August 18, 2025 • 34 mins
In this captivating novella by the renowned Elizabeth Gaskell, we delve into the life and memories of the aristocratic Lady Ludlow, as narrated by her young charge, Margaret Dawson. Lady Ludlow embodies the resistance of the old English gentry to embrace social reform and technological advancements, including education for the less fortunate and a more lenient approach to religion. Through her reflections on friends from the tumultuous times of the French Revolution, she seeks to protect and mentor the many young ladies under her care. [Summary by Rosie]
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter seven of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recording by Capricia Page. My Lady Ludlow
(00:25):
by Elizabeth Gaskell, Chapter seven. I have told you that
I heard much of this story from a friend of
the intendant of the du cray Keys, whom he met
with in London some years afterwards. The summer before my
Lord's death, I was traveling with him in Devonshire and
we went to see the French prisoners of Warren Dartmoor.
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We fell into conversation with one of them, whom I
found out to be the very Pierre of whom I
had heard before as having been involved in the fatal
story of Clement and Virzini, And by him I was
told much of their last days. And thus I learnt
how to have some sympathy with all those who were
concerned in those terrible events. Yes, even with the younger
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Moron himself, on whose behalf Pierre spoke warmly, even after
so long a time had elapsed. For when the younger
Moron called at the porter's lodge on the evening of
the day when Virzini had gone out for the first
time after so many months confinement to the Conciergerie. He
was struck with the improvement in her appearance. It seems
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to have hardly been that he thought her beauty greater,
for in addition to the fact that she was not beautiful,
Moron had arrived at that point of being enamored. When
it does not signify whether the beloved one is plain
or handsome, she has enchanted one pair of eyes, which
henceforth see her through their own medium. But Moron noticed
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the faint increase of color and liked in her countenance.
It was as though she had broken through her thick
cloud of hopeless sorrow and was dawning forth into a
happier life. And so whereas during her grief he had
revered and respected it, even to a point of silent sympathy,
now that she was gladdened, his heart rose on the
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wings of strengthen hopes. Even in the dreury monotony of
this existence in his aunt Babet's Conciergerie, time had not
failed in his work, and now perhaps soon he might
humbly strive to help time. The very next day he
returned on some pretense of business to the Hotel du
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Gekln and made his aunt's room, rather than his aunt herself,
a present of some roses and geraniums, tied up in
a bouquet with a tricolor ribbon Forrusini was in the room,
sitting at the coarse sewing she liked to do for
Madame Babette. He saw her eyes brighten at the sight
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of the flowers. She asked his aunt to let her
arrange them. He saw her untie the ribbon and with
a gesture of dislike, throw it on the ground and
give it a kick with her little foot. And even
in this girlish manner of insulting his dearest prejudices, he
found something to admire. As he was coming out, Pierre
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stopped him. The lad had been trying to arrest his
cousin's attention by feudal grimaces and signs playing off behind
Virzini's back, but Monsieur Morun saw nothing but Mademoiselle Can's. However,
Pierre was not to be baffled, and Monsieur Morun found
him in waiting just outside the threshold. With his finger
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on his lips, Pierre walked on tiptoe by his companion's
side till they would have been long past sight or
hearing of the Conciergerie, even had the inhabitants devoted themselves
to the purposes of spying or listening. Shoot, said Pierre.
At last, she goes out walking. Well, said Monsieur Morun,
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half curious, half annoyed at being disturbed in the delicious
reverie of the future into which he longed to fall. Well,
it is not well. It is bad. Why I do
not ask who she is? But I have my ideas
she is an aristocrat. Do the people about here begin
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to suspect No, No, said Pierre. But she goes out walking.
She has gone these two mornings. I have watched her.
She meets a man. She's friends with him, for she
talks to him as eagerly as he does to her.
Mamma cannot tell who he is. Has my aunt seen him, No,
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not so much as a fly's wing of him. I
myself have only seen his back. It strikes me like
a familiar back, and yet I cannot think who it is.
But they separate with sudden darts like two birds who
have been together to feed their young ones. One moment
they were in close talk, their heads together chucketing. The
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next he has turned up some by street, and Mademoiselle
Cannes is close upon me, has almost caught me, but
she did not see you, inquired Monsieur Moron, in so
altered a tone that Pierre gave him one of his
quick penetrating looks. He was struck by the way in
which his cousin's features, always coarse and commonplace, had been
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contracted and pinched. Struck too by the livid look on
his sallow complexion. But as if Moron was conscious of
the manner in which his face belied his feelings, he
made an effort and smiled and patted Pierre's head, and
thanked him for his intelligence, and gave him a five
franc piece, and bade him go on with his observations
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of Mamaemoiselle Cann's movements and report all to him. Pierre
returned home with a light heart, tossing up his five
franc piece as he ran. Just as he was at
the Concierge d'Or, a great tall man bustled past him
and snatched his money. Away from him, looking back with
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a laugh which added insult to injury. Pierre had no redress.
No one had witnessed the impudent theft, and if they had,
no one to be seen in the street was strong
enough to give him redress. Besides, Pierre had seen enough
of the state of the streets of Paris at that
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time to know that friends, not enemies, were required, and
the man had a bad air about him. But all
these considerations did not keep Pierre from bursting out into
a fit of crying when he was once more under
his mother's roof, and Virzini, who was alone there Madame Babet,
having gone out to make her daily purchases, might have
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imagined him pummeled to death by the loudness of his sobs.
What is the matter, asked she speak, my child. What
hast thou done? He has robbed me? He has robbed me,
was all Pierre could gulp out. Robbed thee And what,
my poor boy, said Virzini, stroking his hair gently, of
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my five franc piece. Of a five franc piece, said Pierre,
correcting himself and leaving out the word my half fearful,
lest Rossini should inquire how he came possessed of such
a sum, and for what services it had been given him.
But of course no such idea came into her head,
for it would have been impertinent, and she was gentle born.
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Wait a moment, my lad, and going into one small
drawer in the inner apartment which held all her few possessions,
she brought back a little ring, a ring with just
one ruby in it, which she had worn in the
days when she cared to wear jewels. Take this, said she,
and run with it to a jeweler's. It is but
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a poor, valueless thing, but it will bring you in
your five francs at any rate. Go I desire you,
but I cannot, said the boy, hesitating some dim sense
of honor flitting through his misty morals. Yes you must,
she continued, urging him, with her hand on the door.
