"Dear me, mother," said Moina, "it was very foolish of us not to stay among the mountains a few days longer. It was much nicer there. Did you hear that horrid child moaning all night, and that wretched woman, gabbling away in patois no doubt, for I could not understand a single word she said. What kind of people can they have put in the next room to ours? This is one of the horridest nights I have ever spent in my life."
"I heard nothing," said the Marquise, "but I will see the landlady, darling, and engage the next room, and then we shall have the whole suite of rooms to ourselves, and there will be no more noise. How do you feel this morning? Are you tired?"
As she spoke, the Marquise rose and went to Moina's bedside.
"Let us see," she said, feeling for the girl's hand.
"Oh! let me alone, mother," said Moina; "your fingers are cold."
She turned her head round on the pillow as she spoke, pettishly, but with such engaging grace, that a mother could scarcely have taken it amiss. Just then a wailing cry echoed through the next room, a faint prolonged cry, that must surely have gone to the heart of any woman who heard it.
"Why, if you heard /that/ all night long, why did you not wake me? We should have--"
A deeper moan than any that had gone before it interrupted the Marquise.
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