'I will do everything, Monsieur Ruthyn--whatever you wish.'
And with these words Madame de la Rougierre broke down altogether. She
sobbed, she wept, she gabbled piteously, all manner of incomprehensible
roulades of lamentation and entreaty; coyly, penitently, in a most
interesting agitation, she produced the very key from her breast, with a
string tied to it. My father was little moved by this piteous tempest. He
coolly took the key and tried it in the desk, which it locked and unlocked
quite freely, though the wards were complicated. He shook his head and
looked her in the face.
'Pray, who made this key? It is a new one, and made expressly to pick this
lock.'
But Madame was not going to tell any more than she had expressly bargained
for; so she only fell once more into her old paroxysm of sorrow,
self-reproach, extenuation, and entreaty.
'Well,' said my father,' I promised that on surrendering the key you should
go. It is enough. I keep my word. You shall have an hour and a half to
prepare in. You must then be ready to depart. I will send your money to you
by Mrs. Rusk; and if you look for another situation, you had better not
refer to me.
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