Run if it brings in more than five francs, you
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shall return the surplus to me. Thus tempted by her urgency,
and I suppose reasoning with himself to the effect that
he might as well have the money and then see
whether he thought it right to act as a spy
upon her or not. The one action did not pledge
him to the other, nor yet did she make any
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conditions with her gift. Pierre went off with her ring,
and after repaying himself as five francs, he was enabled
to bring Virzini back two more so well he had
managed his affairs. But although the whole transaction did not
leave him bound in any way to discover or forward
Verrzini's wishes, it did leave him pledged, according to his code,
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to act according to her advantage, and he considered himself
the judge over the best course to be pursued to
this end. And moreover, this little kindness attached him to
her personally. He began to think, how pleasant it would
be to have so kind and generous a person for
a relation. How easily his troubles might be borne if
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he had always such a ready helper at hand. How
much he should like to make her like him and
come to him for the protection of his masculine power.
First of all his duties as her self appointed squire
came the necessity of finding out who her strange new
acquaintance was. Thus, you see here arrived at the same
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end via supposed duty that he was previously pledged to
via interest. I fancy a good number of us, when
any line of action will promote our own interest, can
make ourselves believe that reasons exist which compel us to
do it as a duty. In the course of a
very few days, Pierre had so circumvented Virzini as to
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have discovered that her new friend was no other than
the Norman farmer in different dress. This was a great
piece of knowledge to impart to Moron, but Pierre was
not prepared for the immediate physical effect it had on
his cousin. Moron sat silently down on one of the
seats in the bouvar. It was there Pierre had met
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with him accidentally when he heard who it was that Verzini met.
I do not suppose the man had the faintest idea
of any relationship or even previous acquaintanceship between Clement and Verzini.
If he thought of anything beyond the mere facts presented
to him that his idol was in communication with another younger,
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handsomer man than himself, it must have been that the
Norman farmer had seen her at the Conciergerie and had
been attracted by her, and, as was but natural, had
tried to make her acquaintance, and had succeeded. But from
what Pierre told me, I should not think that even
this much thought passed through Morun's mind. He seemed to
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have been a manner of rare and concentrated detachments, violent
though restrained and undemonstrative passions, and above all a capability
of jealousy, of which his dark oriental complexion must have
been a type. I could fancy that if he had
married Virzini, he would have coined his life blood for
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luxuries to make her happy, would have watched over and
petted her at every sacrifice to himself, as long as
she would have been content to live with him alone.
But as Pierre expressed it to me, when I saw
what my cousin was, when I learned his nature too late,
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I perceived that he would have strangled a bird if she,
whom he loved, was attracted by it from him. When
Pierre had told Moroun of his discovery, Marun sat down,
as I said, quite suddenly, as if he had been shot.
He found out that the first meeting between the Norman
and Virginia was no accidental, isolated circumstance. Pierre was torturing
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him with his accounts of daily rendezvous, if but for
a moment. They were seeing each other every day, sometimes
twice a day, and Virgini could speak to this man,
though to himself he was coy and reserved, as hardly
to utter a sentence. Pierre caught these broken words while
his cousin's complexion grew more and more livid and then purple,
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as if some great feare were produced upon his circulation
by the news he had just heard. Pierre was so
startled by his cousin's wandering, senseless eyes, and otherwise disordered looks,
that he rushed into a neighboring cabaret for a glass
of absent, which he paid for as he recollected afterwards,
when a portion of Rozini's five francs by and bye.
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Moraun recovered his natural appearance, but he was gloomy and silent,
and all that Pierre could get out of him was
that the Norman farmer should not sleep another night at
the Hotel du Gegelen, giving him such opportunities of passing
and repassing by the conciergerid'eur. He was too much absorbed
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in his own thoughts to repay Pierre the half franc
he had spent on the absent, which Pierre perceived and
seems to have noted doubt in the ledger of his
mind as on Virzini's balance of favor. Altogether, he was
much disappointed at his cousin's mood of receiving intelligence which
the lad thought worth another five franc piece at least, or,
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if not paid for in money, to be paid for
an open mouthed confidence, an expression of feeling that he was,
for a time so far a partisan of Versini's unconscious
Versini against his cousin, as to feel regret when the
Norman returned no more to his night's lodging, and when
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Vizzini's eager watch at the crevice of the closely drawn
blinds ended only with a sigh of disappointment. If it
had not been for his mother's presence at the time,
Pierre thought he should have told her all. But how
far was his mother in his cousin's confidence as regarded
the dismissal of the Norman. In a few days, however,
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Pierre felt almost sure that they had established some new
means of communication. Verssini went out for a short time
every day, but though Pierre followed her as closely as
he could without exciting her observation. He was unable to
discover what kind of intercourse she held with the Norman.
She went, in general the same short round along the
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little shops in the neighborhood, not entering any but stopping
at two or three. Pierre afterwards remembered that she had
invariably paused at the nosegays displayed in a certain window,
and studied them long. But then she stopped and looked
at caps, hats, fashions, confectionery, all of the humble kind
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common in that quarter. So how should he have known
that any particular attraction existed among the flowers? Marun came
more regularly than ever to his aunt's, but Virzini was
apparently unconscious that she was the attraction. She looked healthier
and more hopeful than she had done for months, and
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her manners, to all were gentler and not so reserved,
almost as if she wished to manifest her gratitude to
Madame Babet for her long continuance of kindness, the necessity
for which was nearly ended. Rusini showed an unusual alacrity
in rendering the old woman any little service in her
power and evidently tried to respond to Monsieur Moraun's civilities,
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he being Madame Babette's nephew, with a soft graciousness, which
must have made one of her principal charms. For all
who knew her spake of the fascination of her manners,
so winning and attentive to others, while yet her opinions
and often her actions were of so decided a character.
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For as I have said, her beauty was by no
means great, yet every man who came near her seems
to have fallen into the sphere of her influence. Monsieur
Moraun was deeper than ever in love with her. During
these last few days. He was worked up into a
state capable of any sacrifice, either of himself or others,
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so that he might obtain her. At last, he sat
devouring her with his eyes to use Pierre's expression, whenever
she could not see him, But if she looked towards him,
he looked to the ground anywhere away from her, and
almost stammered in his replies. If she addressed him any
question he had been I should think ashamed of his
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extreme agitation on the Bouvard, For Pierre thought that he
absolutely shunned him. For these few succeeding days. He must
have believed that he had driven the Norman, my poor
Clement off the field by banishing him from his inn,
and thought that the intercourse between him and Vizini, which
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he had thus interrupted, was one of so slight and
transient character as to be quenched by a little difficulty.
