But Mrs. Hobson's philosophy is only mentioned by the way. Our
story, which is drawing to its close, has to busy itself with other
members of the house of The Newcomes.
My talk with Florac lasted for some time: at its close, when we went to
join the ladies in the drawing-room, we found Ethel cloaked and shawled,
and prepared for her departure with her young ones, who were already
asleep. The little festival was over, and had ended in melancholy--even
in weeping. Our hostess sate in her accustomed seat by her lamp and her
worktable; but, neglecting her needle, she was having perpetual recourse
to her pocket-handkerchief, and uttering ejaculations of pity between the
intervals of her gushes of tears. Madame de Florac was in her usual
place, her head cast downwards, and her hands folded. My wife was at her
side, a grave commiseration showing itself in Laura's countenance, whilst
I read a yet deeper sadness in Ethel's pale face. Miss Newcome's carriage
had been announced; the attendants had already carried the young ones
asleep to the vehicle; and she was in the act of taking leave.
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