In the school-room I took courage, and with some warmth upbraided Madame.
'Wat wicked cheaile!' moaned Madame, demurely. 'Read aloud those
three--yes, _those_ three chapters of the Bible, my dear Maud.'
There was no special fitness in those particular chapters, and when they
were ended she said in a sad tone--
'Now, dear, you must commit to memory this pretty priaire for umility of
art.'
It was a long one, and in a state of profound irritation I got through the
task.
Mrs. Rusk hated her. She said she stole wine and brandy whenever the
opportunity offered--that she was always asking her for such stimulants and
pretending pains in her stomach. Here, perhaps, there was exaggeration; but
I knew it was true that I had been at different times despatched on that
errand and pretext for brandy to Mrs. Rusk, who at last came to her bedside
with pills and a mustard blister only, and was hated irrevocably ever
after.
I felt all this was done to torture me. But a day is a long time to a
child, and they forgive quickly. It was always with a sense of danger that
I heard Madame say she must go and see Monsieur Ruthyn in the library,
and I think a jealousy of her growing influence was an ingredient in the
detestation in which honest Mrs.
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