Mrs. Marston's feelings with respect to this person were still further
disturbed by the half-conveyed hints and innuendoes of her own maid, who
never lost an opportunity of insinuating her intense dislike of the
Frenchwoman, and appeared perpetually to be upon the very verge of making
some explicit charges, or some shocking revelations, respecting her,
which, however, she as invariably evaded; and even when Mrs. Marston once
or twice insisted upon her explaining her meaning distinctly, she eluded
her mistress's desire, and left her still in the same uneasy uncertainty. Marston, on his part, however much his conduct might tend to confirm
suspicion, certainly did nothing to dissipate the painful and undefined
apprehension respecting himself, which Mademoiselle de Barras, with such
malign and mysterious industry, labored to raise. His spirits and temper
were liable to strange fluctuations. In the midst of that excited gaiety,
to which, until lately, he had been so long a stranger, would sometimes
intervene paroxysms of the blackest despair, all the ghastlier for the
contrast, and with a suddenness so abrupt and overwhelming, that one
might have fancied him crossed by the shadow of some terrific apparition. Sometimes for a whole day, or even more, he would withdraw himself from
the society of his family, and, in morose and moody solitude, take his
meals alone in his library, and steal out unattended to wander among the
thickets and glades of his park. Sometimes, again, he would sit for hours
in the room which had been Sir Wynston's, and, with a kind of horrible
resolution, often loiter there till after nightfall. In such hours, the
servants would listen with curious awe, as they heard his step, pacing
to and fro, in that deserted and inauspicious chamber, while his voice,
in broken sentences, was also imperfectly audible, as if maintaining a
muttered dialogue. These eccentric practices gradually invested him, in
the eyes of his domestics, with a certain preternatural mystery, which
enhanced the fear with which they habitually regarded him, and was
subsequently confirmed by his giving orders to have the furniture taken
out of the ominous suite of rooms, and the doors nailed up and secured. He gave no reason for this odd and abrupt measure, and gossip of course
reported that the direction had originated in his having encountered the
specter of the murdered baronet, in one of these strange and unseasonable
visits to the scene of the fearful catastrophe. In addition to all this, Marston's conduct towards his wife became
strangely capricious. He avoided her society more than ever; and when he
did happen to exchange a few words with her, they were sometimes harsh
and violent, and at others remorsefully gentle and sad, and this without
any changes of conduct upon her part to warrant the wayward uncertainty
of his treatment. Under all these circumstances, Mrs. Marston's
unhappiness and uneasiness greatly increased. Mademoiselle de Barras,
too, upon several late occasions, had begun to assume a tone of authority
and dictation, which justly offended the mistress of the establishment. Meanwhile Charles Marston had returned to Cambridge; and Rhoda, no longer
enjoying happy walks with her brother, pursued her light and easy studies
with Mademoiselle de Barras, and devoted her leisure hours to the loved
society of her mother. One day Mrs. Marston, sitting in her room with Rhoda, had happened to
call her own maid, to take down and carefully dust some richly bound
volumes which filled a bookcase in the little chamber. "You have been crying, Willett," said Mrs. Marston, observing that the
young woman's eyes were red and swollen. "Indeed, and I was, ma'am," she replied, reluctantly, "and I could not
help it, so I could not." "Why, what has happened to vex you? Has anyone ill-treated you?" said
Mrs. Marston, who had an esteem for the poor girl. "Come, come, you must
not fret about it; only tell me what has vexed you." "Oh! Ma'am, no one has ill-used me, ma'am; but I can't but be vexed
sometimes, ma'am, and fretted to see how things is going on. I have
one wish, just one wish, ma'am, and if I got that, I'd ask no more,"
said the girl. "And what is it?" asked Mrs. Marston; "what do you wish for? Speak
plainly, Willett; what is it?" "Ah! Ma'am, if I said it, maybe you might not be pleased. Don't ask me,
ma'am," said the girl dusting the books very hard, and tossing them down
again with angry emphasis. "I don't desire anybody's harm, God knows;
but, for all that, I wish what I wish, and that is the truth." "Why, Willett, I really cannot account for your strange habit of lately
hinting, and insinuating, and always speaking riddles, and refusing to
explain your meaning. What do you mean? Speak plainly. If there are any
dishonest practices going on, it is your duty to say so distinctly." "Oh! Ma'am, it is just a wish I have. I wish--; but it's no matter. If I
could once see the house clear of that Frenchwoman--"

"If you mean Mademoiselle de Barras, she is a lady," interrupted
Mrs. Marston. "Well, ma'am, I beg pardon," continued the woman; "lady or no lady, it is
all one to me; for I am very sure, ma'am, she'll never leave the house
till there is something bad comes about; and--and--. I can't bring myself
to talk to you about her, ma'am. I can't say what I want to tell you:
but--but--. Oh, ma'am, for God's sake, try and get her out, any way, no
matter how; try and get rid of her." As she said this, the poor girl burst into a passionate agony of tears,
and Mrs. Marston and Rhoda looked on in silent amazement, while she for
some minutes continued to sob and weep. The party were suddenly recalled from their various reveries by a knock
at the chamber-door. It opened, and the subject of the girl's deprecatory
entreaty entered. There was something unusually excited and assured in
Mademoiselle de Barras's air and countenance; perhaps she had a suspicion
that she had been the topic of their conversation. At all events, she
looked round upon them with a smile, in which there was something
supercilious, and even defiant; and, without waiting to be invited, sate
herself down, with a haughty air. "I was about to ask you to sit down, mademoiselle, but you have
anticipated me," said Mrs. Marston, gravely. "You have something to say
to me, I suppose; I am quite at leisure, so pray let me hear it now." "Thank you, thank you, madame," replied she, with a sharp, and even
scornful glance; "I ought to have asked your permission to sit; I forgot;
but you have condescended to give it without my doing so; that was very
kind, very kind, indeed." "But I wish to know, mademoiselle, whether you have anything very
particular to say to me?" said Mrs. Marston. "You wish to know!--and why, pray madame?" asked Mademoiselle de
Barras, sharply. "Because, unless it is something very urgent, I should prefer your
talking to me some other time; as, at present, I desire to be alone with
my daughter." "Oh, ho!