“So come, my dear Pat, and make no delay, for joy’s not joy compl_a_te till you’re in it--my father sends his blessing, and Peggy her love. The family entirely is to settle for good in Ireland, and there was in the castle yard last night a bonfire made by my lord’s orders of the _ould_ yellow damask furniture, to plase my lady, my lord says. And the drawing-room, the butler was telling me, is new hung; and the chairs with velvet as white as snow, and shaded over with natural flowers by Miss Nugent. Oh! how I hope what I guess will come true, and I’ve _rason_ to believe it will, for I dreamt in my bed last night it did. But keep yourself to yourself--that Miss Nugent (who is no more Miss Nugent, they say, but Miss Reynolds, and has a new-found grandfather, and is a big heiress, which she did not want in my eyes, nor in my young lord’s), I’ve a notion, will be sometime, and may be sooner than is expected, my Lady Viscountess Colambre--so haste to the wedding. And there’s another thing: they say the rich _ould_ grandfather’s coming over;--and another thing, Pat, you would not be out of the fashion--and you see it’s growing the fashion not to be an Absentee. “Your loving brother, “LARRY BRADY.” 1812. MADAME DE FLEURY CHAPTER I. “There oft are heard the notes of infant woe, The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall. How can you, mothers, vex your infants so?”--POPE. “D’abord, madame, c’est impossible!--Madame ne descendra pas ici?[12]” said François, the footman of Mad. de Fleury, with a half expostulatory, half indignant look, as he let down the step of her carriage at the entrance of a dirty passage, that led to one of the most miserable-looking houses in Paris. “But what can be the cause of the cries which I hear in this house?” said Mad. de Fleury. “‘Tis only some child, who is crying,” replied François: and he would have put up the step, but his lady was not satisfied. “‘Tis nothing in the world,” continued he, with a look of appeal to the coachman, “it _can_ be nothing, but some children, who are locked up there above. The mother, the workwoman my lady wants, is not at home, that’s certain.” “I must know the cause of these cries; I must see these children,” said Mad. de Fleury, getting out of her carriage. François held his arm for his lady as she got out. “Bon!” cried he, with an air of vexation. “Si madame la veut absolument, à la bonne heure!--Mais madame sera abimée. Madame verra que j’ai raison. Madame ne montera jamais ce vilain escalier. D’ailleurs c’est an cinquième. Mais, madame, c’est impossible.”[13]