of hers, that whenever she was pressed upon by an anxiety that really troubled her, her countenance did not look sad or solicitous, as other people’s would, but simply wicked.  Her great gaunt mouth was compressed and drawn down firmly at the corners, and her eyes glared with a dismal scowl.

At last she said suddenly—­

‘Are you ever grateful, Maud?’

‘I hope so, Madame,’ I answered.

’And how do you show your gratitude?  For instance, would a you do great deal for a person who would run risque for your sake?’

It struck me all at once that she was sounding me about poor Meg Hawkes, whose fidelity, notwithstanding the treason or cowardice of her lover, Tom Brice, I never doubted; and I grew at once wary and reserved.

’I know of no opportunity, thank Heaven, for any such service, Madame.  How can anyone serve me at present, by themselves incurring danger?  What do you mean?’

’Do you like, for example, to go to that French Pension?  Would you not like better some other arrangement?’

’Of course there are other arrangements I should like better; but I see no use in talking of them; they are not to be,’ I answered.

‘What other arrangements do you mean, my dear cheaile?’ enquired Madame.  ‘You mean, I suppose, you would like better to go to Lady Knollys?’

’My uncle does not choose it at present; and except with his consent nothing can be done!’

‘He weel never consent, dear cheaile.’

’But he has consented—­not immediately indeed, but in a short time, when his affairs are settled.’

‘Lanternes!  They will never be settle,’ said Madame.

’At all events, for the present I am to go to France.  Milly seems very happy, and I dare say I shall like it too.  I am very glad to leave Bartram-Haugh, at all events.’