Wyllard's Weird: A NovelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Wyllard's Weird: A Novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Murder -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories
The little woman trotted off to the Rue du Bac, leaving Hilda to amuse
herself with a flabby copy of _L'Univers_, three days old; or to
gaze despondently at the stony quadrangle, with its bust of the good
Lafontaine, and its three or four evergreens. Seen by those melancholy
eyes of hers, the garden looked like a family vault, with the good
Lafontaine for the father of the race.
Mdlle. Duprez came back in less than an hour. She had seen that dear
good soul Mdme. Tillet, and had settled everything. Mdme. Tillet would
be happy to receive Miss Heathcote, and would be to her as a mother.
By putting her two daughters into one room, she could contrive to
spare a neat little sleeping apartment for the new inmate. Things
were somewhat Bohemian in the house; but what would you expect with a
gifted and eccentric family? Everything was scrupulously clean. There
triumphed the household genius, Mdme. Tillet, born in an old farmhouse
in Brittany, where you might have eaten your dinner off the red brick
floor.
Mathilde Tillet, the musical daughter, was prepared to welcome Miss
Heathcote as a sister. There was no one in the family besides herself
who cared a straw for classical music, from Beethoven to Raff. The
brothers all believed in the _Madame Angot_ school, and had no sympathy
for anything loftier. Poor Mathilde had been pining for sympathy; and
to have a young companion who would toil at Bach's fugues and preludes,
and cram Chopin, Raff, and Brahms, and trudge to the Conservatoire with
her, would be delightful.
"They are going to make much of you," said Louise Duprez, "I will
answer for that in advance. My only fear is that the three brothers
will all fall in love with you, and then there will be storms. They
are rather fiery spirits."
"I shall not give them any provocation," said Hilda; and indeed the
pale grave face, with the troubled look in the eyes, was not suggestive
of coquetry.
"Mdme. Tillet promises to be ready to receive you to-morrow," continued
Mdlle. Duprez. "I have agreed for you to pay her her own terms, which
I do not think exorbitant, considering that everything in Paris is
execrably dear. You are to pay her ten pounds a calendar month, which
is to include everything, even to your laundress."
"It sounds very cheap," said Hilda, and she would have said the same if
the sum had been twenty pounds, or even forty. She was not in a state
of mind in which to consider pounds, shillings, and pence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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