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Herbert, surprised by the unusually good-natured tone of this request, ran for the scissors, and at his return, found that his difficult sum had been cast up in his absence; the total was written at the bottom of it, and he read these words, which he knew to be Mrs. Grace’s writing–“Rub out my figurs, and write them in your own.” Herbert immediately rubbed out Mrs. Grace’s figures with indignation, and determined to do the sum for himself. He carried it to Mad. de Rosier–it was wrong: Grace stared, and when she saw Herbert patiently stand beside Mad. de Rosier and repeat his efforts, she gave up all idea of obtaining any influence over him.

“Mad. de Rosier,” said she to herself, “has bewitched ’em all; I think it’s odd one can’t find out her art!”

Mrs. Grace seemed to think that she could catch the knack of educating children, as she had surreptitiously learnt, from a fashionable hairdresser, the art of dressing hair. Ever since Mrs. Harcourt had spoken in such a decided manner respecting Mad. de Rosier, her maid had artfully maintained the greatest appearance of respect for that lady, in her mistress’s presence, and had even been scrupulous, to a troublesome extreme, in obeying the governess’s orders; and by a studied show of attachment to Mrs. Harcourt, and much alacrity at her toilette, she had, as she flattered herself, secured a fresh portion of favour.

One morning Mrs. Harcourt found, when she awoke, that she had a headache, and a slight feverish complaint. She had caught cold the night before in coming out of a warm assembly-room. Mrs. Grace affected to be much alarmed at her mistress’s indisposition, and urged her to send immediately for Dr. X—-. To this Mrs. Harcourt half consented, and a messenger was sent for him. In the meantime Mrs. Harcourt, who had been used to be much attended to in her slight indispositions, expressed some surprise that Mad. de Rosier, or some of her children, when they heard that she was ill, had not come to see her.

“Where is Isabella? where is Matilda? or Favoretta? what is become of them all? do they know I am ill, Grace?”

“Oh dear! yes, ma’am; but they’re all gone out in the coach, with Mad. de Rosier.”

“All?” said Mrs. Harcourt.

“All, I believe, ma’am,” said Grace; “though, indeed, I can’t pretend to be sure, since I make it my business not to scrutinize, and to know as little as possible of what’s going on in the house, lest I should seem to be too particular.”

“Did Mad. de Rosier leave any message for me before she went out?”

“Not with me, ma’am.”

Here the prevaricating waiting-maid told barely the truth in words: Mad. de Rosier had left a message with the footman in Grace’s hearing.

“I hope, ma’am,” continued Grace, “you weren’t disturbed with the noise in the house early this morning?”

“What noise?–I heard no noise,” said Mrs. Harcourt.

“No noise! dear ma’am, I’m as glad as can possibly be of that, at any rate; but to be sure there was a great racket. I was really afraid, ma’am, it would do no good to your poor head.”

“What was the matter?” said Mrs. Harcourt, drawing back the curtain.

“Oh! nothing, ma’am, that need alarm you–only music and dancing.”

“Music and dancing so early in the morning!–Do, Grace, say all you have to say at once, for you keep me in suspense, which, I am sure, is not good for my head.”

“La, ma’am, I was so afraid it would make you angry, ma’am–that was what made me so backward in mentioning it; but, to be sure, Mad. de Rosier, and the young ladies, and Master Herbert, I suppose, thought you couldn’t hear, because it was in the back parlour, ma’am.”

“Hear what? what was in the back parlour?”

“Only a dulcimer man, ma’am, playing for the young ladies.”

“Did you tell them I was ill, Grace?”