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Updated: June 9, 2025
Talk of Prometheus with his vulture, the Spartan boy with his decently concealed wolf! What of Lys d'Angely with an English chauffeur in her pocket? When I was dismissed from the Presence, I ran to Lady Kilmarny with my story, and she agreed with me that the thing to dread most in the whole situation was the chauffeur.
I thought hard for a minute. Lady Kilmarny had said it would not be many weeks before the Turnours went to England. If not, she was as kind as she was queer, and would help me look further. So I replied that I would accept the fifty francs, and would do my best to please her ladyship. She did not express herself as gratified. "You can begin work this evening," she said.
"She's the kind that doesn't know a lady or gentleman without a label," my kind friend warned me. "You must be prepared for that." "I'll be prepared for anything," I assured her. But when it came to the test, I wasn't quite. Lady Kilmarny wrote a line to Lady Turnour, and asked if she might bring a maid to be interviewed a young woman whom she could recommend.
It was the Liver Pills which had eventually introduced into her brain the idea she falteringly embodied for me. The husband of the quaint creature had invented the pills, even as Monsieur Charretier had invented his abomination. Because of the pills he had been made a Knight; at least, Lady Kilmarny didn't know any other reason.
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