uld take me to a safe position in the plantation before three.

The change in the weather, which last night's wind warned us to expect,
came with the morning. It was raining heavily when I got up, and it
continued to rain until twelve o'clock--when the clouds dispersed, the
blue sky appeared, and the sun shone again with the bright promise of a
fine afternoon.

My anxiety to know how Sir Percival and the Count would occupy the
early part of the day was by no means set at rest, so far as Sir
Percival was concerned, by his leaving us immediately after breakfast,
and going out by himself, in spite of the rain. He neither told us
where he was going nor when we might expect him back. We saw him pass
the breakfast-room window hastily, with his high boots and his
waterproof coat on--and that was all.

The Count passed the morning quietly indoors, some part of it in the
library, some part in the drawing-room, playing odds and ends of music
on the piano, and humming to himself. Judging by appearances, the
sentimental side of his character was persistently inclined to betray
itself still. He was silent and sensitive, and ready to sigh and
languish ponderously (as only fat men CAN sigh and languish) on the
smallest provocation.

Luncheon-time came and Sir Percival did not return. The Count took his
friend's place at the table, plaintively devoured the greater part of a
fruit tart, submerged under a whole jugful of cream, and explained the
full merit of the achievement to us as soon as he had done. "A taste
for sweets," he said in his softest tones and his tenderest manner, "is
the innocent taste of women and children. I love to share it with
them--it is another bond, dear ladies, between you and me."

Laura left the table in ten minutes' time. I was sorely tempted to
accompany her. But if we had both gone out together we must have
excited suspicion, and worse still, if we allowed Anne Catherick to see
Laura, accompanied by a second person who was a stranger to her, we
should in all probability forfeit her confidence from that moment,
never to regain it again.

I waited, therefore, as patiently as I could, until the servant came in
to clear the table. When I quitted the room, there were no signs, in
the house or out of it, of Sir Percival's return. I left the Count
with a piece of sugar between his lips, and the vicious cockatoo
scrambling up his waistcoat to get at it, while Madame Fosco, sitting
opposite to her