“No, my dear hoy; if I have to go at all--which is not certain--I shall certainly go alone, or rather with nobody but Mary. You will be full of preparations for your _fête_, I know, for one only comes of age once in one's lifetime; and besides, to tell you the truth, you would be of no use at all.” Here she kissed him tenderly, and pushed her fingers through his brown curls lingeringly, as though she was already wishing him farewell. “But the good news I speak of is a much more selfish affair than you dream of. I have had a letter from my dear old friend, Madame de Castellan, who used to be so good to me when I was no older than you, Letty, at Dijon.” “I remember her,” said Sir Richard. “She came to stay at the Abbey when I was about nine, did she not, and took such a fancy to dear old Belcomb? She said that she and I would marry so soon as I got old enough, and set up an establishment in the little cottage. A charming old lady, with snow-white hair, but a slight deficiency of teeth.” “Just so,” answered my Lady. “She always vowed she would have nothing false about her, as long as she lived, and she is alive now, and apparently very hearty. But she has had some money losses, as well as certain domestic misfortunes, which induce her to seek an entire change of life. It is a most singular thing that you should have recollected her passion for Belcomb, for it is about that very place that she has written. She wishes to know whether she could be our tenant there, at all events for the summer. The matter is in your hands, Richard, or will be so in a week or two, but I confess I should like to have her for a neighbour exceedingly.” “Then by all means write and say 'Come,'” cried the baronet; “and why not let her have Belcomb rent free? I dare say she would not mind our having our picnics there occasionally; and it is really no loss to me, for I don't believe anybody but herself would dream of taking it, except in the shooting season.” “Then that is arranged,” answered my Lady joyfully. “I am to write by return of post,” she says ; “and if the letter says 'Yes,' that then we may expect her any day. She will bring her own French maid; and I will drive over to-day, and arrange about old Rachel and her husband, who, of course, must be no losers, if they have to leave. That must be Madame's own affair, if she is really to have the place for nothing. See how affectionately the dear old lady writes, and what a capital hand, considering her advanced age!” “Yes, indeed,” said Sir Richard, elevating his eyebrows: “only, to say the truth, I am not good at French manuscript----” “Although a master of that language, when in printed books,” interrupted Letty. “Well, the fact is they didn't teach that sort of thing at Eton in my time,” answered the baronet frankly; “or, at all events, they didn't teach _me_. However, French is not so bad as German, that I will say. One _can_ pronounce it without speaking from the pit of one's stomach.”