So, having reasoned thus, she made up her mind to help Hilda to carry out her act of self-abnegation.
"If I did not believe that you are acting for your own ultimate happiness, I would not aid you in this matter by one jot or one tittle," said the little woman, in her own energetic way; "but, as it is, I am going to put on my bonnet and take you to Paris."
This was said in so quiet a manner that Hilda thought her friend was joking.
"You don't mean to go with me?" she began.
"I don't mean to let your brother's sister travel alone, arrive alone, and a stranger, in such a city as Paris. There is no Rue des Fèves now, with its famous Lapin Blanc, where Eugène Sue's thieves used to keep their rendezvous; but for all that has been done, Paris is Paris—and if you have set your mind upon going there, I must go with you."
"But, dear Mademoiselle, think of the trouble, the fatigue—and your lessons."
"My lessons must stand over till my return. I shall be back next Monday. Don't say another word, Hilda. There's no time to be wasted in talk. You are going to eat your breakfast. I'll wager you left home without so much as a cup of tea."
"There was nobody up," faltered Hilda, who had eaten nothing since Lady Valeria's visit, and who was suffering all the pangs of exhaustion.
"Of course not; and you have been walking and travelling, and are ready to faint at this moment," protested Louise, ringing as she spoke. "You are going to have some nice hot coffee—I have taught them to make coffee in this house, I who speak to you—and an egg, while I write to my pupils to apologise for my sudden disappearance; and precisely at twelve o'clock there will be a fly at the door to take us to the station."
"I have a cheque to cash at the Bank," said Hilda. "Perhaps the maid could get it cashed for me."