"We mustn't disturb the patient. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. ‘Pitiful. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. I will go with you. But she was relentless. I know now that I was mistaken. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. Bête, she told herself fiercely.
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