If she was told not to wait, there could be no doubt of her
next proceeding: she would listen outside the door. "Take my word for
it," the doctor concluded, "there are all the materials for a spy in
Fanny Mere."
But Lord Harry was obstinate. Chafing under the sense of his helpless
pecuniary position, he was determined to hear, at once, what remedy for
it Vimpany had discovered.
"We can set that woman's curiosity at defiance," he said.
"How?"
"When you were learning your profession, you lived in Paris for some
years, didn't you?
"All right!"
"Well, then, you can't have entirely forgotten your French?"
The doctor at once understood what this meant, and answered
significantly by a wink. He had found an opportunity (he said) of
testing his memory, not very long since. Time had undoubtedly deprived
him of his early mastery over the French language; but he could still
(allowing for a few mistakes) make a shift to understand it and speak
it. There was one thing, however, that he wanted to know first. Could
they be sure that my lady's maid had not picked up French enough to use
her ears to some purpose? Lord Harry easily disposed of this doubt. So
entirely ignorant was the maid of the language of the place in which
she was living, that she was not able to ask the tradespeople for the
simplest article of household use, unless it was written for her in
French before she was sent on an errand.
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