married Mr. Durant, a dancing-master--she was French teacher in a
school in London where he taught, and Madame Belmarche did not
approve, for she and her husband were something very grand in France,
so they waited and waited ever so long, and when at last they did
marry, they were quite old, and she died very soon; and they say he
never was happy again, and pined away till he really did die of
grief, and so Genevieve came to her grandmamma to be brought up.'

'Poor child! How old is she?'

'Fifteen,' said Lucy. 'She teaches in the school. She is not at all
pretty, and such a queer little thing.'

'Was her father French?'

'No,' said Sophy.

'Yes,' said Lucy. 'You know nothing about it, Sophy. He was French,
but of the Protestant French sort, that came to England a great many
years ago, when they ran away from the Sicilian Vespers, or the Edict
of Nantes, I don't remember which; only the Spitalfields weavers have
something to do with it. However, at any rate Genevieve has got
something in a drawer up in her own room that she is very secret
about, and wont show to anybody.'

'I think it is something that somebody was killed with,' said Sophy,
in a low voice.

'Dear me, if it is, I am sure it is quite wicked to keep it. I shall
be quite afraid to go into her room, and you know I slept there all