Becky did not rally from the state of stupor and confusion in which the

events of the previous night had plunged her intrepid spirit until the

bells of the Curzon Street Chapels were ringing for afternoon service,

and rising from her bed she began to ply her own bell, in order to

summon the French maid who had left her some hours before.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; and though, on the last

occasion, she rang with such vehemence as to pull down the bell-rope,

Mademoiselle Fifine did not make her appearance--no, not though her

mistress, in a great pet, and with the bell-rope in her hand, came out

to the landing-place with her hair over her shoulders and screamed out

repeatedly for her attendant.

The truth is, she had quitted the premises for many hours, and upon

that permission which is called French leave among us After picking up

the trinkets in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle had ascended to her own

apartments, packed and corded her own boxes there, tripped out and

called a cab for herself, brought down her trunks with her own hand,

and without ever so much as asking the aid of any of the other

servants, who would probably have refused it, as they hated her

cordially, and without wishing any one of them good-bye, had made her

exit from Curzon Street.

The game, in her opinion, was over in that little domestic

establishment. Fifine went off in a cab, as we have known more exalted

persons of her nation to do under similar circumstances: but, more

provident or lucky than these, she secured not only her own property,

but some of her mistress's (if indeed that lady could be said to have

any property at all)--and not only carried off the trinkets before

alluded to, and some favourite dresses on which she had long kept her

eye, but four richly gilt Louis Quatorze candlesticks, six gilt albums,

keepsakes, and Books of Beauty, a gold enamelled snuff-box which had

once belonged to Madame du Barri, and the sweetest little inkstand and

mother-of-pearl blotting book, which Becky used when she composed her

charming little pink notes, had vanished from the premises in Curzon

Street together with Mademoiselle Fifine, and all the silver laid on

the table for the little festin which Rawdon interrupted. The plated

ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrous, probably for which

reason, no doubt, she also left the fire irons, the chimney-glasses,

and the rosewood cottage piano.

A lady very like her subsequently kept a milliner's shop in the Rue du

Helder at Paris, where she lived with great credit and enjoyed the

patronage of my Lord Steyne. This person always spoke of England as of

the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young

pupils that she had been affreusement vole by natives of that island.

It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which induced the

Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe. May

she flourish as she deserves--she appears no more in our quarter of

Vanity Fair.




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