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Updated: May 31, 2025
"How can you ask me that!" cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "But, Francine, tell me," she added throwing herself into a pose that was half serious, half comic, "will it be very hard to love me?" "No, but will he love you always?" replied Francine, smiling.
"Monsieur Pisgah," he said, "you can have nothing to eat here, until you pay a part of your bill with me; I am a poor man, sir, and have children." Pisgah kept up the street with heavy forebodings, and turned into the place of a clothes-merchant, to whom his face had long been familiar. When he emerged, his handsome habits, the gift of Madame Francine, hung in the clothes-dealer's window, and Mr.
Francine bent her head, with a gravity and condescension intended to keep him at his proper distance. Far from being discouraged, he permitted his curiosity to take additional liberties. "Are you to have the misfortune of being one of my pupils?" he asked. "I don't know who you are." "You won't be much wiser when you do know. My name is Alban Morris." Francine corrected herself.
When they live to old age, they often astonish thoughtless men, who walk behind them in the street. "I give you my honor, she was as easy and upright as a young girl; and when you got in front of her and looked white hair, and seventy years of age." Francine approached Emily, moved by a rare impulse in her nature the impulse to be sociable. "You look out of spirits," she began.
"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my little girl " "Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me and send hither Andoche."
A look of terrible horror came on her face as she beheld this most repulsive creature. "Where am I?" faintly ejaculated the poor child. "You are with good friends, who are anxious to make you happy." Francine frowned. She was evidently trying to remember what had taken place. La Roulante grew bolder. She seated herself on the foot of the bed.
Suddenly she appeared to regret this freedom, permissible as it might be under the passing circumstances of a journey. She recovered her conventional manner, bowed to the lady and her son, and taking Francine with her, left the room.
Emily's affectionate welcome was, in some degree at least, inspired by a sensation of relief. To feel herself in the embrace of the warm-hearted schoolmistress was like finding a refuge from Francine. When the hour of departure arrived, Miss Ladd invited Emily to Brighton for the second time. "On the last occasion, my dear, you wrote me an excuse; I won't be treated in that way again.
"There is no person living who has better reason than you have to say that." Emily looked round with a start. Alban was out of hearing. It was Francine who had answered her. "What do you mean?" she said. Francine hesitated. A ghastly paleness overspread her face. "Are you ill?" Emily asked. "No I am thinking."
To a person acquainted with the circumstances there could be no possible doubt of what had happened. Francine had failed to excuse herself, and had been dismissed from Miss Ladd's house. "I would have traveled to the world's end," Mrs. Ellmother said, "to see that!" She returned to her place in the waiting-room, perfectly satisfied.
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