But he appeared to have felt that he had made
but little way, and he awkwardly turned to Pierre for help,
not yet confessing his love. Though he only tried to
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make friends again with the Lad after their silent estrangement,
and Pierre for some reason did not choose to perceive
his cousin's advances. He would reply to all the roundabout
questions Miroun put to him, respecting household conversations when he
was not present, or household occupations and tone of thought,
without mentioning Rizzini's name any more than his questioner did.
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The Lad would seem to suppose that his cousin's strong
interest in their domestic ways of going on was all
on account of Madame Bebet. At last, he worked as
cousin up to the point of making him a confidant,
and then the boy was half frightened at the torrents
of vehement words he had unloosed. The lava came down
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with a greater rush for having been pent up so long.
Moron cried out his words in a hoarse, passionate voice,
clenched his teeth, his fingers, and seemed almost convulsed as
he spoke out his terrible love for Virzini, which would
lead him to kill her sooner than see her another's
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and if another stepped in between him and her. And
then he smiled a fierce, triumphant smile, but did not
say any more. Pierre was, as I said, half frightened,
but also half admiring. This was really love, a grand passione,
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a really fine dramatic thing, like the play as they
acted at the little theater Yonder. He had a dozen
times that sympathy with his cousin now that he had
had before and readily swore by the infernal gods, for
they were far too enlightened to believe in one God,
or Christianity or anything of the kind, that he would
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devote himself, body and soul to forwarding his cousin's views.
Then his cousin took him to a shop and bought
him a smart secondhand watch, on which they scratched the
word fidelida, and thus was the compact sealed. Pierre settled
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in his own mind that if he were a woman,
he should like to be loved as Virgini was by
his cousin, and that it would be an extremely good
thing for her to be the wife of so rich
a citizen as Moron Fists, and for Pierre himself too,
for doubtless their gratitude would lead them to give him
rings and watches at infinitum. A day or two afterwards,
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Virzini was taken ill. Madame Babette said it was because
she had persevered in going out in all weathers after
confining herself to two warm rooms for so long, and
very probably this was the case, for from Pierre's account,
she must have been suffering from a feverish cold, aggravated
no doubt by her impatience at Mai Dababete's familiar prohibitions
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of any more walks until she was better. Every day,
in spite of her trembling aching limbs, she would fain
have arranged her dress for her walk at the usual time,
but Madame Babette was fully prepared to put physical obstacles
in her way if she was not obedient in remaining
tranquil on the little sofa by the side of the fire.
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On the third day she calm Pierre to her when
his mother was not attending, having in fact locked up
Mademoiselle Cann's out of door things. See, my child, said Virzini,
thou must do me a great favor. Go to the
gardener's shop in the Rue des bon Sifon, and look
at the nosegays in the window. I long for pinks.
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They are my favorite flower. Here are two francs. If
thou seest a nosegay of pinks displayed in the window,
if it be ever so faded, nay, if thou seest
two or three nosegays of pink, remember by them all
and bring them to me. I have so great a
desire for the smell. She fell back, weak and exhausted.
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Pierre hurried out. Now was the time. Here was the
clue to the long inspection of the nosegay in this
very shop. Sure enough, there was a drooping nosegay of
pinks in the window. Pierre went in, and with all
his impatience he made as good a bargain as he could,
urging that the flowers were faded and good for nothing.
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At last he purchased them at a very moderate price.
And now you will learn the bad consequences of teaching
the lower orders anything beyond what is immediately necessary to
enable them to earn their daily bread. The silly Count
de Craigie, who had been sent to his bloody rest
by the very can I of whom he thought so much,
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He who had made Virzini indirectly, it is true, rejrects
such a man as her cousin Clement by inflating her
mind with his bubble of theories. This Count de Craiky
had long ago taken a fancy to Pierre, as he
saw the bright, sharp boy playing about his court. Monsieur
de Craiky had even begun to educate the boy himself,
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to try to work out certain opinions of his into practice,
But the drudgery of the affair wearied him, and besides
Babette had left his employment. Still, the Count took a
kind of interest in his former pupil, and made some
sort of arrangement by which Pierre was to be taught
reading and writing and accounts and heaven knows what besides Latin,
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I dare say so, Pierre, instead of being an innocent
messenger as he ought to have been, as mister Horner's
little lad Gregson ought to have been this morning, could
read writing as well as either you or I. So
what does he do on obtaining the nosegay but examine
it well? The stalks and flowers were tied up with
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slips of matting and wet moss. Pierre undid the strings,
unwrapped the moss, and out fell a piece of wet paper,
with the writing all blurred with moisture. It was but
a torn piece of writing paper, apparently, but Pierre's wicked,
mischievous eyes read what was written on it, written so
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as to look like a fragment. Ready every and any
night at nine, all is prepared. Have no fright. Trust
one who, whatever hopes he might once have had, is
content now to serve you as a faithful cousin. And
a place was named, which I forget, but which Pierre
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did not, as it was evidently the Rendezvous. After the
lad had studied every word till he could say it
off by heart, he placed the paper where he had
found it, enveloped it in moss and tied the whole
up again carefully. Prusini's face colored scarlet as she received it.
She kept smelling it and trembling, but she did not
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untie it, although Pierre suggested how much fresher it would
be if the stalks were immediately put into water. But once,
after his back had been turned for a minute, he
saw it untied when he looked around again, and Virzini
was blushing and hiding something in her bosom. Pierre was
now all impatience to set off and find his cousin,
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but his mother seemed to want him for small domestic
purposes even more than usual, and he had chafed over
a multitude of errands connected with the hotel before he
could set off and search for his cousin at his
usual haunts. At last, the two met and Pierre related
all the events of the morning to Moron. He said
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the note off word by word. The lad this morning
had something of that magpie look of Pierre. It may
be shuddered to see him and hear him repeat the
note by heart. Then Moron asked him to tell him
all over again. Pierre was struck by Moran's heavy sighs
as he repeated the story. When he came the second
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time to the note, Moroun tried to write the words down,
but either he was not a good ready scholar, or
his fingers trembled too much. Pierre hardly remembered, but at
any rate, the lad had to do it with his
wicked reading and writing. When this was done, Moroun sat
heavily silent. Pierre would have preferred the expected outburst, for
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this impenetrable gloom perplexed and baffled him. He had even
to speak to his cousin to rouse him, and when
he replied, what he said had so little apparent connection
with the subject which Pierre had expected to find uppermost
in his mind that he was half afraid that his
cousin had lost his wits. My aunt is out of coffee,
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I am sure I do not know, said Pierre. Yes
she is, I heard her say. So tell her that
a friend of mine has just opened a shop in
the Rue Saintoine, and that if she will join me
there in one hour, I will supply her with a
good stock of coffee, just to give my friend encouragement.
