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Updated: May 31, 2025
It was the old story of many a household. The lady has gone to her secret bower, The bower that was guarded by word and by spell. SCOTT, The Lay of the Last Minstrel. "Master Squire," said the principal man-at-arms of the garrison to Pierce Hardcastle, "is it known to you what this laidly dame's practices be?"
Study and travel, potent factors in the march of progress, had so enlarged the periphery of Leo's intellectual vision, that she frequently startled her prim aunt, by the enunciation of views much too extended and cosmopolitan to fit that haughty dame's Procrustean limits of "Southern ladyhood". Blessed with a discriminating governess and chaperon, who while fostering a genuine love of the beautiful, had endeavored to guard her pupil from straying into any of those fashionable "art crazes", which in their ephemeral exaggeration approach caricatures of aestheticism, Leo became deeply imbued with the spirit of classic literature and art; and grew especially fond of the study of Greek and Roman architecture.
'My great grandmother was a Protestant, said Ferdinand, 'Margaret Armine. Do you think Margaret a pretty name? 'Queen Margaret! yes, a fine name, I think; barring its abbreviation. 'I wish my great grandmother's name had not been Margaret, said Ferdinand, very seriously. 'Now, why should that respectable dame's baptism disturb your fancy? enquired Miss Temple.
I never got so far in my schooling. But turn this book upside down and read it. You cannot and I can. I might have become quite a scholar, if I had been properly brought up, for I learned to do this at Millicent Mason's dame's school before I was six years old. She sat in a chair and held a book in her lap. We stood in front of her.
Every one answered to his name except Maple of the Shell, who was away at his father's funeral, and Tomkins the Baby, who had been so scared by the whole affair, that he had turned sick during breakfast, and retired with the dame's permission to bed. During the call-over the doctor had entered and seated himself at the master's desk.
The old crone therefore, as soon as she had seated herself in the easy chair of the housekeeper and refreshed herself by twice accepting the dame's pressing invitation to tea and cognac, related with uplifted hands and shaking head a narrative of bold lies regarding what had really passed during her interview with Caroline. "But who is she, Mere Malheur? Did she tell you her name?
"They begin, the duke writes me, to hang again to-morrow," answered the duchesse, with a certain air of disdain, the first appearance of this weapon of the great now coming to the grande dame's aid. Her husband, the Duke de Chaulnes' trouble with his revolutionary citizens at Rennes was a subject that never failed to arouse a feeling of angry contempt in her.
Then I marvelled at the old dame's wisdom, though maybe it was but a guess, and asked her what I should do, seeing that she was wise, and the words of such as she are often to be hearkened to. "It is a wise man," she answered, "who will take advice; but never a word should you have had from old Gundred, save you had helped her, as a true man should."
They were the Dame's confidential maid, Anne Eveno, M. Toussaint pere, a daughter of the house, Julie, and, later, Mme Toussaint herself. They had eaten vegetable soup prepared by Helene Jegado. Something tardily the son of the house, liking neither Helene's face nor the deathly rumours that were rife about her, dismissed her.
His thoughts, like the dame's, reverted to Pierre. He meditated the repurchase of his ancestral home in Normandy and the restoration of its ancient honors for his son. Personal and political enmity might prevent the reversal of his own unjust condemnation, but Pierre had won renown in the recent campaigns.
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