“I will go and wait,” he said.
She gave him her hand; he held it a minute, looking down into her eyes, which wavered and fell before his.
“Comme vous êtes charmante!” he exclaimed in a low voice, and, bending, pressed a kiss (a most fervent one this time) upon the fingers which he raised within his own.
After which he left the room at once.
Rosina caught a quick breath as she went in to where her maid sat mending some lace.
“Get my things, Ottillie, I am going out.”
“What a beautiful color madame has,” Ottillie remarked, as she rose hastily and went towards the wardrobe.
Rosina looked at herself in the mirror. She was forced to smile at what she saw there, for the best cosmetic in the wide world is the knowledge that the right person is waiting downstairs.
“Do hurry, Ottillie,” she said impatiently, “and get me out a pretty, a very pretty, hat; do you hear?”
And then she felt with a glorious rush of joy how more than good life is when June is fair, and one is young, and—