Madame had her dressing-case and her mysteries, and palpably stood in need
of repairs; so away I went to my studies. The room which we called the
school-room was partly beneath the floor of Madame's bed-chamber, and
commanded the same view; so, remembering my governess's peering glance from
her windows, I looked out, and saw Cousin Monica making a brisk promenade
up and down the terrace-walk. Well, that was quite enough to account for
it. I had grown very curious, and I resolved when our lessons were over to
join her and make another attempt to discover the mystery.

As I sat over my books, I fancied I heard a movement outside the door. I
suspected that Madame was listening. I waited for a time, expecting to see
the door open, but she did not come; so I opened it suddenly myself, but
Madame was not on the threshold nor on the lobby. I heard a rustling,
however, and on the staircase over the banister I saw the folds of her silk
dress as she descended.

She is going, I thought, to seek an interview with Lady Knollys. She
intends to propitiate that dangerous lady; so I amused some eight or ten
minutes in watching Cousin Monica's quick march and right-about face upon
the parade-ground of the terrace. But no one joined her.

'She is certainly talking to papa,' was my next and more probable
conjecture. Having the profoundest distrust of Madame, I was naturally
extremely jealous of the confidential interviews in which deceit and malice
might make their representations plausibly and without answer.

'Yes, I'll run down and see--see _papa_; she shan't tell lies behind my
back, horrid woman!'

At the study-door I knocked, and forthwith entered. My father was sitting