'The Countess!' exclaimed Mr. Tramplara. 'Oh, Ginger! a live Countess in the house. Lord! the little rooms won't contain her. We must throw out bow windows. Come here, Orange, come here, Polly, and see a live Countess.'
As he called, a feeble old woman, in a big cap with lilac ribands and a pink bow under her chin, appeared at a side door, and with her the daughter whom he called Orange. The latter entered the hall.
'Father,' said Miss Orange Trampleasure, reproachfully, 'you are too boisterous with the young lady. Do you not see? She is tired with her journey, and your noise frightens her.'
'Frightens me!' repeated Mirelle, with perfect composure. 'Non, il ne me fait paspeur—il me revolte.'
'Come with me, cousin,' said Orange. 'Let me take off your things, and show you your room.'
Mirelle hesitated.
'My dear,' Orange went on, 'there is no help for it. Whether you like it or not, here you must stay; you cannot go back to the Battishills. It is unreasonable to expect them to take charge of you. Besides, your father committed you to us.'
'My father has left a gentleman in France my guardian equally with this person here.'
'Then you must stay with us till he has been communicated with,' said Orange. 'Come with me.'
Mirelle allowed herself to be conducted upstairs.