'Will you, dear cheaile, be so kind to bring here my purse, I forgot on the
table in my room; also, I advise you, bring _your_.'

Catherine returned with Mrs. Rusk. Here was a man who could tell them
something of the old Frenchwoman, at last! Slyly they dawdled over his
wares, until Madame had made her market and departed with me. But when the
coveted opportunity came, the pedlar was quite impenetrable. 'He forgot
everything; he did not believe as he ever saw the lady before. He called a
Frenchwoman, all the world over, Madamasel--that wor the name on 'em all.
He never seed her in partiklar afore, as he could bring to mind. He liked
to see 'em always, 'cause they makes the young uns buy.'

This reserve and oblivion were very provoking, and neither Mrs. Rusk nor
Catherine Jones spent sixpence with him;--he was a stupid fellow, or worse.

Of course Madame had tampered with him. But truth, like murder, will out
some day. Tom Williams, the groom, had seen her, when alone with him, and
pretending to look at his stock, with her face almost buried in his silks
and Welsh linseys, talking as fast as she could all the time, and slipping
_money_, he did suppose, under a piece of stuff in his box.

In the mean time, I and Madame were walking over the wide, peaty
sheep-walks that lie between Knowl and Church Scarsdale. Since our visit to
the mausoleum in the wood, she had not worried me so much as before. She
had been, indeed, more than usually thoughtful, very little talkative, and
troubled me hardly at all about French and other accomplishments. A walk
was a part of our daily routine. I now carried a tiny basket in my hand,
with a few sandwiches, which were to furnish our luncheon when we reached
the pretty scene, about two miles away, whither we were tending.