"_Mais assurément, monsieur!_" cried the _bonne_, and then she went off into a flood of mingled praise of the infant, of her mistress, of her new master, and of herself. The child, whose eyes were open, was held aloft in triumph, and he stared at Haggard with a wondering gaze. Haggard clapped his hands at the child in undisguised pleasure. As Georgie sat upon the bench she wistfully watched the little drama, and gradually the old look of terror, which seemed to have left her in the excitement of her husband's return, came back to her face. The decision--the fatal decision--she felt was now irrevocable. From that moment she knew that her life was to be passed in the carrying out of Lucy's plot. There could be no drawing back now. As she thought of all this, the colour left her face, and the strength her limbs. The sharp eye of the _bonne_ saw that she was almost fainting. "_Monsieur, madame se trouve mal!_" she exclaimed, distracting the husband's attention from the infant and herself. "What's amiss, George," he cried. "You are not ill, dear?" he said with unusual solicitude. But Georgie declared that it was nothing. "I think the heat upsets me," she said with an effort. Just then the clash of the luncheon bell was heard, and Haggard gave his wife his arm. She leaning heavily on it, the pair slowly proceeded towards the house, followed by the _bonne_, solacing the infant with the rather inappropriate strain of: "Rien n'est sacré pour un sapeur--bébé. Non, rien n'est sacré pour un sapeur." CHAPTER V. THE MISSES SLEEK DROP IN.