“Shouldn’t have tried to make the poor girl marry a man that she did not care a curse for.”
“Oh, but, Tom, Tom!” sobbed Tryphie, “this is too dreadful.”
“Stuff!” cried Tom. “I’ll be bound to say that you were in the secret.”
“Indeed, no,” cried Tryphie, reproachfully. “I did not know a word. I had left her in her room, as I thought, to dress, and when I went to fetch her because dinner was waiting she was gone.”
“Tell him, Justine, for mercy’s sake tell him,” wailed her ladyship.
“Yes, poor milady, I will,” said the Frenchwoman. “Miss Tryphie knocked many time, and I ascend the stairs then, and she say she begin to be alarmed that mademoiselle was ill. We enter then togezzer, and we find—”
“Nothing,” said Tom, coolly.
“Oh, no, monsieur, all her beautiful dresses, ze trousseau magnifique, lying about the room, but she is not there. Then I recollect that I see somebody pass down ze stair, in a black cloak and veil, but I take no notice then, though I think now it must have been my young lady.”
“But you knew she was going,” said Tom, gazing straight into her eyes, which only shone a little brighter, for they did not shrink.
“I know, monsieur?” she replied. “I know, I come straight to tell milady of ze outrage against ze honour of her family. Parole d’honneur no, I know nozing as ze lil bébé which come not to be born.”