She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence when a knock came at the door.
"Come in," she called.
In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance. Her hair, which was never very tidy, looked as if it had taken an intelligent interest in some crisis.
Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at the coat, at the hat on May's head.
"Oh, Madame, what a desolation!" cried Louise, and she wrung her hands.
"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood. "I am accustomed to do it—I have no maid."
"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she advanced further into the room. Then she stopped and announced, with an affectation of horrible composure: "I come to inform Madame that it is impossible for her to depart."
May put down her pen. "What is the matter, Louise?"
Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," she began, and as she proceeded her words flowed more and more quickly: "while Madame prepares to forsake her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast parlour, she expires."
May rose, her heart beating.