And Clement Sutherland, coldly bowing, left the library. Mark Sutherland walked up and down the floor in great disturbance of mind, and then at last he seized his hat and hurried from the room, to seek the presence of India. CHAPTER V. CHAMBRE DE TOILETTE ET LA TROUSSEAU. “’Tis a proud chamber and a rich, Filled with the world’s most costly things, Of precious stones and gold; Of laces, silks, and jewelry, And all that’s bought and sold.”—_Howitt._ “Rosalie! what is it you are poring over, now? Good heaven! Moore’s Sacred Melodies! Now, my love, that is not the food for you to be feeding your sick fancies upon! Plague take the books! I could find it in my heart to throw every one I find into the fire! Come, throw aside that _blazée_ sentimentalist, and come with me into Miss Sutherland’s room, and try to interest yourself a little in healthful external life. Miss Sutherland’s boxes have just arrived from Paris, _viâ_ New Orleans; they have been carried up into her dressing-room; and by this time, I suppose, the men have opened them, and carried off all the rubbish of nails, and bands, and outside boxes, and we have only to go and help to set the beautiful things at full liberty.” This was addressed by Mrs. Vivian to her step-daughter, when, on entering the chamber of the latter, she found the young invalid reclining upon a couch, and reading, as usual. The fair girl closed her book, and smiling gently, arose, and passed her arm through that of her step-mother. And they left the chamber, crossed the hall, opened an opposite door, and entered the dressing-room of Miss Sutherland. A scene of splendid chaos met their view. Most of the boxes had been unpacked and taken away, and their brilliant contents littered chairs, couches, ottomans, psyches, and even the carpet. And the favoured mistress of all this wealth sat in the midst of the resplendent confusion, with an air of extreme languor and indifference. At her feet sat her beautiful hand-maiden, Oriole, with a box of white satin slippers by her side, and her mistress’s small foot in her lap, fitting the fairy shoes. By her side stood her woman, Meda, holding a box of white kid gloves, from which she continued to hand out pair after pair to the young lady, who would draw one half upon her fingers, and then draw it off and let it fall, and drop her hand upon her lap with a look of extreme fatigue, as if the exertion had really been too much for her, and say, languidly— “There, take them away; they are all too large, or too small, or something”—— “Dear India, how can you say that?” said Mrs. Vivian, approaching, and taking up a pair of gloves; “they are all exactly of a size, and all number sixes—your number—and are really beautiful gloves.” “But I’m so tired—it is such a bore. Oriole, cease tormenting my feet, and take away those odious slippers.”