Hetta was standing alone in a corner, near to her mother, who was talking to Mr. Booker, with her eyes fixed on the awful tranquillity of the Emperor's countenance, when Marie Melmotte timidly crept up to her and asked her how she was. Hetta, probably, was not very cordial to the poor girl, being afraid of her, partly as the daughter of the great Melmotte and partly as the girl with whom her brother had failed to run away; but Marie was not rebuked by this. "I hope you won't be angry with me for speaking to you." Hetta smiled more graciously. She could not be angry with the girl for speaking to her, feeling that she was there as the guest of the girl's mother. "I suppose you know about your brother," said Marie, whispering with her eyes turned to the ground.
"I have heard about it," said Hetta. "He never told me himself."

Hetta was standing alone in a corner, with her eyes fixed on the awful tranquillity of the Emperor's countenance, when Marie Melmotte timidly crept up and asked her how she was. Hetta was probably not very cordial to the poor girl, as the daughter of the great Melmotte with whom her brother had failed to run away.
"I hope you won't be angry with me for speaking to you," said Marie.
Hetta smiled more graciously.
"I suppose you know about your brother," said Marie, whispering with her eyes turned to the ground.
"I have heard about it," said Hetta. "He never told me himself."
