"Mademoiselle Mary, an idea!" interrupted Rosine.
"What is it?"
"Suppose I go and ask Mademoiselle Bertha what we had better do?"
"No," replied Mary, with an eagerness which surprised herself; "no, that's useless! I will ask her myself presently when I go down, after Monsieur Michel has finished his wretched little supper."
"Very good; then I'll go now," said Rosine.
Mary dared not keep her longer. Rosine disappeared, leaving the two young people entirely alone.
[XXXV.]
WHICH ENDS QUITE OTHERWISE THAN AS MARY EXPECTED.
The little room was lighted only by the lantern, the rays of which were concentrated on the door, leaving in darkness, or at any rate in obscurity, the rest of the room,--if, indeed, the word "room" can be applied to the sort of pigeon-loft in which the two young people were now alone.
Michel was still sitting on the heap of oats. Mary was kneeling on the ground, looking into the basket with more embarrassment than interest, ostensibly in search of some dainty which might still be forthcoming to conclude the repast.