His name is Antoine Meyer, number one hundred and fifty
at the sign of the cap of liberty. I could
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go with you. Now, I can carry a few pounds
of coffee better than my mother, said Pierre. All in
good faith, he told me he should never forget the
look on his cousin's face as he turned around and
bade him be gone and give his mother the message
without another word. It had evidently sent him home promptly
to obey his cousin's command. Moraun's message perplexed Madame Bebette.
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How could he know I was out of coffee? Said she,
I am, but I am only used the last up
this morning. How could Victor know about it? I'm sure
I can't tell, said Pierre, who by this time had
recovered his usual self possession. All I know is that
Monsieur is in a pretty temper, and that if you
are not sharp to the time to this Antoine Meyer's,
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you are likely to come in for some of his
black looks. Well, it is very kind of him to
offer to give me some coffee, to be sure, but
how could he know I was out? Pierre hurried his
mother off impatiently, for he was certain that the offer
of the coffee was only a blind to some hidden
purpose on his cousin's part, and he made no doubt
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that when his mother had been informed of what his
cousin's real intention was, he Pierre could extract it from
her by coaxing or bullying. But he was mistaken. Madame
Babet returned home grave depressed, silent, and loaded with the
best coffee. Some time afterwards, he learnt why his cousin
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had sought for this interview. It was to extract from her,
by promises and threats, the real name of Mademoiselle Cans,
which would give him a clue to the true appellation
of the faithful cousin. He concealed the second purpose from
his aunt, who had been quite unaware of his jealousy
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of the Norman farmer, or of his identification of him
with any relation of Rozini's. But Madame Babette instinctively shrank
from giving him any information. She must have felt that
in the lowering mood in which she found him, his
desire for greater knowledge of Rossini's antecedents boded her no good.
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And yet he made his aunt his confidant. He told
her what she had only suspected before, that he was
deeply enamored of Mademoiselle Cannes, and would gladly marry her.
He spoke to Madame Babette of his father's hoarded riches
and of the share which he, as partner had in
them at the present time, and of the prospect of
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the succession to the whole which he had as only child.
He told his aunt of the provision of her, Madame
Babette's life, which he would make on the day when
he married Mademoiselle Cannes. And yet, and yet Babette saw
that in his eye and look, which made her more
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and more reluctant to confide in him. By and by
he tried threats she should leave the Conciergerie and find
employment where she liked. Still silence. Then he grew angry
and swore that he would inform her at the Bureau
of the Directory for harboring an Aristocrat. An aristocrat he
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knew Mademoiselle was, whatever her real name might be, his
aunt should have a domicillery visit and see how she
liked that the officers of the government were the people
for finding out secrets in vain. She reminded him that
by doing so he would expose to imminent danger the
lady whom he had professed to love, he told her,
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with a sullen relapse into silence, after his vehement outpouring
of passion, never to trouble herself about that. At last
he wearied out the old woman, and frightened and a
like of herself and of him, she told him all
that Mademoiselle Cannes was Mademoiselle Rosini d craikiy, daughter of
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the Count of that name, who was the count younger
brother of the marquis? Where was the Marquis dead long ago,
leaving a widow and child, a son eagerly, yes, a son?
Where was he? Pablo? How should she know? For her
courage returned a little as the talk went away from
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the only person of the da Craiki family that she
cared about. By dint of some small glasses out of
a bottle of antoine Meyers, she told her more about
the de Crai keys than she liked afterwards to remember.
For the exhilaration of the brandy lasted but a very
short time, and she came home, as I have said,
depressed with a presentiment of coming evil. She would not
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answer Pierre, but cuffed him about in a manner to
which the spoilt boy was quite unaccustomed. His cousin's short,
angry words and sudden withdrawal of confidence, his mother's unwonted
crossness and fault finding, all made Vergini's kind, gentle treatment
more than ever charming to the lad. He half resolved
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to tell her how he had been acting as a
spy upon her actions, and at whose desire he had
done it. But he was afraid of Moron, and of
the vengeance which he was sure would fall upon him
for any breach of confidence. Towards half past eight that evening, Pierre,
watching saw Borzini arranged several little things. She was in
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the inner room, but he sat where he could see
her through the glazed partition. His mother sat, apparently sleeping
in the great easy chair. Virgini moved about softly, for
fear of disturbing her. She made up one or two
little parcels of the few things she could call her own.
One packet she concealed about herself. The others she directed
(33:07):
and left on the shelf. She is going, thought Pierre,
And as he said, in giving me the account, his
heart gave a spring to think that he should never
see her again. If either his mother or his cousin
had been more kind to him, he might have endeavored
to intercept her, But as it was, he held his breath,
(33:30):
and when she came out, he pretended to read, scarcely
knowing whether he wished her to succeed in the purpose,
which he was almost sure she entertained, or not. She
stopped by him and passed her hand over his hair.
He told me that his eyes filled with tears this caress.
Then she stood for a moment looking at the sleeping
(33:51):
Madame be Bet, and stooped down and softly kissed her
on the forehead. Pierre dreaded lest his mother should awake,
for by this time the wayward, vacillating boy must have
been quite on Virzini's side. But the brandy she had
drunk made her slumber heavily. Brusini went Pierre's heart beat fast.
(34:14):
He was sure his cousin would try to intercept her,
but how he could not imagine. He longed to run
out and see the catastrophe, but he had let the
moment slip. He was also afraid of reawakening his mother
to her unusual state of anger and violence, end of
(34:35):
chapter seven of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell, read
by Capricia Page,
Chapter seven of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recording by Capricia Page. My Lady Ludlow
(00:25):
by Elizabeth Gaskell, Chapter seven. I have told you that
I heard much of this story from a friend of
the intendant of the du cray Keys, whom he met
with in London some years afterwards. The summer before my
Lord's death, I was traveling with him in Devonshire and
we went to see the French prisoners of Warren Dartmoor.
