was sitting now on the bedside, crying in mere despair. I did not care to
dispute or to resist. Oh! why had rescue come so near, only to prove that
it could not reach me? So I went on crying, with a clasping of my hands and
turning up of my eyes, in incoherent prayer. I was not thinking of Madame,
or of Mary Quince, or any other person, only babbling my anguish and
despair helplessly in the ear of heaven.

'I did not think there was soche fool. Wat _enfant gate_! My dear cheaile,
wat a can you _mean_ by soche strange language and conduct? Wat for should
a you weesh to display yourself in the window in soche 'orrible deshabille
to the people in the doctor's coach?'

'It was _Cousin Knollys_--Cousin Knollys. Oh, Cousin Knollys! You're
gone--you're gone--you're _gone_!'

'And if it was Lady Knollys' coach, there was certainly a coachman and a
footman; and whoever has the coach there was young gentlemen in it. If it
was Lady Knollys' carriage it would 'av been _worse_ than the doctor.'

'It is no matter--it is all over. Oh, Cousin Monica, your poor Maud--where
is she to turn? Is there no help?'

That evening Madame visited me again, in one of her sedate and moral moods.
She found me dejected and passive, as she had left me.

'I think, Maud, there is news; but I am not certain.'

I raised my head and looked at her wistfully.

'I think there is letter of _bad_ news from the attorney in London.'

'Oh!' I said, in a tone which I am sure implied the absolute indifference
of dejection.

'But, my dear Maud, if't be so, we shall go at once, you and me, to join
Meess Millicent in France. La belle France! You weel like so moche! We
shall be so gay. You cannot imagine there are such naice girl there. They
all love a me so moche, you will be delight.'

'How soon do we go?' I asked.

'I do not know. Bote I was to bring in a case of eau de cologne that came
this evening, and he laid down a letter and say:--"The blow has descended,
Madame! My niece must hold herself in readiness." I said, "For what,
Monsieur?" _twice_; bote he did not answer. I am sure it is _un proces_.
They 'av ruin him. Eh bien, my dear. I suppose we shall leave this triste
place immediately. I am so rejoice. It appears to me _un cimetiere_!'

'Yes, I should like to leave it,' I said, sitting up, with a great sigh and
sunken eyes. It seemed to me that I had quite lost all sense of resentment
towards Madame. A debility of feeling had supervened--the fatigu