She had plenty of time for this amusement, for, in truth, very few people besides the folks at the Rectory and Fairoaks employed her; and by a perpetual perusal of such works (which were by no means so moral or edifying in the days of which we write, as they are at present) she had got to be so absurdly sentimental, that in her eyes life was nothing but an immense love-match; and she never could see two people together, but she fancied they were dying for one another.
On the day after Mrs.Pendennis's visit to the Curate, which we have recorded many pages back, Madame Fribsby settled in her mind that Mr.
Smirke must be in love with the widow, and did everything in her power to encourage this passion on both sides.

Mrs.Pendennis she very seldom saw, indeed, except in public, and in her pew at church.

That lady had very little need of millinery, or made most of her own dresses and caps; but on the rare occasions when Madame Fribsby received visits from Mrs.Pendennis or paid her respects at Fairoaks, she never failed to entertain the widow with praises of the Curate, pointing out what an angelical man he was, how gentle, how studious, how lonely; and she would wonder that no lady would take pity upon him.
Helen laughed at these sentimental remarks, and wondered that Madame herself did not compassionate her lodger, and console him.

Madame Fribsby shook her Madonna front, "Mong cure a boco souffare," she said, laying her hand on the part she designated as her cure.

"It est more en Espang, Madame," she said with a sigh.