' Don't think me vain, ma mie. I am an old
woman now, and I hate my looking-glass ever since it has shown me my
first wrinkle; but in those days I had almost as many admirers as Madame
Henriette, or the Princess Palatine, or the fair-haired Duchess. I was
called la belle Anglaise."
It was difficult to sound a warning-note in ears so obstinately deaf to
all serious things. Papillon came bounding in after her dancing-lesson--
exuberant, loquacious.
"The little beast has taught me a new step in the coranto. See, mother,"
and the slim small figure was drawn up to its fullest, and the thin little
lithe arms were curved with a studied grace, as Papillon slid and tripped
across the room, her dainty little features illumined by a smirk of
ineffable conceit.
"Henriette, you are an ill-bred child to call your master so rude a name,"
remonstrated her mother, languidly.
"'Tis the name you called him last week when his dirty shoes left marks
on the stairs. He changes his shoes in my presence," added Papillon,
disgustedly. "I saw a hole in his stocking. Monsieur de Malfort calls him
Cut-Caper."
CHAPTER XII.
LADY FAREHAM'S DAY.
A month later the _Oxford Gazette_ brought Lady Fareham the welcomest news
that she had read for ever so long.
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