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Updated: May 9, 2025
There was a light tap at the door. "Who is there?" inquired Lady Lucy. "It is I, my lady," replied Harris, her faithful maid. "Madame Dalmas is here." Lady Lucy unlocked the door and gave orders that the visiter should be shown up. With the name had come a flush of hope that some trifling temporary help would be hers.
And be it recorded, the temptress, for once, was baffled; but, at the expiration of an hour, Madame Dalmas left the house, with a huge bundle under her arm, and a quiet satisfaction revealed in her countenance, had any one thought it worth while to study the expression of her disagreeable face.
"Sit down, Madame Dalmas," she said, "I am dreadfully in want of money; but I really don't know what I have for you." "De green velvet, which you not let me have before Easter, I still give you four pounds for it, though perhaps you worn it very much since then." "Only twice only seven times in all and it cost me twenty guineas," sighed Lady Lucy.
Milady Lucy Ferrars know she look well in anyting, but yet she should not wear old clothes: no right for example for de trade, and de hoosband always like de wife well dressed ha ha!" Poor Lady Lucy! Too sick at heart to have any relish for Madame Dalmas' nauseous compliments, and more than half aware of her cheats and falsehoods, she yet tolerated the creature from her own dire necessities.
You have the greatest confidence in your maid, and entre nous she must be a good deal in the secret. We shall bribe her to discretion, however, by dismissing Madame Dalmas at once and for ever. As soon as you can spare Harris, I will send her to change a check at Coutts's, and then, for expedition and security, she shall take on the brougham and make a round to these tradespeople.
Madame Dalmas has had dresses I could have worn when I had new ones on credit instead, and and Harris has had double wages to compensate for what a lady's maid thinks her perquisites; even articles I might have given to poor gentlewoman I have been mean enough to sell. Oh, Walter! I have been very wrong; but I have been miserable for at least three years.
Madame Dalmas called herself a Frenchwoman, and signed herself "Antoinette" but she was really an English Jewess of low extraction, whose true name was Sarah Solomons. Her "profession" was to purchase and sell the cast-off apparel of ladies of fashion; and few of the sisterhood have carried the art of double cheating to so great a proficiency.
"Twenty-two pounds! why, it is Brussels point, and cost a hundred and twenty." "Ah, I know but you forget I perhaps keep it ten years and not sell and besides you buy dear; great lady often buy ver dear!" and Madame Dalmas shook her head with the solemnity of a sage. "No, no; I cannot sell my wedding-dress," again murmured the wife.
Madame Dalmas for she must be called according to the name engraved on her card was a little meanly-dressed woman of about forty, with bright eyes and a hooked nose, a restless shuffling manner, and an ill-pitched voice. Her jargon was a mixture of bad French and worse English.
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