ted. The plated
ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrous, probably for which
reason, no doubt, she also left the fire irons, the chimney-glasses,
and the rosewood cottage piano.

A lady very like her subsequently kept a milliner's shop in the Rue du
Helder at Paris, where she lived with great credit and enjoyed the
patronage of my Lord Steyne. This person always spoke of England as of
the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young
pupils that she had been affreusement vole by natives of that island.
It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which induced the
Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe. May
she flourish as she deserves--she appears no more in our quarter of
Vanity Fair.

Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the impudence of
those servants who would not answer her summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her
morning robe round her and descended majestically to the drawing-room,
whence the noise proceeded.

The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz
sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom she was administering
Maraschino. The page with the sugar-loaf buttons, who carried about
Becky's pink notes, and jumped about her little carriage with such
alacrity, was now engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish; the
footman was talking to Raggles, who had a face full of perplexity and
woe--and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had been screaming a
half-dozen of times a few feet off, not one of her attendants had
obeyed her call. "Have a little drop, do'ee now, Mrs. Raggles," the
cook was saying as Becky entered, the white cashmere dressing-gown
flouncing around her.

"Simpson! Trotter!" the mistress of the house cried in great wrath.
"How dare you stay here when you heard me call? How dare you sit down
in my presence? Where's my maid?" The page withdrew his fingers from
his mouth with a momentary terror, but the cook took off a glass of
Maraschino, of which Mrs. Raggles had had enough, staring at Becky over
the little gilt glass as she drained its contents. The liquor appeared
to give the odious rebel courage.

"YOUR sofy, indeed!" Mrs. Cook said. "I'm a settin' on Mrs. Raggles's
sofy. Don't you stir, Mrs. Raggles, Mum. I'm a settin' on Mr. and Mrs.
Raggles's sofy, which they bought with honest money, and very dear it
cost 'em, too. And I'm thinkin' if I set here until I'm paid my wages,
I shall set a pr