“I trust you may: but for all that I must forbid the evening air to one of the party—to Madame Raynal.”
The baroness came to him and whispered, “That is right. Thank you. See what is the matter with her, and tell me.” And she carried off the rest of the party.
At the same time Jacintha asked permission to pass the rest of the evening with her relations in the village. But why that swift, quivering glance of intelligence between Jacintha and Rose de Beaurepaire when the baroness said, “Yes, certainly”?
Time will show.
Josephine and the doctor were left alone. Now Josephine had noticed the old people whisper and her mother glance her way, and the whole woman was on her guard. She assumed a languid complacency, and by way of shield, if necessary, took some work, and bent her eyes and apparently her attention on it.
The doctor was silent and ill at ease.
She saw he had something weighty on his mind. “The air would have done me no harm,” said she.
“Neither will a few words with me.”
“Oh, no, dear friend. Only I think I should have liked a little walk this evening.”
“Josephine,” said the doctor quietly, “when you were a child I saved your life.”