“Oh, wouldn’t it be a game!” she exclaimed, “and I should so like to do it, just to be revenged upon her; for if there’s one thing I can bear less than another, it is for persons to show their ill-temper, as she has been doing to me for these last two days. And I’m sure that nice, good-tempered creature of a Count would behave so differently to me. It’s quite evident, from all he says and does, that he would go down on his knees to be allowed to gratify my slightest wish; and, after all his kindness, it really would seem quite cruel to reject him. Besides,” she said to herself, “he was just the kind of man to take it seriously to heart, and perhaps commit some rash act; for it was evident that he was quite smitten with her—though she was sure she couldn’t tell why; and if anything were to occur to the poor man, she felt convinced she should end her days in a madhouse.”
While Miss Chutney was ruminating after this fashion, the postal fishing-rod again made its appearance, bearing a small slip of paper, on which were printed the well-known epistolary initials—
R V S V P.
At the sight of the request for a reply, the young lady’s courage failed her; and after some little reflection, she decided in her own mind that the best course to adopt would be to put it to the Count’s own good sense as to how it would be possible for her to quit the house with him, when she was kept in that room all day under lock and key. This, she said, would not be a positive refusal to the poor man, but it would be a nice gentle way of breaking to him what she felt he would take as a very severe disappointment.
Accordingly, having written as much, she threw the line out of the window, and sat down once more to reflect on what had occurred.
An answer was quickly returned, entreating the young lady, in the warmest possible language, to trust to the Frenchman’s honour and ingenuity, promising, that if she would but faithfully follow his directions, he would not only liberate her from her confinement on the morrow, but ensure her boundless happiness for ever after.
Miss Chutney’s curiosity was piqued. However was it possible for the Count to get her out of that room—much less the house—with Wewitz’s eyes continually watching both him and her: and then she ran over several of the best means of escape among heroines similarly situated. She thought of secret doors and sliding panels; but in that unromantic linen-room she felt satisfied that charming pieces of mechanism were hopeless; then she fixed her mind for a moment on a rope; but, on looking cautiously out of the window, she soon convinced herself that even if she could get down one, it would be utterly impossible for him to get one up such a height; next she turned her attention to tying Wewitz’s clean sheets together, and descending from the attic, as she had read of young ladies doing by means of their scarves; but, oh dear! that would never suit her, and she would much prefer a fire-escape, if there were such a thing handy. After this, her thoughts took a higher flight, and she dwelt for a moment on the delightful convenience of signet-rings, and of flinty-hearted keepers mollified by pathetic appeals, together with pampered menials, bribed by “purses of gold;” but these were all equally hopeless; and as she saw no other mode of escape but through the door, the windows, or the panels, and had exhausted every possible method of making her exit by any such means, she felt satisfied that the Count spoke without weighing the difficulties of the task that he proposed. However, as it was certain that there was no chance of his succeeding in such a project, why there could be no harm in just letting the poor man have a try—besides, it would save her the unpleasantness of telling him that she could not listen to his request.
Accordingly, after some little cogitation. Miss Chutney wrote in pencil on the blank leaf of the Count’s note—
“I will do as you direct;”
and hooking it on to the line, flung it from the window.