After this event Marston became excited and restless. He scarcely ate or
slept, and his health seemed now as much scattered as his spirits had
been before. One day he glided into the room in which, as we have said,
it was Mrs. Marston's habit frequently to sit alone. His wife was there,
and, as he entered, she uttered an exclamation of doubtful joy and
surprise. He sate down near her in silence, and for some time looked
gloomily on the ground. She did not care to question him, and anxiously
waited until he should open the conversation. At length he raised his
eyes, and, looking full at her, asked abruptly--"Well, what about
mademoiselle?"

Mrs. Marston was embarrassed, and hesitated.

"I told you what I wished with respect to that young lady some time ago,
and commissioned you to acquaint her with my pleasure; and yet I find her
still here, and apparently as much established as ever."

Again Mrs. Marston hesitated. She scarcely knew how to confess to him
that she had not conveyed his message.

"Don't suppose, Gertrude, that I wish to find fault. I merely wanted to
know whether you had told Mademoiselle de Barras that we were agreed as
to the necessity or expediency, or what you please, of dispensing
henceforward with her services, I perceive by your manner that you have
not done so. I have no doubt your motive was a kind one, but my decision
remains unaltered; and I now assure you again that I wish you to speak to
her; I wish you explicitly to let her know my wishes and yours."

"Not mine, Richard," she answered faintly.