(00:48):
We fell into conversation with one of them, whom I
found out to be the very Pierre of whom I
had heard before as having been involved in the fatal
story of Clement and Virzini, And by him I was
told much of their last days. And thus I learnt
how to have some sympathy with all those who were
concerned in those terrible events. Yes, even with the younger
(01:10):
Moron himself, on whose behalf Pierre spoke warmly, even after
so long a time had elapsed. For when the younger
Moron called at the porter's lodge on the evening of
the day when Virzini had gone out for the first
time after so many months confinement to the Conciergerie. He
was struck with the improvement in her appearance. It seems
(01:34):
to have hardly been that he thought her beauty greater,
for in addition to the fact that she was not beautiful,
Moron had arrived at that point of being enamored. When
it does not signify whether the beloved one is plain
or handsome, she has enchanted one pair of eyes, which
henceforth see her through their own medium. But Moron noticed
(01:58):
the faint increase of color and liked in her countenance.
It was as though she had broken through her thick
cloud of hopeless sorrow and was dawning forth into a
happier life. And so whereas during her grief he had
revered and respected it, even to a point of silent sympathy,
now that she was gladdened, his heart rose on the
(02:19):
wings of strengthen hopes. Even in the dreury monotony of
this existence in his aunt Babet's Conciergerie, time had not
failed in his work, and now perhaps soon he might
humbly strive to help time. The very next day he
returned on some pretense of business to the Hotel du
(02:43):
Gekln and made his aunt's room, rather than his aunt herself,
a present of some roses and geraniums, tied up in
a bouquet with a tricolor ribbon Forrusini was in the room,
sitting at the coarse sewing she liked to do for
Madame Babette. He saw her eyes brighten at the sight
(03:03):
of the flowers. She asked his aunt to let her
arrange them. He saw her untie the ribbon and with
a gesture of dislike, throw it on the ground and
give it a kick with her little foot. And even
in this girlish manner of insulting his dearest prejudices, he
found something to admire. As he was coming out, Pierre
(03:23):
stopped him. The lad had been trying to arrest his
cousin's attention by feudal grimaces and signs playing off behind
Virzini's back, but Monsieur Morun saw nothing but Mademoiselle Can's. However,
Pierre was not to be baffled, and Monsieur Morun found
him in waiting just outside the threshold. With his finger
(03:47):
on his lips, Pierre walked on tiptoe by his companion's
side till they would have been long past sight or
hearing of the Conciergerie, even had the inhabitants devoted themselves
to the purposes of spying or listening. Shoot, said Pierre.
At last, she goes out walking. Well, said Monsieur Morun,
(04:11):
half curious, half annoyed at being disturbed in the delicious
reverie of the future into which he longed to fall. Well,
it is not well. It is bad. Why I do
not ask who she is? But I have my ideas
she is an aristocrat. Do the people about here begin
(04:33):
to suspect No, No, said Pierre. But she goes out walking.
She has gone these two mornings. I have watched her.
She meets a man. She's friends with him, for she
talks to him as eagerly as he does to her.
Mamma cannot tell who he is. Has my aunt seen him, No,
(04:55):
not so much as a fly's wing of him. I
myself have only seen his back. It strikes me like
a familiar back, and yet I cannot think who it is.
But they separate with sudden darts like two birds who
have been together to feed their young ones. One moment
they were in close talk, their heads together chucketing. The
(05:16):
next he has turned up some by street, and Mademoiselle
Cannes is close upon me, has almost caught me, but
she did not see you, inquired Monsieur Moron, in so
altered a tone that Pierre gave him one of his
quick penetrating looks. He was struck by the way in
which his cousin's features, always coarse and commonplace, had been
(05:37):
contracted and pinched. Struck too by the livid look on
his sallow complexion. But as if Moron was conscious of
the manner in which his face belied his feelings, he
made an effort and smiled and patted Pierre's head, and
thanked him for his intelligence, and gave him a five
franc piece, and bade him go on with his observations
(05:59):
of Mamaemoiselle Cann's movements and report all to him. Pierre
returned home with a light heart, tossing up his five
franc piece as he ran. Just as he was at
the Concierge d'Or, a great tall man bustled past him
and snatched his money. Away from him, looking back with
(06:19):
a laugh which added insult to injury. Pierre had no redress.
No one had witnessed the impudent theft, and if they had,
no one to be seen in the street was strong
enough to give him redress. Besides, Pierre had seen enough
of the state of the streets of Paris at that
(06:39):
time to know that friends, not enemies, were required, and
the man had a bad air about him. But all
these considerations did not keep Pierre from bursting out into
a fit of crying when he was once more under
his mother's roof, and Virzini, who was alone there Madame Babet,
having gone out to make her daily purchases, might have
(07:02):
imagined him pummeled to death by the loudness of his sobs.
What is the matter, asked she speak, my child. What
hast thou done? He has robbed me? He has robbed me,
was all Pierre could gulp out. Robbed thee And what,
my poor boy, said Virzini, stroking his hair gently, of
(07:25):
my five franc piece. Of a five franc piece, said Pierre,
correcting himself and leaving out the word my half fearful,
lest Rossini should inquire how he came possessed of such
a sum, and for what services it had been given him.
But of course no such idea came into her head,
for it would have been impertinent, and she was gentle born.
(07:49):
Wait a moment, my lad, and going into one small
drawer in the inner apartment which held all her few possessions,
she brought back a little ring, a ring with just
one ruby in it, which she had worn in the
days when she cared to wear jewels. Take this, said she,
and run with it to a jeweler's. It is but
(08:10):
a poor, valueless thing, but it will bring you in
your five francs at any rate. Go I desire you,
but I cannot, said the boy, hesitating some dim sense
of honor flitting through his misty morals. Yes you must,
she continued, urging him, with her hand on the door.
Run if it brings in more than five francs, you
(08:32):
shall return the surplus to me. Thus tempted by her urgency,
and I suppose reasoning with himself to the effect that
he might as well have the money and then see
whether he thought it right to act as a spy
upon her or not. The one action did not pledge
him to the other, nor yet did she make any
(08:52):
conditions with her gift. Pierre went off with her ring,
and after repaying himself as five francs, he was enabled
to bring Virzini back two more so well he had
managed his affairs. But although the whole transaction did not
leave him bound in any way to discover or forward
Verrzini's wishes, it did leave him pledged, according to his code,
(09:15):
to act according to her advantage, and he considered himself
the judge over the best course to be pursued to
this end. And moreover, this little kindness attached him to
her personally. He began to think, how pleasant it would
be to have so kind and generous a person for
a relation. How easily his troubles might be borne if
(09:38):
he had always such a ready helper at hand. How
much he should like to make her like him and
come to him for the protection of his masculine power.
