Her ladyship turned sharply round upon the maid, and gazed full into the dark shining eyes that met hers without a wink.
“Can I trust you, Justine?” she exclaimed.
“Who knows better than milady?” retorted the maid. “Is it I who go below to the servants and betrays all miladi’s secrets? Ma foi! no: I sooner die. And,” she added, nodding sharply, “I know two, tre, many secret of her ladyship.”
“Yes, yes, you do, my good Justine. It shall be as you say: Monsieur Launay shall have a very high fee for his pains if he checks it. A silly, weak girl; it is nothing but fretting after that nasty, vulgar wretch and his dog. Ah, Justine, if ever you become a mother, you will know what a mother’s troubles really are.”
Her ladyship rolled in her fauteuil more like the heaving billows than ever, and shed a couple of tears, either the tears or her breath smelling strongly of lavender.
“Poor milady!” said the confidential maid, compassionately. “Then milady trusts me to see that Miladi Maude goes safely to the coiffeur’s?”
“Oh, yes, Justine, my good soul, I will. Justine, I shall not wear that black satin, nor the ruby moiré again. Alas, who would be a mother! I have but one idea, Justine, and that is to see my children settled with good establishments, and they seem to do nothing but rebel against me.”
“It is vairy terrible, poor milady.”
“Yes, it is dreadful, Justine,” said her ladyship who was now shedding tears copiously. “Even my son goes against me.”
“It is vairy shocking of him, milady,” said the sympathetic maid, holding salts to her mistress’ nostrils, and having her hand gratefully pressed in return.