Grace started up, put Favoretta into a little closet, and charged her not to make the least noise for her life.—Then, with a candle in her hand, and a treacherous smile upon her countenance, she sallied forth to the head of the stairs, to light Mad. de Rosier.—“Dear ma’am! my mistress will be so sorry the coach didn’t go for you in time;—she found herself better after you went—and the two young ladies are gone with her to the opera.”
“And where are Herbert and Favoretta?”
“In bed, ma’am, and asleep, hours ago.—Shall I light you, ma’am, this way, to your room?”
“No,” said Mad. de Rosier; “I have a letter to write: and I’ll wait in Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room till she comes home.”
“Very well, ma’am. Mrs. Rebecca, it’s only Mad. de Rosier.—Mad. de Rosier, it’s only Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw’s maid, ma’am, who’s here very often when my mistress is at home, and just stepped out to look at the young ladies’ drawings, which my mistress gave me leave to show her the first time she drank tea with me, ma’am.”
Mad. de Rosier, who thought all this did not concern her in the least, listened to it with cold indifference, and sat down to write her letter.
Grace fidgeted about the room, as long as she could find any pretence for moving any thing into or out of its place; and, at length, in no small degree of anxiety for the prisoner she had left in the closet, quitted the dressing-room.
As Mad. de Rosier was writing, she once or twice thought that she heard some noise in the closet; she listened, but all was silent; and she continued to write, till Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, came home.
Isabella was in high spirits, and began to talk, with considerable volubility, to Mad. de Rosier about the opera.
Mrs. Harcourt was full of apologies about the coach; and Matilda rather anxious to discover what it was that had made a change in her mother’s manner towards Mad. de Rosier.