“What CAN I say? I love my mother and I love you. You draw me different ways. I want you to be both happy.”
“Then if you will not speak out I must. Mother, do not deceive yourself: it is duty alone that keeps her silent: this match is odious to her.”
“Then we are ruined. Josephine, is this match odious to you?”
“Not exactly odious: but I am very, very indifferent.”
“There!” cried Rose triumphantly.
“There!” cried the baroness in the same breath, triumphantly. “She esteems his character; but his person is indifferent to her: in other words, she is a modest girl, and my daughter; and let me tell you, Rose, that but for the misfortunes of our house, both my daughters would be married as I was, without knowing half as much of their husbands as Josephine knows of this brave, honest, generous, filial gentleman.”
“Well, then, since she will not speak out, I will. Pity me: I love her so. If this stranger, whom she does not love, takes her away from us, he will kill me. I shall die; oh!”
Josephine left her mother and went to console Rose.
The baroness lost her temper at this last stroke of opposition. “Now the truth comes out, Rose; this is selfishness. Do not deceive YOURself—selfishness!”
“Mamma!”