"You must listen to the _histoire_ that I will tell to you. You must clearly first understand that this is the identical lost bangle--the bangle made of the eighteen carat gold--with the delicate engraving and the turquoise of the colour so pure, and of the form so rare and the size so marvellous. It is the identical one." "It certainly seems like it," said Penelope. "It _is_ the same--rest assured." As Mademoiselle spoke, she folded up the bangle and transferred it to her pocket. "I have something to say to you, _chere enfant_." "What do you mean? Why don't you give me the bangle to take to little Nellie? I don't understand you." "_Ayez patience_--you soon will be enlightened." Mademoiselle bent close to Penelope; her voice dropped to a whisper. "They shall hear us not," she said, "those men on the box. We can talk freely. Shall I tell you how I found it? I had my so true suspicions, and I followed them up. Now listen." With this preamble, Mademoiselle poured into poor Penelope's ears the story of Fanchon and the marvellous bangle she wore, of Nina, and her walk abroad with Mademoiselle wearing the said bangle on her wrist, of Brenda's reprehensible doings when she took Fanchon out night after night, and, lastly, of the very clever way in which she, Mademoiselle, had managed to substitute the worthless bangle for the real one. "I talk not of myself as lofty in this matter," was her final remark. "I am the poor governess who have here all to earn; but I am not so bad as that _mechante_--your sister. There is no doubt that on the day of the _grande fete_ at Hazlitt Chase she found the bangle and that she would keep it for her own purposes. It was doubtless not lost in any railway carriage, nor was there any official or traveller to blame. She was the one who put that idea into your head, was she not?" Penelope did not utter a word. "There is circumstantial evidence the most grave against your sister," said Mademoiselle, in conclusion, "but I try her not by my judgment; I have mercy upon her, and bring the case to you; I lay it at your feet. What will you do for the sister--the only sister that you possess? You most assuredly will not allow her to be put into prison. What will you do?" CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. DO THE RIGHT THING. Penelope was quite silent, not replying by a single word to Mademoiselle's insinuations until they reached the gates of Castle Beverley. Then she said in a quiet voice: "You have told me something most terrible, and of course--I will do--I will do something--" "But you will not expose that _pauvre_ sister--you will not ruin her for all her life; and she so young and so fair." "Please, Mademoiselle, promise me something," said Penelope. "You have told me the story, and I am obliged to you. I will let you know what I myself mean to do to-morrow morning."