The light came from a
picturesque-looking lamp which hung from an arch in the centre of a
broad, low hall. She rang the bell: the sound reverberated through the
house, yet no one came. The boy, who had stood the trunk on end,
growing impatient, rang again: they heard voices, hubbub and confusion,
children's cries, servants summoned, a man speaking very volubly in
French. Then very imperfect English sentences were shouted in a kind of
despair. The door was divided in the middle, with a large brass knocker
as an appendage to the upper half. Miss Featherstone, growing anxious
and impatient, sounded this vigorously, which brought a maid, who had
evidently quite lost her head, to the door.
"This is Mrs. Pinckney's?" said the young girl in prompt, cheerful
tones. "I am Miss Featherstone, the governess, whom Mrs. Pinckney
expects."
"Yes, ma'am," replied the servant in an absent, distracted manner.
"Marie!" shrieked the French voice in shrill tones of alarm and anger.
"Please, miss, I must go. Do come in and sit down: I'll send
somebody--"
"Marie! Marie!--Where is that _vilaine femme?"_
At the second summons she fled, leaving Miss Featherstone and the boy,
standing with her trunk on his shoulders, on the threshold.
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