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Rh closely shut in her own room, refusing to admit even Marie or Mademoiselle Salerne. This state of things continued until nine o clock, the hour for supper, when Marie appeared to report that mademoiselle had a headache, and required nothing, but wished her guardian and the young gentlemen a very good night. As the old woman a few moments later passed through a dark corridor between the dining-saloon and the staircase, she was frightened nearly out of her senses by a cold hand grasping her own, into which it pressed a paper and a silver piece, while a voice hoarsely muttered,—

"Give the paper to your mistress without delay."

"Oh, Monsieur le Baron, oh! I took you for, I know not what! Oh, such a fright as you have given me!"

"Never mind: silver will cure it, old woman. How is mademoiselle? What is she doing?"

"Doing! She is doing nothing, nor will she allow me to do any thing, although monsieur tells me to be all ready to set out with mademoiselle for Paris in the morning, to come back perhaps never. And there she sits at this blessed moment, I dare say, in the great fauteuil that was madame the countess's, her elbow on its arm, her pretty chin in her hand, her great eyes fixed on the black square of sky outside her casement (for I am sure she can see nothing else); and never a word can I get from her except, 'Hold your tongue,' and 'I want nothing,' and 'Let me alone, good Marie!' Not so much as to say which of her dresses is to be packed, and whether she will carry El Moro and the canary-birds."