First of all his duties as her self appointed squire
came the necessity of finding out who her strange new
acquaintance was. Thus, you see here arrived at the same
(10:01):
end via supposed duty that he was previously pledged to
via interest. I fancy a good number of us, when
any line of action will promote our own interest, can
make ourselves believe that reasons exist which compel us to
do it as a duty. In the course of a
very few days, Pierre had so circumvented Virzini as to
(10:23):
have discovered that her new friend was no other than
the Norman farmer in different dress. This was a great
piece of knowledge to impart to Moron, but Pierre was
not prepared for the immediate physical effect it had on
his cousin. Moron sat silently down on one of the
seats in the bouvar. It was there Pierre had met
(10:43):
with him accidentally when he heard who it was that Verzini met.
I do not suppose the man had the faintest idea
of any relationship or even previous acquaintanceship between Clement and Verzini.
If he thought of anything beyond the mere facts presented
to him that his idol was in communication with another younger,
(11:05):
handsomer man than himself, it must have been that the
Norman farmer had seen her at the Conciergerie and had
been attracted by her, and, as was but natural, had
tried to make her acquaintance, and had succeeded. But from
what Pierre told me, I should not think that even
this much thought passed through Morun's mind. He seemed to
(11:27):
have been a manner of rare and concentrated detachments, violent
though restrained and undemonstrative passions, and above all a capability
of jealousy, of which his dark oriental complexion must have
been a type. I could fancy that if he had
married Virzini, he would have coined his life blood for
(11:50):
luxuries to make her happy, would have watched over and
petted her at every sacrifice to himself, as long as
she would have been content to live with him alone.
But as Pierre expressed it to me, when I saw
what my cousin was, when I learned his nature too late,
(12:11):
I perceived that he would have strangled a bird if she,
whom he loved, was attracted by it from him. When
Pierre had told Moroun of his discovery, Marun sat down,
as I said, quite suddenly, as if he had been shot.
He found out that the first meeting between the Norman
and Virginia was no accidental, isolated circumstance. Pierre was torturing
(12:35):
him with his accounts of daily rendezvous, if but for
a moment. They were seeing each other every day, sometimes
twice a day, and Virgini could speak to this man,
though to himself he was coy and reserved, as hardly
to utter a sentence. Pierre caught these broken words while
his cousin's complexion grew more and more livid and then purple,
(12:58):
as if some great feare were produced upon his circulation
by the news he had just heard. Pierre was so
startled by his cousin's wandering, senseless eyes, and otherwise disordered looks,
that he rushed into a neighboring cabaret for a glass
of absent, which he paid for as he recollected afterwards,
when a portion of Rozini's five francs by and bye.
(13:22):
Moraun recovered his natural appearance, but he was gloomy and silent,
and all that Pierre could get out of him was
that the Norman farmer should not sleep another night at
the Hotel du Gegelen, giving him such opportunities of passing
and repassing by the conciergerid'eur. He was too much absorbed
(13:43):
in his own thoughts to repay Pierre the half franc
he had spent on the absent, which Pierre perceived and
seems to have noted doubt in the ledger of his
mind as on Virzini's balance of favor. Altogether, he was
much disappointed at his cousin's mood of receiving intelligence which
the lad thought worth another five franc piece at least, or,
(14:05):
if not paid for in money, to be paid for
an open mouthed confidence, an expression of feeling that he was,
for a time so far a partisan of Versini's unconscious
Versini against his cousin, as to feel regret when the
Norman returned no more to his night's lodging, and when
(14:25):
Vizzini's eager watch at the crevice of the closely drawn
blinds ended only with a sigh of disappointment. If it
had not been for his mother's presence at the time,
Pierre thought he should have told her all. But how
far was his mother in his cousin's confidence as regarded
the dismissal of the Norman. In a few days, however,
(14:49):
Pierre felt almost sure that they had established some new
means of communication. Verssini went out for a short time
every day, but though Pierre followed her as closely as
he could without exciting her observation. He was unable to
discover what kind of intercourse she held with the Norman.
She went, in general the same short round along the
(15:11):
little shops in the neighborhood, not entering any but stopping
at two or three. Pierre afterwards remembered that she had
invariably paused at the nosegays displayed in a certain window,
and studied them long. But then she stopped and looked
at caps, hats, fashions, confectionery, all of the humble kind
(15:33):
common in that quarter. So how should he have known
that any particular attraction existed among the flowers? Marun came
more regularly than ever to his aunt's, but Virzini was
apparently unconscious that she was the attraction. She looked healthier
and more hopeful than she had done for months, and
(15:55):
her manners, to all were gentler and not so reserved,
almost as if she wished to manifest her gratitude to
Madame Babet for her long continuance of kindness, the necessity
for which was nearly ended. Rusini showed an unusual alacrity
in rendering the old woman any little service in her
power and evidently tried to respond to Monsieur Moraun's civilities,
(16:20):
he being Madame Babette's nephew, with a soft graciousness, which
must have made one of her principal charms. For all
who knew her spake of the fascination of her manners,
so winning and attentive to others, while yet her opinions
and often her actions were of so decided a character.
(16:43):
For as I have said, her beauty was by no
means great, yet every man who came near her seems
to have fallen into the sphere of her influence. Monsieur
Moraun was deeper than ever in love with her. During
these last few days. He was worked up into a
state capable of any sacrifice, either of himself or others,
(17:05):
so that he might obtain her. At last, he sat
devouring her with his eyes to use Pierre's expression, whenever
she could not see him, But if she looked towards him,
he looked to the ground anywhere away from her, and
almost stammered in his replies. If she addressed him any
question he had been I should think ashamed of his
(17:27):
extreme agitation on the Bouvard, For Pierre thought that he
absolutely shunned him. For these few succeeding days. He must
have believed that he had driven the Norman, my poor
Clement off the field by banishing him from his inn,
and thought that the intercourse between him and Vizini, which
(17:48):
he had thus interrupted, was one of so slight and
transient character as to be quenched by a little difficulty.
