Page:Braddon--Wyllard's weird.djvu/144

136 "They were sold by her mother, who lived upon the proceeds of the sale for some years. She paid for Léonie's schooling out of the same fund. It was only in the last years of her life that she again became poor. But to the very last she had means of her own—a small income, the source of which was unknown to me. She might have lived very comfortably if she had not been extravagant; but she had no prudence, and there were times when she was almost penniless. She took me into partnership very soon after her daughter's death. She had sent the little girl to a convent, and she felt lonely and nervous in these rooms. Her spirits never recovered from the shock of that terrible murder—the horror of the night in which Léonie was brought home to her by the police from Saint-Germain, who told her the history of the murder. She invited me to share her apartment, and to work for her, taking half the profits of the business. The profits were of the smallest, but she gave me my board and lodging, and I was too fond of Madame Lemarque, and of Jacko," added the spinster, looking fondly at the cockatoo.

"That is Madame Lemarque's parrot, I conclude?"

"Yes. He belonged to poor Marie. Ah, he could tell us a great deal, if he would but talk sense instead of repeating foolish songs. She bought him from a sailor at Marseilles, and brought him home with her after one of her autumn holidays. She used to teach him lines from the songs she sang at the theatre."

"Moi, je suis le radis noir!" shrieked the parrot.

"You were living with Madame Lemarque when her granddaughter returned from Dinan, I suppose?" said Heathcote.

"Ah, you seem to know all about it. Yes, I was with Madame when she went to Saint-Lazare to meet the child. Such a bright, pretty girl she had grown—so amiable, and clever, and industrious. I never thought she would act towards me as she has done."

"In what way has she acted badly?"

"She went to England directly after her grandmother's death—that is more than two months ago—and she has not written to me once since then. No doubt she has found powerful friends—rich friends—and has no need of a poor old woman like me."

"There may be some other reason for her silence," said Heathcote gravely.

"What other reason?"

"Some misfortune; an accident, perhaps. She had to travel by steamer and by railway. Might not something have happened?"

"I have thought of that sometimes," said the dressmaker, with a distressed look, "and if I had had a friend in England—one single friend—I should have written to ask that friend to