" CHAPTER XI. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. That is the dreadful truth. I'll send you word when I catch him. S. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes.
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