“Do, good Madelon; she will be pleased to hear that I have returned,” said Alma, gently.
“I know not, Meess Alma, I know not,” said old Madelon, shaking her head as she left the room.
Alma, full of anxiety upon many subjects, threw herself into an arm-chair to await the coming of the bonne.
Nearly an hour passed before the return of Madelon, who entered, saying:
“You must pardon me for staying so long time, Meess Alma; but it was no mine fault, miladie vas keep me.”
“And has she sent for me at last?”
“No, no, Meess Alma; she say you mus’ dine, and then come to her, and no before.”
Alma made a gesture of impatience. It was now late; time was flying fast. The hour at which she had promised to meet her unhappy father was quickly approaching, and, fraught with danger, as it might be, she was resolved to keep her appointment.
“I am not hungry; I do not wish to dine at all. Why cannot I go to my mother at once?”
“Miladie’s commands—Meess Alma must rest, and must eat, and then come.”