Explore "Forget-me-not" by Marjorie Bowen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The emotions of this curious evening were not over at the fall of the curtain, nor with the return of Lucille Debelleyme to the Faubourg St. Honoré, nor with her grateful and charming farewells of the Dowager Madame du Boccage, with her timid thanks to M. Du Boccage and her modest retiring to her apartment, to take off the borrowed emeralds and put them in their case.
It was late and all the household (she had believed) was asleep; but the Duchess, always restless, tortured by jealousy and insomnia, had waited for her return. The unhappy woman, in a storm of feeling, brusquely entered the pretty apartment of the governess; her quilted chamber-gown was untidily gathered round her full uncorseted figure, her eyelids were wrinkled and stained either from tears or lack of sleep, and her hair fell in a tangle on her shoulders as if she had continually pushed impatient fingers through it in a desperate gesture to relieve an aching head.