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Updated: September 23, 2025
Destournier is fond of her, fatherly now, but she is shooting up into a tall girl. There will not be so many years between them as the Sieur and Mademoiselle Boullé. And some day he will take her to wife. 'Twere a pity to spoil the romance. She adores him." Miladi bit her lip hard, and drew her brow into a sharp frown. "What nonsense!" she made answer.
The French maid, full of sympathy and excitement, wondered, while she turned on the taps, how Miladi should look so disdainful and calm. "Mon Dieu! if Milor was my Raoul! I would be far otherwise," she thought to herself, as she poured in the scent.
M. Boullé cried, with a lover's desperation. "Do not fear. She has been like a child to me. No harm shall come to her." Miladi in her transport of rage tore the handkerchief she held in her hand to shreds, and stamped her foot on the floor. "She shall never come in this house again, the deceitful, ungrateful wretch. And he shall not care for her, or befriend her in any way.
"I wonder," she said one day, as she sat on the rocks, leaning against Destournier's knee, the soft wind playing through the silken tendrils of her hair "I wonder if you should die whether I could be like miladi, and want the room dark and have every one go in the softest moccasins, and have headaches and the sound of any one's voice pierce through you like a knife. It would be terrible."
Ordinarily, he would have explained what he had been about the last two hours, but he had a sudden premonition that it was wiser not to do so. Miladi was sometimes captious where Rose was concerned. "I was busy," he made answer briefly. "M. Boullé goes to Tadoussac to-morrow. The vessel came down for him to-day. Some urgent business requires his attention."
"Very strange I mean rather strange," said Lord George, helping himself, as he spoke, to his usual quantity of butter, and then drumming upon the table; whilst Mr. Mountague, all the time, looked down, and preserved a profound silence. At length the door opened, and Mlle. Panache, in a riding habit, made her appearance. "Bon jour, miladi!
Mamzelle tightened her thin lips a little and waved her hand expressively. "She is an angel of beauty!" she said, "and Miladi Winsleigh is jealous ah, Dieu! jealous to death of her! She is innocent too like a baby and she worships her husband. That is an error! To worship a man is a great mistake she will find it so. Men are not to be too much loved no, no!"
Italian was the tongue which chiefly served as a medium between her and Miss Gattoni, though hers was not pure enough to be easily understood. Mrs. Morton and Ida put questions which Miss Gattoni translated as best she could, and made out as much as possible of the answers. It was elicited that she had not been allowed to see the English miladi.
Miladi liked a sail now and then on the river, when it was tranquil. She did not seem to grow stronger, though she would not admit that she was ill. She watched Rose with a curious half-dread. She was growing tall, but her figure kept its lithe symmetry. Out in the woods she sometimes danced like a wild creature.
And undoubtedly Madame surpassed her usual skill in all she did for Thelma, she took such pains, and was so successful in all her designs, that "Miladi," who did not as a rule show more than a very ordinary interest in her toilette, found it impossible not to admire the artistic taste, harmonious coloring, and exquisite fit of the few choice gowns supplied to her from the "Maison Rosine" and only on one occasion had she any discussion with the celebrated modiste.
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