they asked him why he did not go home now
that France was at peace, and multitudes of
exiles and English flocking over to taste the
long-forbidden delights of Paris, he only shook
his head. One day, however, he was seen
mounting the Shrewsbury mail-coach, and again
Madame Stéphanie reappeared in the town, more
rigid, haughty, and formal, if possible, than
before. Then it began to be said that Monsieur
Rigault had returned to France for good, and
that he had taken Mam'selle Elise with him.
This was hardly credited at first, for Monsieur
Rigault had given no warning of his departure
to his humble friends, and had made them no
farewell; but it was presently believed and
accepted as quite natural that he should have set
off thus secretly, if he had to convey away
Mam'selle Elise. That Mam'selle Elise should
have quietly consented to go was no marvel
except to her lover, who persisted for several
weeks in watching for her still about the Grange.
Then there flew abroad a rumour, which
originated with Bridget Johnes, that the young
lady had drowned herself or had been put away,
and this rumour presently grew so loud that the
rector, who was also a magistrate, felt it his
duty to have an interview with Madame
Stéphanie. Her explanation satisfied him. She
said that her niece had been conducted back to
France and consigned to the survivors of her
mother's family, who had recovered a portion of
their property, were in favour with the present
government, and had expressed repeatedly a
desire to adopt her, before she (Madame Stéphanie)
could agree to yield up her only brother's only
child. She added, that she and her sister were
now growing old; that they had no portion to give
with the petite, and therefore they had striven
with their devotion, and had sent her away
from them. She made no allusion to the now
notorious intrigue that had subsisted between
Mam'selle Elise and her low-born lover; but
this the rector, who was himself of high Tory
principles, perfectly understood and sympathised
with. He would have locked up his own
daughter, or have sent her into banishment, had
she so dared to misconduct herself.

No one doubted the truth of the rector's
assurance when he lulled the popular suspicions
that had begun to gather round the Grange by
publishing Madame Stéphanie's explanation.
The lover of Mam'selle Elise accepted it like
the rest; but, instead of putting up with her
removal as an inexorable separation, he formed
a sudden resolve to go across to France in
search of her. Of course neither Madame
Stéphanie nor the rector, who felt with her on
this matter of plebeian lovers, would vouchsafe
him any clue to the whereabouts of either the
young lady or her attendant, Monsieur Rigault.
He, however, set out at the end of September
or the beginning of October, and his journey,
with the quest in view, was long after talked
about as a romance of affection.

For several months nothing was heard of him;
his own people said he had fallen into the slough
of Parisian wickedness and revelry, and that
was why. But in the ensuing spring there came
a letter with intelligence that his endeavours to
discover his lady-love had been all in vain, and
that he was about to return home. He never
did return, however, for the rupture of the Peace
of Amiens took place in May, 1803, and all the
travelling English in France were detained
prisoners by command of the first consul. He
died before a new peace arrived to set them
free, and, with his memory, the events of that
time faded into oblivion.

The sole inhabitants of the Grange now were
Madame Stéphanie, Madame Rose, and Madame
Bette. Only Madame Stéphanie ever
encountered the public gaze. Her sister had
become a permanent invalid, but no physician was
invited to relieve her maladies. Their poverty
seemed more pinching than before, and their
seclusion more complete. The rector
endeavoured to befriend them, but could never
succeed in winning their confidence, and at length
ceased to seek it.

The next change was the death of Madame
Rose, which occurred in 1815, when all England
was ringing its bells and rejoicing over the
glorious victory of Waterloo. Once more the
Baxters expected to come into possession of
the Grange, and once more they were
disappointed. The restoration of the Bourbons
appeared to bring no joy, no revival of hope to
the remaining pair of exiled women. Madame
Stéphanie might not have heard of it, for any
sign she made. As for Madame Bette, who
ever looked on her dark and furrowed face once
was not inclined to look again. She was a
most forbidding personage, mute as the grave.
During all her long sufferance in England she
had never picked up a word of English speech,
nor made a single English friend.

The two lived on together to quite extreme
old age. Madame Bette died the first, and died
suddenly. Madame Stéphanie, aged as she was,
still kept much of her ancient alertness and
vigour, resisting every inducement proffered by
the Baxters to remove into lodgings and accept
from them the tendance necessary at her time of
life. She survived Madame Bette about eighteen
months, and died as solitary as she had lived.
For two or three days she was missing from her
usual haunts, and, when the house was forcibly
entered, was found on the floor of the salon
in a dying condition. She made great efforts,
as of one who wishes to speak, but her tongue
could form no intelligible words, and before the
priest who had been sent for could arrive, she
was gone. She was buried beside her sister and
servant in the churchyard.

And now, at last, the Baxters entered into
possession of the Grange. The old people took
up their residence in it, after putting it into
habitable repair at the least possible cost; for
having brought up a large and expensive family,
they had suffered losses, and were less rich
in their old age than they had been in their
young days. Bridget Johnes was for some years
their servant, and though she remembered and
spoke of the closet in the salon, it was after the