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Mademoiselle Panache
by
Lady Augusta opened her beautiful eyes, and, just come sufficiently to her senses to observe who was looking at her, she put aside mademoiselle’s smelling-bottle, and, in a soft voice, begged to have her own salts. Mademoiselle felt in one of her ladyship’s pockets for the salts in vain: Lady Di. plunged her hand into her other pocket, and pulled out, in the first place, a book, which she threw upon the bank, and then came out the salts. In due time the lady was happily restored to the full use of her senses, and was put into her mother’s coach, which had been sent for to convey her home. The carriages drove away, and Mr. Mountague was just mounting his horse, when he saw the book which had been pulled out of Lady Augusta’s pocket, and which, by mistake, was left where it had been thrown upon the grass. What was his astonishment, when upon opening it, he saw one of the very worst hooks in the French language; a book which never could have been found in the possession of any woman of delicacy–of decency. Her lover stood for some minutes in silent amazement, disgust, and, we may add, terror.
These feelings had by no means subsided in his mind, when, upon his entering the drawing-room at S—- Hall, he was accosted by Mlle. Panache, who, with no small degree of alarm in her countenance, inquired whether he knew any thing of the book which had been left upon the road. No one was in the room but the governess and her pupil. Mr. Mountague produced the book, and Lady Augusta received it with a deep blush.
“Put a good face upon the matter at least,” whispered her governess in French.
“I can assure you,” said her ladyship, “I don’t know what’s in this book; I never opened it; I got it this morning at the circulating library at Cheltenham: I put it into my pocket in a hurry–pray what is it?”
“If you have not opened it,” said Mr. Mountague, laying his hand upon the book; “I may hope that you never will–but this is the second volume.”
“May be so,” said Lady Augusta; “I suppose, in my hurry, I mistook–“
“She never had the first, I can promise you,” cried mademoiselle.
“Never,” said Lady Augusta. The assertions had not the power to convince; they were pronounced with much vehemence, but not with the simplicity of truth. Mr. Mountague was determined to have the point cleared up; and he immediately offered to ride back to Cheltenham, and return the second volume. At this proposal, Lady Augusta, who foresaw that her falsehood would be detected, turned pale; but mademoiselle, with a laugh of effrontery, which she thought was putting a good face upon the matter, exclaimed,
“Eh! listen to me–you may spare yourself de trouble of your ride,” said she, “for the truth is, I have de first volume. Mon Dieu! I have not committed murder–do not look so shock–what signify what I read at my age?”
“But Lady Augusta, your pupil!” said Mr. Mountague.
“I tell you she has never read one word of it; and, after all, is she child now? When she was, Miladi S—- was very particular, and I, of consequence and of course, in de choice of her books; but now, oder affaire, she is at liberty, and my maxim is– Tout est sain aux sains.”
Mr. Mountague’s indignation was now strongly raised against this odious governess, and he looked upon her pupil with an eye of compassion. “So early, so young, tainted by the pernicious maxims of a worthless woman!”
“Eh, donc, what signify your silence and your salts?” cried mademoiselle, turning to her.
“If I could be spared this scene at present,” said Lady Augusta, faintly–“I really am not well. We had better talk over this business some other time, Mr. Mountague:” to this he acceded, and the lady gained more by her salts and silence than her governess did by her garrulous effrontery.