you can find a nation to pay your debts,
monsieur mon fils, you shall not be able to
walk at Beckworth for the pheasants under
your feet!"

She was delighted with her own sally,
which was certainly paying her son's banter
with interest, and jumping up, she caught
hold of the lobe of his ear, and dragging
down his face till it touched hers, she
kissed him on both cheeks. She was
entirely satisfied, as having come off in this
little controversy with flying colours, and
Lowndes could afford his mother such a
small triumph, being resolved that, before
next shooting season, this question of the
pheasants should be settled as he wished.

"I have heard from Marly-les-Bois, mon
enfant." This was said in what was
intended for a whisper, but like all Mrs.
Cartaret's asides, it penetrated to the further
corners of the room. Then she added aloud:

"Mary Hind, go and fetch to me a letter
that you will find, I think, on the escritoire
in my bedroom."

There was a door between the two rooms,
which stood open. Maud did as she was
desired, but during her search for the letter,
which did not at once come to hand, she
could not avoid hearing the following
fragments of colloquy:

"Where does she come from? Where
did you get her?"

"—advertisement—village-school—
curate's recommendation, gentile, tout-à-

fait une lady, même trop, eh?"

"A deuced good-looking girl; but, of
course, that old she-wolf of yours won't let
her stay more than a month—reads French,
too? That's an unusual accomplishment
for a village school-girl, but——"

Here Maud lost the rest; and she would
like to have heard it. She confessed this
to herself with some shame. What could
it signify to her what the young man said
or thought? But she had now found the
letter, and returned to the dressing-room
with it.

"There!" said Mrs. Cartaret. "Read
it, Lowndes; and you, Mary, light the
candles on the dressing-table. There is
the first dinner-bell. In that drawer you
will find a black-lace cap. Take care how
you handle it; it is very precious, child!
It belonged to Madame de Maintenon."

"And is almost as frail as its possessor
was," said Lowndes, looking up from the
letter to which he was lending but a
divided attention, for no movement of
Maud's escaped him.

"Frail! Hold your tongue sir; she was
a saint. Go on and read your letter.
Juste Ciel! What would they say at
Marly-les-Bois if they could hear you?
Such a pious woman! but this is the
age for médisance? Is my hair smooth
behind, child? Mon Dieu! How yellow
I look. Give me the rouge. It won't do
to have those young men saying that
Lowndes Cartaret's mother is a horrid old
hag. There, just a soupçon, that will do.
How do you find me now, Mary Hind?
Not so bad for a woman of sixty-four,
eh?"

"I like you better without the rouge,
ma'am."

"Bah! with your village-school ideas, I
suppose you think it is wrong? Why, in
the last centuiy, in the good old times, no
lady was dressed—would have thought to
appear without her rouge! What is that
you say? They were a mass of deception,
with their hoops and whalebone bodies,
and powdered heads! Go along with you!
They were true ladies, who had the great
air. That is what few have now, with
their horrid laissez-aller ways. They are
all like—well, never mind what they are
like—everything is democratic, common,
what they call ' simple,' like their courts.
Mon Dieu! Defend me from simplicity!"

"Does 'the great air' depend upon
rouge, ma'am?"

Lowndes burst out laughing.

"Do you mock yourself of me, Mary
Hind?" said the old lady, firing up. " Hold
your tongue. I tell you nobody has it now.
Monsieur mon fils, when you have done
laughing, I shall be glad: you make my
head to ache. You have read that letter?
Well, is it not particularly satisfactory,
eh?"

He had certainly not read above half of
it, but, by the process called 'skipping,'
he had reached the end, and he now tossed
it on the table.

"Particularly—to those whom it may
concern—not to me. I am a fool at figures,
and millions of francs always puzzle me.
But I'll pass on the marquis's offer to a
friend of mine, if you like it, a fellow who
is looking out for a good thing of the
kind."

"Imbécile! Who cares about your
friend? And, pray, why should it not
suit you to go, look, and judge for
yourself? I say no more; now that the
marquis and I have arranged the preliminaries,
eh? It leaves nothing to be desired.
Why should you set your face against it,
pray?"