“Ask herself, madame,” said Edouard, bitterly.
“Rose,” said the baroness, her eye now beginning to twinkle, “were you really guilty of such a want of discrimination? Didn’t you love monsieur?”
Rose flung her arms round her mother’s neck, and said, “No, mamma, I did not love Monsieur Edouard,” in an exquisite tone of love, that to a female ear conveyed the exact opposite of the words.
But Edouard had not that nice discriminating ear. He sighed deeply, and the baroness smiled. “You tell me that?” said she, “and you are crying!”
“She is crying, madame?” said Edouard, inquiringly, and taking a step towards them.
“Why, you see she is, you foolish boy. Come, I must put an end to this;” and she rose coolly from her seat, and begging Edouard to forgive her for leaving him a moment with his deadly enemy, went off with knowing little nods into Josephine’s room; only, before she entered it, she turned, and with a maternal smile discharged this word at the pair.
“Babies!”
But between the alienated lovers was a long distressing silence. Neither knew what to say; and their situation was intolerable. At last Rose ventured in a timorous voice to say, “I thank you for your generosity. But I knew that you would not betray me.”
“Your secret is safe for me,” sighed Edouard. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Rose shook her head sadly.