nic words, which to her were almost
celestial, Harry perceived for the first time that there was some sort
of resemblance between her and the count. He could see that they were
brother and sister. "I shall go to her directly she comes, and of course
I will tell her how good you have been to come to me. And Edouard has
been dining with you? How good of you. He told me how charming you
are"--Harry was quite sure then that she was fibbing--"and that it was
so pleasant! Edouard is very much attached to Julie; very much. Though,
of course, all that was mere nonsense; just lies told by that wicked
lord. Bah! what did he know?" Harry by this time was beginning to wish
that he had never found his way to Mount Street.

"Of course they were lies," he said roughly.

"Of course, mon cher. Those things always are lies, and so wicked! What
good do they do?"

"Lies never do any good," said Harry.

To so wide a proposition as this madame was not prepared to give an
unconditional assent; she therefore shrugged her shoulders, and once
again looked like her brother.

"Ah!" she said. "Julie is a happy woman now. Seven--thousand--pounds a
year! One does not know how to believe it; does one?"

"I never heard the amount of her income," said Harry.

"It is all that," said the Franco-Pole, energetically; "every franc of
it, beside the house! I know it. She told me herself. Yes. What woman
would risk that, you know; and his life, you may say, as good as gone?
Of course they were lies."

"I don't think you understand her, Madame Gordeloup."

"Oh, yes; I know her, so well. And love her--oh, Mr. Clavering, I love
her so dearly! Is she not charming? So beautiful, you know, and grand.
Such a will, too! That is what I like in a woman. Such a courage! She
never flinched in those horrid days, never. And when he called her--you
know what--she only looked at him, just looked at him, miserable object.
Oh, it was beautiful!" And Madame Gordeloup, rising in her energy from
her seat for the purpose, strove to throw upon Harry such another glance
as the injured, insulted wife had thrown upon her foul-tongued, dying
lord.

"She will marry," said Madame Gordeloup, changing her tone with a
suddenness that made Harry start; "yes, she will marry, of course. Your
English widows always marry if they have money. They are wrong, and she
will be wrong; but she will marry."

"I do not know how that may be," said Harry, looking foolish.

"I tell you I know