“I hope you will not deprive us of the pleasure of seeing Lady Jane. We are very fond of her,” said Mam’selle Diane, almost humbly, while the tears gathered on her eyelashes. “Of course you must do as you think best about the lessons.”
“I sha’n’t allow her to run about the neighborhood any more,” replied madame, tartly; “she’s losing her pretty manners. I shall keep her with me in the future,” and with this small parting thrust and a curt good-morning she went out of the little green gate, and left Mam’selle Diane to close it behind her with a very heavy heart.
The interview had taken place on the gallery, and Madame d’Hautreve had heard but little from her bed. “Diane, what did that woman want? What sent her here at this hour?” quavered the old lady sharply.
“She came on business, mama,” replied Mam’selle Diane, brushing away a tear.
“Business, business; I hope you have no business with her.”
“She pretended to think I expected to be paid for the lessons I have given Lady Jane.”
Madame groaned. “I told you we would regret opening our doors to that child.”
“Oh, mama, I don’t regret it. I only regret that I have lost the pleasure of seeing her. Madame Jozain will not allow her to come any more.”
“Ungrateful creature, to insult you after your condescension.”
“Mama, she didn’t insult me,” interrupted Mam’selle Diane, proudly. “Must I remind you that I am above her insolence?”