She studied her music, and delved deeply into her books, she read aloud to her father out of holy books, and oft sang to him whilst playing on the harpsichord. M. and Mme. Legros oft wondered exactly how much she felt; for they loved her far too dearly to be deceived by these attempts at indifference.
Something of Rose Marie's girlishness had gone from her, never again to return, something of the bird-like quality of her voice, something of the deer-like spring of her step. The blue eyes were as clear as ever, the mouth as perfectly curved, but across the brow lay—all unseen save to doting eyes—the ineradicable impress of a bitter sorrow.
But the child never spoke of those three weeks that were past, nor was Michael's name ever mentioned within the walls of the old house in the Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie. "Milor" had come and stolen the girl's heart and happiness, wrecked the brightness of a home, and sown disgrace and shame. And yet to all these three people who should so ardently have hated him, his name seemed to have become through the intensity of that grief which he had caused, almost sacred in the magnitude of his sin.
It was as, when to a fanatic, the name of Lucifer becomes as unspeakable as that of God.
The news that the real lord of Stowmaries had appealed to His Holiness for leave to contract a fresh marriage had not been long in reaching the tailor's house. For the past five months now M. Legros had exhausted every means of persuasion and of bribery to obtain an audience of Monseigneur.
The Archbishop had been overbusy with grave affairs of state, so the wretched man was invariably told whenever he tried—most respectfully—to press his claim for an early audience. It was only after the terrible news which came direct from Rome that at last Monseigneur consented to see the stricken father.
Now that interview was over—on which so many feeble hopes had of a truth been built—His Greatness had been haughty and severe, and the only consolation which he had deigned to offer was advice which was indeed very hard to follow.
At the first suggestion, somewhat hesitatingly put forward by Papa Legros to his daughter, she rose up in revolt.
"Make appeal to my lord Stowmaries?" she said indignantly. "Never. How could Monseigneur suggest such a course?"
Papa was silent, and even maman sighed and shook her head. Rose Marie had gone to the window, and her cheeks aflame now, she was staring out into the street.