“C’est vrai,” replied the Frenchwoman. “I am of the poor; I am of the needy; I have not the wherewithal to support the most precious life. I am dismissed from being your teacher through no fault of mine. The wide world—it lies around me; if I have not the money, I will starve!” She held up her right hand dramatically. “Does it seem to you of the reasonable that I should starve, Mademoiselle Penelope? Why should I not feather my own nest? I wish for the reward; but it matters not from whom it comes, if it come from you, your sister is saved; if it come from Mrs Hungerford, your sister and you—think of the position, ma chère—”
“I do think of it,” said Penelope.
“You will consider it yet more deeply. I give you a little time. I tell you plainly that I want from you what you have already done for your sister. I know that you did collect from your school friends—those maidens so rich, so distinguished—the money—a great sum. I demand that you make a collection again, and that you give it to me. Twenty pound is my price; give me twenty sovereigns of the gold, and no person know notting of the lost bangle. If you will not—I tell what I know.”
“Mademoiselle, do you think, do you really think that I am made like that?”
“I know not, ma chère; I only do know that once you got money from your school friends. You would like not that story to be known; but it can be spread all over the school at Hazlitt Chase, and Honora Beverley, that most saintly and esteemed young lady, can hear of it. She will not wish to have you any longer a visitor at her beautiful home; for she is of the lofty sort that stoop not to the ways of the wicked. Think what it will mean. And your sister—she will be, oh, in peril of grave imprisonment. Think of the public trial and the so great disgrace. Madame at the Chase will not receive you back; she would not dare to receive the sister of a thief! Oh, fi donc! She could not it endure. That is your position. But I deliver you therefrom if you once again exercise that spell which you possess; and get from your companions—it matters not which—the leetle, leetle sum of twenty pound. That is the whole, you understand.”
“I understand,” said Penelope. She spoke in a low voice; her face was white as death.
“I give you until the morning. You are puzzled, pauvre petite, and most truly do I you pity. But never mind; it is nécessaire that the poor governess be helped in her hour of so great need. To her it is equal about the disgrace to you and yours; in one way or the other she, the poor French Mademoiselle, makes a grand coup in this matter! And now, I wish you ‘adieu’ for the night. Communicate with me before twelve o’clock to-morrow. If at that hour I have no news from you, I take my own steps. Adieu, chérie. Pauvre enfant, dormez tranquille.”
Mademoiselle turned away. She walked quickly down the dusty road. She had done her evil deed; she had exploded her bomb. Her wicked heart felt no sense of shame or sorrow for the innocent girl whom she had put in so cruel a position.
As to Penelope, she stayed for a little time just where Mademoiselle d’Etienne had left her. Then she turned and walked up the drive. She was stunned. She had not walked half-way up the avenue before a gay young voice sounded in her ears; and, of all people in the world, those she least wished to see at this juncture, rushed up to her and flung their arms round her neck and wrist.
“You have come back!” said Nellie Hungerford.