“Of course! of course!” said Mrs. Damian, tossing the note to Miss Folly. “Poor good souls, they think me an ogress, naturally, if not a cannibal. Tell ’em—no! give me my writing things! here! Take this note over when you take the box; and see what you can do, Folly, will you? The child couldn’t bear to see me just now, and I certainly cannot cope with tantrums; but see what you can do! We’ll go over to Montreux, and get that lace I wanted—I know now why I didn’t get it when I was there—and leave ’em to simmer down for a week. We’ll be back in time for the close, tell ’em! Take plenty of bonbons,” she added; “and hand over the Russian dictionary before you go!”
The Box which Miss Folly was to take over was a large one, stamped with the magic words, “Au Bon Marché.” Being opened, it displayed various wonderful things; frocks as simple and exquisite as those Maman used to bring; sashes, ribbons,—all the dainty frou-frou which a month before would have filled Honor’s heart with rapture. Now she watched listlessly, as Miss Folly laid them out on the bed. They were very pretty, she said; Madame was all that was most kind and generous. Yes, the green muslin was altogether charming.
“It is the shade of the sash you wore the other night,” said Miss Folly. “Mrs. Damian liked it, and bade me match it as nearly as might be.”
“She is very kind!” repeated Honor mechanically.
Miss Folly looked at her, and dropped the green muslin.
“Yes!” she said. “She is very kind, and very much interested in you. You will be fond of her when you come to know her. She likes to make young people happy.”
Honor looked up, a faint gleam in her heavy eyes.
“Would she—mademoiselle—would she like to make me happy—but really happy? Then—” her voice shook so that she could hardly bring out the words—“then ask if she will leave me here, in my home. I shall die, do you see, if she takes me away, and that will only be troublesome to her. A funeral, that is very expensive, and much trouble besides.”
“Nonsense!” Miss Folly sat down deliberately on the foot of the bed, and folding her hands, fixed her bright, sharp blue eyes full on Honor. “You are talking nonsense, my dear,” she repeated, “and selfish nonsense at that.”
“Selfish?” repeated Honor. “I—I only ask to be left in my home, mademoiselle. Here, I give no trouble to any one; grown a woman, I go to my Alps. You will—”