“Oh, yes; but for some little time I shall not be able. The duties of a new post.”
“Perhaps in a month—a fortnight?”
“Sooner perhaps; the moment I hear that man is out of the house.”
Edouard went away, dogged and sad; Rose shut herself up in her room and had a good cry. In the afternoon Josephine came and remonstrated with her. “You have not walked with him at all to-day.”
“No; you must pet him yourself for once. I hate the sight of him; it has made mischief between Edouard and me, my being so attentive to him. Edouard is jealous, and I cannot wonder. After all, what right have I to mystify him who honors me with his affection?”
Then, being pressed with questions by Josephine, she related to her all that had passed between Edouard and her, word for word.
“Poor Camille!” sighed Josephine the just.
“Oh, dear, yes! poor Camille! who has the power to make us all miserable, and who does it, and will go on doing it until he is happy himself.”
“Ah! would to Heaven I could make him as happy as he deserves to be.”
“You could easily make him much happier than that. And why not do it?”