" Mrs. They had their little dreams about her. Come now, I am very glad to see you again so soon, mademoiselle whatever-your-name-is. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. ” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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