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After breakfast she would insist upon following Mary about through all
her avocations. She possessed herself of a towel, and would wipe the
cups and saucers, while Mary washed. She clinked the glasses, and
rattled the cups and spoons, and stepped about as briskly as if she had
two or three breezes to carry her train, and chattered half English and
half French, for the sake of bringing into Mary's cheek the shy, slow
dimples that she liked to watch. But still Mrs. Scudder was around,
with an air as provident and forbidding as that of a sitting hen who
watches her nest; nor was it till after all things had been cleared
away in the house, and Mary had gone up into her little attic to spin,
that the long-sought opportunity came of diving to the bottom of this
mystery.
"_Enfin, Marie, nous voici!_ Are you not going to tell me anything,
when I have turned my heart out to you like a bag? _Chere enfant!_ how
happy you must be!" she said, embracing her.
"Yes, I am very happy," said Mary, with calm gravity.
"_Very happy!_" said Madame de Frontignac, mimicking her manner.


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