{Footnote 3: By Egginton.}
Herbert was reading to Mad. de Rosier when the servant brought the box into the room. Favoretta got up to look at it, and immediately Herbert’s eye glanced from his book: in spite of all his endeavours to command his attention, he heard the exclamations of “Beautiful!—How smooth!—like tortoise-shell!—What can it be made of?”
“My dear Herbert, shut the book,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if your head be in that box. Never read one moment after you have ceased to attend.”
“It is my fault,” said Matilda; “I will put the box out of the way till he has finished reading.”
When Herbert had recalled his wandering thoughts, and had fixed his mind upon what he was about, Mad. de Rosier put her hand upon the book—he started—“Now let us see the beautiful box,” said she.
After it had passed through Favoretta and Herbert’s impatient hands, Matilda, who had scarcely looked at it herself, took it to the window, to give it a sober examination. “It is not made of paper, or pasteboard, and it is not the colour of tortoise-shell,” said Matilda: “I never saw any thing like it before; I wonder what it can be made of?”
Herbert, at this question, unperceived by Matilda, who was examining the box very earnestly, seized the lid, which was lying upon the table, and ran out of the room; he returned in a few minutes, and presented the lid to Matilda. “I can tell you one thing, Matilda,” said he, with an important face—“it is an animal—an animal substance, I mean.”
“Oh, Herbert,” cried Matilda, “what have you been doing?—you have blackened the corner of the box.”
“Only the least bit in the world,” said Herbert, “to try an experiment. I only put one corner to the candle that Isabella had lighted to seal her letter.”
“My dear Herbert, how could you burn your sister’s box?” expostulated Madame de Rosier: “I thought you did not love mischief.”