“Oh—I can’t,” murmured Brenda, in a passionate voice under her breath.
“You can—you must. It is the only, only way,” whispered Penelope then.
With these words, she determinedly took her sister’s hand, and the three went into the small room opening out of the front hall, while Honora ran to fetch Mrs Hungerford. When that lady appeared, being much amazed at this hasty summons, she was startled at the aspect of the little group who awaited her. There was Penelope, with still that Helen-of-Troy expression on her face. There was Brenda, aged for the time being, and shrinking; and there was Mademoiselle, with her wicked eyes gleaming.
The moment Mrs Hungerford entered, Mademoiselle marched up to her.
“I claim the so great reward,” she said. “You did advertise for this very leetle trinket, and behold! I it to you restore. Look at it—it is the one that you have lost. Ponder it—and consider it well. Compare it with the bracelet your little daughter Pauline wears, and see if it is not, in very truth, the lost bangle.”
“It most certainly is,” said Mrs Hungerford; “and you have found it? Pardon me—I do not know your name.”
“Mademoiselle d’Etienne—at your service. I have had the so high privilege to teach your young daughters the elegancies of our French tongue at that select seminary, Hazlitt Chase. I know when the bangle was missing, and the sore grief it was to the chère petite who had lost it. Through a series of adventures I have found it again, and I lay it on your lap. You can give it to the child for whom it was purchased.”
“But how did you get it?”
“Ah! There I have a histoire the most pathetic, the most wonderful, the most extra-ordinaire to relate.”
“No,” interrupted Penelope, suddenly, “the time has come for Brenda to speak. Brenda, tell what you know.”