But he appeared to have felt that he had made
but little way, and he awkwardly turned to Pierre for help,
not yet confessing his love. Though he only tried to
(18:08):
make friends again with the Lad after their silent estrangement,
and Pierre for some reason did not choose to perceive
his cousin's advances. He would reply to all the roundabout
questions Miroun put to him, respecting household conversations when he
was not present, or household occupations and tone of thought,
without mentioning Rizzini's name any more than his questioner did.
(18:31):
The Lad would seem to suppose that his cousin's strong
interest in their domestic ways of going on was all
on account of Madame Bebet. At last, he worked as
cousin up to the point of making him a confidant,
and then the boy was half frightened at the torrents
of vehement words he had unloosed. The lava came down
(18:52):
with a greater rush for having been pent up so long.
Moron cried out his words in a hoarse, passionate voice,
clenched his teeth, his fingers, and seemed almost convulsed as
he spoke out his terrible love for Virzini, which would
lead him to kill her sooner than see her another's
(19:14):
and if another stepped in between him and her. And
then he smiled a fierce, triumphant smile, but did not
say any more. Pierre was, as I said, half frightened,
but also half admiring. This was really love, a grand passione,
(19:35):
a really fine dramatic thing, like the play as they
acted at the little theater Yonder. He had a dozen
times that sympathy with his cousin now that he had
had before and readily swore by the infernal gods, for
they were far too enlightened to believe in one God,
or Christianity or anything of the kind, that he would
(19:57):
devote himself, body and soul to forwarding his cousin's views.
Then his cousin took him to a shop and bought
him a smart secondhand watch, on which they scratched the
word fidelida, and thus was the compact sealed. Pierre settled
(20:17):
in his own mind that if he were a woman,
he should like to be loved as Virgini was by
his cousin, and that it would be an extremely good
thing for her to be the wife of so rich
a citizen as Moron Fists, and for Pierre himself too,
for doubtless their gratitude would lead them to give him
rings and watches at infinitum. A day or two afterwards,
(20:40):
Virzini was taken ill. Madame Babette said it was because
she had persevered in going out in all weathers after
confining herself to two warm rooms for so long, and
very probably this was the case, for from Pierre's account,
she must have been suffering from a feverish cold, aggravated
no doubt by her impatience at Mai Dababete's familiar prohibitions
(21:02):
of any more walks until she was better. Every day,
in spite of her trembling aching limbs, she would fain
have arranged her dress for her walk at the usual time,
but Madame Babette was fully prepared to put physical obstacles
in her way if she was not obedient in remaining
tranquil on the little sofa by the side of the fire.
(21:23):
On the third day she calm Pierre to her when
his mother was not attending, having in fact locked up
Mademoiselle Cann's out of door things. See, my child, said Virzini,
thou must do me a great favor. Go to the
gardener's shop in the Rue des bon Sifon, and look
at the nosegays in the window. I long for pinks.
(21:46):
They are my favorite flower. Here are two francs. If
thou seest a nosegay of pinks displayed in the window,
if it be ever so faded, nay, if thou seest
two or three nosegays of pink, remember by them all
and bring them to me. I have so great a
desire for the smell. She fell back, weak and exhausted.
(22:09):
Pierre hurried out. Now was the time. Here was the
clue to the long inspection of the nosegay in this
very shop. Sure enough, there was a drooping nosegay of
pinks in the window. Pierre went in, and with all
his impatience he made as good a bargain as he could,
urging that the flowers were faded and good for nothing.
(22:30):
At last he purchased them at a very moderate price.
And now you will learn the bad consequences of teaching
the lower orders anything beyond what is immediately necessary to
enable them to earn their daily bread. The silly Count
de Craigie, who had been sent to his bloody rest
by the very can I of whom he thought so much,
(22:52):
He who had made Virzini indirectly, it is true, rejrects
such a man as her cousin Clement by inflating her
mind with his bubble of theories. This Count de Craiky
had long ago taken a fancy to Pierre, as he
saw the bright, sharp boy playing about his court. Monsieur
de Craiky had even begun to educate the boy himself,
(23:13):
to try to work out certain opinions of his into practice,
But the drudgery of the affair wearied him, and besides
Babette had left his employment. Still, the Count took a
kind of interest in his former pupil, and made some
sort of arrangement by which Pierre was to be taught
reading and writing and accounts and heaven knows what besides Latin,
(23:34):
I dare say so, Pierre, instead of being an innocent
messenger as he ought to have been, as mister Horner's
little lad Gregson ought to have been this morning, could
read writing as well as either you or I. So
what does he do on obtaining the nosegay but examine
it well? The stalks and flowers were tied up with
(23:55):
slips of matting and wet moss. Pierre undid the strings,
unwrapped the moss, and out fell a piece of wet paper,
with the writing all blurred with moisture. It was but
a torn piece of writing paper, apparently, but Pierre's wicked,
mischievous eyes read what was written on it, written so
(24:16):
as to look like a fragment. Ready every and any
night at nine, all is prepared. Have no fright. Trust
one who, whatever hopes he might once have had, is
content now to serve you as a faithful cousin. And
a place was named, which I forget, but which Pierre
(24:37):
did not, as it was evidently the Rendezvous. After the
lad had studied every word till he could say it
off by heart, he placed the paper where he had
found it, enveloped it in moss and tied the whole
up again carefully. Prusini's face colored scarlet as she received it.
She kept smelling it and trembling, but she did not
(24:58):
untie it, although Pierre suggested how much fresher it would
be if the stalks were immediately put into water. But once,
after his back had been turned for a minute, he
saw it untied when he looked around again, and Virzini
was blushing and hiding something in her bosom. Pierre was
now all impatience to set off and find his cousin,
(25:20):
but his mother seemed to want him for small domestic
purposes even more than usual, and he had chafed over
a multitude of errands connected with the hotel before he
could set off and search for his cousin at his
usual haunts. At last, the two met and Pierre related
all the events of the morning to Moron. He said
(25:40):
the note off word by word. The lad this morning
had something of that magpie look of Pierre. It may
be shuddered to see him and hear him repeat the
note by heart. Then Moron asked him to tell him
all over again. Pierre was struck by Moran's heavy sighs
as he repeated the story. When he came the second
(26:01):
time to the note, Moroun tried to write the words down,
but either he was not a good ready scholar, or
his fingers trembled too much. Pierre hardly remembered, but at
any rate, the lad had to do it with his
wicked reading and writing. When this was done, Moroun sat
heavily silent. Pierre would have preferred the expected outburst, for
(26:24):
this impenetrable gloom perplexed and baffled him. He had even
to speak to his cousin to rouse him, and when
he replied, what he said had so little apparent connection
with the subject which Pierre had expected to find uppermost
in his mind that he was half afraid that his
cousin had lost his wits. My aunt is out of coffee,
(26:48):
I am sure I do not know, said Pierre. Yes
she is, I heard her say. So tell her that
a friend of mine has just opened a shop in
the Rue Saintoine, and that if she will join me
there in one hour, I will supply her with a
good stock of coffee, just to give my friend encouragement.
