“Woman!” he burst out, “I hear you have profited by the folly of an old woman and the imprudence of a young one. Give me the bills of my wife and daughter that I may pay them.”
“They owe me nothing, Monsieur.”
“What, woman! do you still carry on the farce? They themselves have told me of this.”
“They owe me nothing, Sir Jehoshaphat. Their bills were paid an hour since.”
“By whom?”
“By Mr Augustus Bromley.”
The sequel is well known to my readers. Mr Bromley espoused Miss Constance. He has been standing for a county, and the result of the poll is expected by telegraph this evening.
Madame Mélanie having, in a moment of forgetfulness, returned to her old habits, and abstracted a small casket from the house of one of her customers, is expiating her crimes in a spot set aside for such purposes. Count Rabelais has disappeared from the social horizon, and is supposed to be gaining an honest livelihood as a courier.
Madame Carron, under the advice of Dr Leadbitter, laid aside her family pride, and married a very respectable impresario, who turns her talents to advantage, and lays by her earnings for that rainy day to which managers more than ordinary mortals are liable. Lady Coxe will not contract any more debts, though she still nourishes a partiality for port. Florence married on the same day as her sister, and Letitia seems likely to justify the surmise of Count Rabelais, by blessing the hearth of Mr Whiting.