The Duchess looked entreaty. Julie repented, and, drawing her friend towards her, rested her head against the chinchilla cloak.
"I'm tired, I suppose," she said, in a low voice. "Don't think me an ungrateful wretch. Well, there's my foster-sister and her child."
"Madame Bornier and the little cripple girl?" cried the Duchess. "Excellent! Where are they?"
"Léonie is in the French Governesses' Home, as it happens, looking out for a situation, and the child is in the Orthopædic Hospital. They've been straightening her foot. It's wonderfully better, and she's nearly ready to come out."
"Are they nice, Julie?"
"Thérèse is an angel--you must be the one thing or the other, apparently, if you're a cripple. And as for Léonie--well, if she comes here, nobody need be anxious about my finances. She'd count every crust and cinder. We couldn't keep any English servant; but we could get a Belgian one."
"But is she nice?" repeated the Duchess.
"I'm used to her," said Julie, in the same inanimate voice.
Suddenly the clock in the hall below struck four.
"Heavens!" cried the Duchess. "You don't know how Clarisse keeps you to your time. Shall I go on, and send the carriage back for you?"