His name is Antoine Meyer, number one hundred and fifty
at the sign of the cap of liberty. I could
(27:12):
go with you. Now, I can carry a few pounds
of coffee better than my mother, said Pierre. All in
good faith, he told me he should never forget the
look on his cousin's face as he turned around and
bade him be gone and give his mother the message
without another word. It had evidently sent him home promptly
to obey his cousin's command. Moraun's message perplexed Madame Bebette.
(27:35):
How could he know I was out of coffee? Said she,
I am, but I am only used the last up
this morning. How could Victor know about it? I'm sure
I can't tell, said Pierre, who by this time had
recovered his usual self possession. All I know is that
Monsieur is in a pretty temper, and that if you
are not sharp to the time to this Antoine Meyer's,
(27:59):
you are likely to come in for some of his
black looks. Well, it is very kind of him to
offer to give me some coffee, to be sure, but
how could he know I was out? Pierre hurried his
mother off impatiently, for he was certain that the offer
of the coffee was only a blind to some hidden
purpose on his cousin's part, and he made no doubt
(28:20):
that when his mother had been informed of what his
cousin's real intention was, he Pierre could extract it from
her by coaxing or bullying. But he was mistaken. Madame
Babet returned home grave depressed, silent, and loaded with the
best coffee. Some time afterwards, he learnt why his cousin
(28:40):
had sought for this interview. It was to extract from her,
by promises and threats, the real name of Mademoiselle Cans,
which would give him a clue to the true appellation
of the faithful cousin. He concealed the second purpose from
his aunt, who had been quite unaware of his jealousy
(29:01):
of the Norman farmer, or of his identification of him
with any relation of Rozini's. But Madame Babette instinctively shrank
from giving him any information. She must have felt that
in the lowering mood in which she found him, his
desire for greater knowledge of Rossini's antecedents boded her no good.
(29:22):
And yet he made his aunt his confidant. He told
her what she had only suspected before, that he was
deeply enamored of Mademoiselle Cannes, and would gladly marry her.
He spoke to Madame Babette of his father's hoarded riches
and of the share which he, as partner had in
them at the present time, and of the prospect of
(29:45):
the succession to the whole which he had as only child.
He told his aunt of the provision of her, Madame
Babette's life, which he would make on the day when
he married Mademoiselle Cannes. And yet, and yet Babette saw
that in his eye and look, which made her more
(30:06):
and more reluctant to confide in him. By and by
he tried threats she should leave the Conciergerie and find
employment where she liked. Still silence. Then he grew angry
and swore that he would inform her at the Bureau
of the Directory for harboring an Aristocrat. An aristocrat he
(30:26):
knew Mademoiselle was, whatever her real name might be, his
aunt should have a domicillery visit and see how she
liked that the officers of the government were the people
for finding out secrets in vain. She reminded him that
by doing so he would expose to imminent danger the
lady whom he had professed to love, he told her,
(30:49):
with a sullen relapse into silence, after his vehement outpouring
of passion, never to trouble herself about that. At last
he wearied out the old woman, and frightened and a
like of herself and of him, she told him all
that Mademoiselle Cannes was Mademoiselle Rosini d craikiy, daughter of
(31:09):
the Count of that name, who was the count younger
brother of the marquis? Where was the Marquis dead long ago,
leaving a widow and child, a son eagerly, yes, a son?
Where was he? Pablo? How should she know? For her
courage returned a little as the talk went away from
(31:31):
the only person of the da Craiki family that she
cared about. By dint of some small glasses out of
a bottle of antoine Meyers, she told her more about
the de Crai keys than she liked afterwards to remember.
For the exhilaration of the brandy lasted but a very
short time, and she came home, as I have said,
depressed with a presentiment of coming evil. She would not
(31:57):
answer Pierre, but cuffed him about in a manner to
which the spoilt boy was quite unaccustomed. His cousin's short,
angry words and sudden withdrawal of confidence, his mother's unwonted
crossness and fault finding, all made Vergini's kind, gentle treatment
more than ever charming to the lad. He half resolved
(32:19):
to tell her how he had been acting as a
spy upon her actions, and at whose desire he had
done it. But he was afraid of Moron, and of
the vengeance which he was sure would fall upon him
for any breach of confidence. Towards half past eight that evening, Pierre,
watching saw Borzini arranged several little things. She was in
(32:43):
the inner room, but he sat where he could see
her through the glazed partition. His mother sat, apparently sleeping
in the great easy chair. Virgini moved about softly, for
fear of disturbing her. She made up one or two
little parcels of the few things she could call her own.
One packet she concealed about herself. The others she directed
(33:07):
and left on the shelf. She is going, thought Pierre,
And as he said, in giving me the account, his
heart gave a spring to think that he should never
see her again. If either his mother or his cousin
had been more kind to him, he might have endeavored
to intercept her, But as it was, he held his breath,
(33:30):
and when she came out, he pretended to read, scarcely
knowing whether he wished her to succeed in the purpose,
which he was almost sure she entertained, or not. She
stopped by him and passed her hand over his hair.
He told me that his eyes filled with tears this caress.
Then she stood for a moment looking at the sleeping
(33:51):
Madame be Bet, and stooped down and softly kissed her
on the forehead. Pierre dreaded lest his mother should awake,
for by this time the wayward, vacillating boy must have
been quite on Virzini's side. But the brandy she had
drunk made her slumber heavily. Brusini went Pierre's heart beat fast.
(34:14):
He was sure his cousin would try to intercept her,
but how he could not imagine. He longed to run
out and see the catastrophe, but he had let the
moment slip. He was also afraid of reawakening his mother
to her unusual state of anger and violence, end of
(34:35):
chapter seven of My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell, read
by Capricia Page,
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