"Not any more, it would be quite sufficient," Mrs. Castlemaine hastened to say with emphasis. And, without waiting for the promised letter--which, as she observed could come later--she engaged the governess on the spot. Mr. Castlemaine attended Madame Guise to the door: and never a suspicion crossed him that she was--who she was. How should it? How was he likely to connect this lady-traveller--detained at the place by accident, so shy in manner, so evidently distressed for her child--with the unfortunate Anthony, lost since that fatal February night?
Madame Guise went out from the interview. In some respects it had not been satisfactory: or, rather, not in accordance with her ante-impressions. She had gone to it picturing Mr. Castlemaine as some great monster of iniquity, some crafty, cruel, sinister man, from whom the world might shrink. She found him a very good-looking, pleasing, and polished gentleman, with a high-bred air, a kind and apparently sincere manner, and with the wonderful face-resemblance to his brother Basil and to her own poor husband. How had it been possible, she asked herself, for so apparently correct a man to commit that most dreadful crime, and still be what he was? How wickedly deceitful some great criminals were!
Mrs. Bent, when consulted, made strong objection to the nursing scheme, expressing a most decided opinion against it. "Put the sweet little child to any one of those old women! Why, the next news we got would be that she had been let roll down the cliff, or had fell into the sea! I should not like to risk it for a child of mine, ma'am."
"I must do something with her," said Madame Guise, setting her lips tightly. Give up her plan, she would not; she believed Heaven itself had aided her in it; but no one knew how much it cost her to part with this great treasure, her child. From the hour of its birth, it had never been away from her. The devotion of some French women to their children seems as remarkable as is the neglect of others.
"There's one thing you might do with her, ma'am, if you chose--and a far better thing too than consigning her to any old nurse-woman."
"What is that?"
"Well, I'll take the liberty of suggesting it," cried Mrs. Bent. "Put her to the Grey Sisters."
"The Grey Sisters!" echoed Madame Guise, struck with the suggestion. "But would they take one so young, think you? A little child who can scarcely speak!"
"I think they'd take her and be glad of it. Why, ma'am, children are like playthings to them. They have the fishermen's children there by day to teach and train; and they keep 'em by night too when the little ones are sick."
No suggestion could have been more welcome to Madame Guise. The wonder was, that she had not herself thought of it: she no doubt would have done so had Marie been older. To put the matter at rest, she went over at once to the Nunnery. Sister Charlotte received her, and heard her proposal joyfully.