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Updated: July 28, 2025
"That is unjust," said Bice with tears in her eyes. "I should have come to Milady had there been no Montjoie at all. It is first and above all for her sake. I will have a fever for her, oh willingly!" cried the girl. Then she added after a little pause: "Why did she bid me 'go to your father and tell him ? What does that mean, go to my father? I have never had any father." "Did she say that?"
"By Jove!" he cried, "you don't mean that, Miss Mademoiselle I am so awfully stupid I never heard that is to say I ain't at all clever at foreign names." "Oh, never mind," cried Bice; "neither am I. But yours is delightful; it is so easy, Milord. Ought I to say Milord?" "Oh," cried Montjoie, a little confused. "No; I don't think so people don't as a rule." "Lord Montjoie, that is right?
"I dare say," said Lord Montjoie, admiringly, "because you don't want it. That's always the way." "I am so clever that I have been here all the time," said Bice, with another laugh so joyous, "so jolly," Montjoie said, that his terrors died away. But his surprise took another development at this extraordinary information.
We shall meet again in happier days, after our dangers are past, and then you shall both resume your old places. Farewell! This intense parting scene is strictly historical, according to the concurrent communications of Montjoie in his "Histoire de Marie Antoinette." Campan, Mem., ii.
Montjoie declared that he was "ready to split" at their cheek in asking, and in calling Bice "poor thing," she who was the most fortunate girl in the world. The Contessa took the good the gods provided her, without grumbling at the fate which transferred to her the little fortune which had been given to Bice to keep her from a mercenary marriage.
"Listen," she said, "I have something to tell you. Perhaps, when you hear it, all will be over. I have not allowed you to come near me nor touch me " "No, by Jove! It has been stand off, indeed! I don't know what you mean by it," cried Montjoie ruefully; "that wasn't what I bargained for, don't you know?" "I am going to explain," said Bice.
That it should all be going on under her roof was terrible to her, though it was not for Montjoie but for Bice that her anxieties were awakened. She followed the Contessa upstairs, bearing her candle as if they formed part of a procession, with a countenance absolutely opposed in expression to the smiles of Madame di Forno-Populo.
It implied the gradual abandonment of certain ambitions, the relinquishment bit by bit of an arid and fruitless effort. She would stand and sigh sometimes long, regretful sighs like a child for she knew not what. But David would have his way, and it was no good; and she loved him and Sandy. But she owed no love to Louie Montjoie!
And how I shall long to see that little house in Mayfair!" The Contessa smiled upon Lady Anastasia as she smiled upon the male friends that surrounded her. Her paper and her paragraphs were not to be despised, and those little mysterious intimations about the new beauty which it delighted her to make. Madame di Forno-Populo turned to Montjoie afterwards with a little wave of the hand.
These were the distinct utterances which enchanted Bice amid the murmurs of more ordinary applause. She was delighted with them. She clapped her hands once more with a delight which was contagious. "Ah, I know now, this is what it is to have succès," she cried. "Now," said the Contessa, "it is the turn of Lord Montjoie, who is a dab that is the word at singing, and who promised me three for one."
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