Mademoiselle listened with polite attention to Mr. Banks's statement of the condition of affairs; but she was not warmly interested. "Monsieur Banks will pardon me," she said; "but at present I coif madame; I think he demanded madame?" "Yes, I did, marm'sell," said Banks, abashed and convicted by this quiet little person of undue loquacity; "only I thought you'd like to hear. Mostly servants does; but," here Mr. Banks floundered again, "you ain't much like the rest of us, miss--mam'sell, I mean." Mademoiselle Marcelline acknowledged the compliment with a very frigid smile, and again inquired what she might have the pleasure of telling madame, on the part of Monsieur Banks. "Sir Charles begs Mrs. Hammond will come down to the libery if quite convenient to her, as he wishes to speak to her about some necessary arrangements." Mr. Banks delivered his message with elaboration, and waited the reply with dignity. Mademoiselle Marcelline repeated the communication to her mistress, word for word, and did not suffer the slightest trace of expression to appear in her face. "Yes, I will go down immediately," said Laura, much relieved at the prospect of escaping from the presence of her maid, and having time to consider her position. Mr. Banks went away to deliver Mrs. Hammond's message, and mademoiselle, in perfect silence, removed the dressing-gown from her mistress's shoulders; and Laura, her dress in complete order, and her nerves to all appearance as well arranged, rose from her chair. "Give me a lace shawl," she said, in her customary imperious manner; "if Lady Mitford has lost her father, she will not be gratified by my making my appearance in full-dress, and I have no time to change it." "Madame is so considerate," remarked Mademoiselle Marcelline, as she folded a web of fine black lace round Mrs. Hammond's form; "and Lady Mitford owes her so much. Poor lady, she is sensitive; she has not the courage of madame. Madame must form her." "Go for Gifford to sit with Mr. Hammond," said Laura. "You can wait for me in my room as usual;" and she walked out of the dressing-room, having previously ordered her maid to unlock the door, without any outward sign of disturbance. Slowly she went down the great staircase, and as she went she asked herself, "Shall I tell Charles? Could any worse complication arise out of my concealing this dreadful thing from him?" At length she made up her mind, just as she reached the door of the library. "No," she said, "I will not tell him. He has no nerve, and would blunder, and the less one tells any man the better."