The Duchess then began to read aloud her own letter to Lord Walwyn, pausing at every clause, so that Eustacie felt the delay and discussion growing interminable, and the Duchess then requested to have Madame de Ribaumont’s own letter at once, as she wished to inclose it, make up her packet, and send it without delay.  Opening a secret door in her cabinet, she showed Eustacie stair by which she might reach Maitre Gardon’s room without crossing the hall.  Eustacie hoped to find him there and tell him how intolerable was the Duchess; but, though she found him, it was in company with the tutor, who was spending an afternoon on Plato with him.  She could only take up her letter and retreat to Madame’s cabinet, where she had left her child.  She finished it as best she might, addressed it after the herald’s spelling of the title, bound it with some of the Duchess’s black floss silk—­wondering meanwhile, but little guessing that the pedlar knew, where was the tress that had bound her last attempt at correspondence, guessing least of all that that tress lay on a heart still living and throbbing for her.  All this had made her a little forget her haste to assert her liberty of action by returning to the pedlar; but, behold, when she came back to the hall, it had resumed its pristine soberness, and merely a few lingering figures were to be seen, packing up their purchases.

While she was still looking round in dismay, Mademoiselle Perrot came up to her and said, ’Ah!  Madame, you may well wonder!  I never saw Maitre Benoit there so cross; the poor man did but offer to sell little Fanchon the elizir that secures a good husband, and old Benoit descended on him like a griffin enraged, would scarce give him time to compute his charges or pack his wares, but hustled him forth like a mere thief!  And I missed my bargain for that muffler that had so taken my fancy.  But, Madame, he spoke to me apart, and said you were an old customer of his, and that rather than the little angel should suffer with her teeth, which surely threaten convulsions, he would leave with you this sovereign remedy of sweet syrup—­a spoonful to be given each night.’

Eustacie took the little flask.  She was much inclined to give the syrup by way of precaution, as well as to assure herself that she was not under the Duchess’s dominion; but some strong instinct of the truth of the lady’s words that the child was safer and healthier undoctored, made her resolve at least to defer it until the little one showed any perilous symptom.  And as happily Rayonette only showed two little white teeth, and much greater good-humour, the syrup was nearly forgotten, when, a fortnight after, the Duchess received a dispatch from her son which filled her with the utmost indignation.  The courier had indeed arrived, but the packet had proved to be filled with hay and waste-paper.  And upon close examination, under the lash, the courier had been forced to confess to having allowed himself