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Updated: June 30, 2025
"And what are we to do in the kitchen?" Cecilia looked down at her pretty hands crossed on her lap, and answered softly, "Cook our own luncheon." Here was an entirely new amusement, in the most attractive sense of the words! Here was charming Cecilia's interest in the pleasures of the table so happily inspired, that the grateful meeting offered its tribute of applause even including Francine.
The carpet was in harmony with the curtains; and the furniture was of light-colored wood, which helped the general effect of subdued brightness that made the charm of the room. "If you are not happy here," Miss Ladd said, "I despair of you." And Francine answered, "Yes, it's very pretty, but I wish it was not so small." On the twelfth of August the regular routine of the school was resumed.
But no, poor Jacques is dead!" Irène could not help the poor girl; although she fully believed in the truth of what Fanfar had said, she could offer no proof. Suddenly Francine exclaimed, "If he is my Jacques, he ought to be about twenty. He ought to be very handsome." Irène colored, as she said, "He is handsome!" "With black eyes, and brown curling hair?"
From this she advanced to the narrative of what had taken place at Netherwoods to the atrocious attempt to frighten her by means of the image of wax to the discovery made by Francine in the garden at night and to the circumstances under which that discovery had been communicated to Emily. Miss Ladd's face reddened with indignation. "Are you sure of all that you have said?" she asked.
Circumstances connected with her sister's health would delay their return to England for a little while. By the end of the month she hoped to be at home again, and to hear if Francine was disengaged. Her address, in England, was Monksmoor Park, Hants. Having read the letter, Francine drew a moral from it: "There is great use in a fool, when one knows how to manage her."
"When I noticed the change in her at dinner, I told you she meant mischief. There is another change to-day, which suggests to my mind that the mischief is done." "And directed against me?" Emily asked. Mirabel made no direct reply. It was impossible for him to remind her that she had, no matter how innocently, exposed herself to the jealous hatred of Francine.
You don't appear to understand me." "I don't, indeed!" Francine considered a little. "Perhaps they were fond of you at home," she suggested. "Say they loved me, Francine and I loved them." "Ah, my position is just the reverse of yours. Now they have got rid of me, they don't want me back again at home. I know as well what my mother said to my father, as if I had heard her.
As soon as she was out of sight, Francine approached Mirabel, trembling with suppressed rage. Miss de Sor began cautiously with an apology. "Excuse me, Mr. Mirabel, for reminding you of my presence." Mr. Mirabel made no reply. "I beg to say," Francine proceeded, "that I didn't intentionally see you kiss Emily's hand."
"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take it.
Francine alone saw the change produced upon the company by the departure of the young chief. The gentlemen gathered hastily round Madame du Gua, and during a conversation carried on in an undertone between them, they all turned several times to look curiously at the stranger.
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