“I certainly did tell Mason that there was a prospect of your quitting me,” replied Madame Bathurst, colouring up; “but—however, it’s no use entering into an investigation of what I really said, or catechising my maid: one thing is clear, we have been mutually disappointed with each other, and therefore it perhaps is better that we should part. I believe that I am in your debt, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf. Have you reckoned how long you have been with me?”
“I have reckoned the time that I instructed Caroline.”
“Miss Caroline, if you please, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf.”
“Well, then, madame, Miss Caroline, since you wish it; it is five months and two weeks,” replied I, rising from my chair.
“You may sit down, mademoiselle, while I make the calculation,” said Madame Bathurst.
“It is too great an honour for a Chatenoeuf to sit in your presence,” replied I, quietly, remaining on my feet.
Madame Bathurst made no reply, but calculating the sum of money due to me on a sheet of note paper, handed it to me and begged me to see if it was correct.
“I have no doubt of it, madame,” replied I, looking at it and then laying it down on the desk before her.
Madame Bathurst put the sum in bank-notes and sovereigns down before me, and said, “Do me the favour to count it, and see if it is correct;” and then rising, said, “your wishes will be complied with by my servants as usual, mademoiselle, as long as you remain under my roof. I wish you farewell.”
The last words were accompanied with a low courtesy, and she then quitted the room.