'It was Cousin Knollys—Cousin Knollys. Oh, Cousin Knollys! You're gone—you're gone—you're gone!'
'And if it was Lady Knollys' coach, there was certainly a coachman and a footman; and whoever has the coach there was young gentlemen in it. If it was Lady Knollys' carriage it would 'av been worse than the doctor.'
'It is no matter—it is all over. Oh, Cousin Monica, your poor Maud—where is she to turn? Is there no help?'
That evening Madame visited me again, in one of her sedate and moral moods. She found me dejected and passive, as she had left me.
'I think, Maud, there is news; but I am not certain.'
I raised my head and looked at her wistfully.
'I think there is letter of bad news from the attorney in London.'
'Oh!' I said, in a tone which I am sure implied the absolute indifference of dejection.
'But, my dear Maud, if't be so, we shall go at once, you and me, to join Meess Millicent in France. La belle France! You weel like so moche! We shall be so gay. You cannot imagine there are such naice girl there. They all love a me so moche, you will be delight.'
'How soon do we go?' I asked.