“I beg you will not add insult to injury. You have wronged me enough already; and now if you will provide me with a carriage I will leave for Paris immediately. I do not wish to remain here another hour.” “Very well, you shall return to Paris, but not to-day; you shall go to-morrow. But you need not be so resentful, Salome; it is your own fault that you and I are not better friends. If you had only done as I wished——” Salome lifted her hand with an imperative gesture, but her face was very pale. “Never refer to that subject again,” she said; “the past is past, and it is useless to talk about it; and as for the lack of friendship between you and me, Heaven and your own conscience know whether it is your fault or mine. There are some other things, too, for which you may be called to account by and by.” “What do you mean? You are not going to——” began Mrs. Rochester, in undisguised alarm. “I do not know what I may be tempted to do if you goad me much further,” the almost desperate girl returned bitterly; “therefore I wish to get away from you as soon as possible.” “Very well, you shall go to-morrow; I promise you that you shall go to-morrow,” Mrs. Rochester replied, but with a peculiar smile. She left the room almost immediately, sought an interview with her daughter, whom she informed with much excitement of the conversation just narrated, after which she herself hastened with all possible dispatch to Paris. Two hours later she might have been seen sitting in the gloomy reception-room of a celebrated “nervine” establishment of that city, engaged in confidential conversation with a middle-aged, rather prepossessing, but very stern and resolute-looking man. “You say that the young lady, your daughter, is about twenty-three years of age?” he inquired, making a note upon some tablets which he held in his hand. “And her name is——” “Salome.” “Ah! Salome Rochester, like your own, madam?” “Yes,” but madam flushed vividly as she thus replied. “She has been ill, you say,” the gentleman continued, “her nerves are in a peculiar state—in fact, her mind is affected with strange ideas, which make it unsafe for her to be left to herself, and you desire to leave her in my care until you return from your travels, or—she is better?” “Yes. The girl is possessed with the idea that she must go into the hospitals of the city as a nurse; she has assumed the dress of a gray nun, and declares this work is her mission—a most absurd fancy, I am sure you will agree when you see her in her present weakened state,” Mrs. Rochester volubly explained. “I am travelling with friends; we go to Rome very soon for the winter, and my plan is to leave her with you until—we return. I wish her to have the best of care, and all the privileges that are possible without infringing upon the rules of your establishment; but you are on no account to allow her to go away from here. I shall hold you responsible for her safety until I come to claim her.”