‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. He never felt any need to explain himself. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. I could not become an Oracle.
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