. .but Marguerite ceased to
conjecture; all would be explained anon: he said that he would come
back, and that he would remember.
A long, idle day lay before Marguerite. She was expecting a
visit of her old school-fellow, little Suzanne de Tournay. With all
the merry mischief at her command, she had tendered her request for
Suzanne's company to the Comtesse in the Presence of the Prince of
Wales last night. His Royal Highness had loudly applauded the notion,
and declared that he would give himself the pleasure of calling on the
two ladies in the course of the afternoon. The Comtesse had not dared
to refuse, and then and there was entrapped into a promise to send
little Suzanne to spend a long and happy day at Richmond with her
friend.
Marguerite expected her eagerly; she longed for a chat about
old schooldays with the child; she felt that she would prefer
Suzanne's company to that of anyone else, and together they would roam
through the fine old garden and rich deer park, or stroll along the
river.
But Suzanne had not come yet, and Marguerite being dressed,
prepared to go downstairs. She looked quite a girl this morning in
her simple muslin frock, with a broad blue sash round her slim waist,
and the dainty cross-over fichu into which, at her bosom, she had
fastened a few late crimson roses.
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