“You shall go with me next time,” said he. “Let us speak of it no more.”
Josephine bowed her head. “At least give me something to do for you while you are away. Tell me what I can do for my absent friend to show my gratitude, my regard, my esteem.”
“Well, let me think. I saw a plain gray dress at Beaurepaire.”
“Yes, monsieur. My gray silk, Rose.”
“I like that dress.”
“Do you? Then the moment I reach home after losing you I shall put it on, and it shall be my constant wear. I see; you are right; gray becomes a wife whose husband is not dead, but is absent, and alas! in hourly danger.”
“Now look at that!” cried Raynal to the company. “That is her all over: she can see six meanings where another would see but one. I never thought of that, I swear. I like modest colors, that is all. My mother used to be all for modest wives wearing modest colors.”
“I am of her mind, sir. Is there nothing more difficult you will be so good as give me to do?”
“No; there is only one order more, and that will be easier still to such a woman as you. I commit to your care the name of Raynal. It is not so high a name as yours, but it is as honest. I am proud of it: I am jealous of it. I shall guard it for you in Egypt: you guard it in France for me.”
“With my life,” cried Josephine, lifting her eyes and her hand to heaven.