The baroness was very kind to her young companion, and very delicate in making the gradual change she had determined upon in her case. She never said to the young creature in so many words: “From this time you are my little sister;” but she treated her with the free and fond affection due to such a relationship. She never asked Lilith to perform the slightest service for her; but, on the contrary, very often offered attentions to the girl—wrapping her shawl around her when they were going up on deck, and showing her all the solicitous tenderness of an affectionate relative.
Lilith was very grateful for all this kindness; nor did its excess embarrass her in the least degree. She had been used to the greatest care and the tenderest love all her young days until the brief episode of her married life; and she had no experience to teach her that the baroness’ treatment of her was not the treatment usually bestowed by a lady upon her salaried companion. So she accepted all the favors and all the attentions of the great lady with gratitude and enjoyment.
Their fellow-voyagers had not the least idea that these two young ladies stood in the relations of employer and employed towards each other, but believed them to be very young widowed sisters or dear friends.
There happened to be on board not one of Madame Von Bruyin’s own circle who was acquainted with her family history and knew that she had no sisters.
The baroness happened to come on deck one morning with Lilith.
She sat down near a lady, who, after exchanging salutations with the new-comer, said, politely:
“I hope, madame, that your dear sister is not indisposed this morning, this fine, fine morning, that she is not on deck.”
“Thank you, she is quite well, only a trifle late in rising; but Mrs. Wyvil is not my sister except in affection; though indeed there are few sisters so strongly attached to each other as we are. Circumstances have brought this friendly union about. We are both orphans, without sister or brother; both widows without children; we have, in fact, no family ties whatever. We are fast friends who have no one but each other,” Madame Von Bruyin explained, speaking purposely so to one whom she knew to be one of the busiest gossips among all the ladies of the first cabin.
After this there was much talk about the “romantic friendship” existing between the two beautiful young widows. This talk found its way from the ladies’ cabin to the gentlemen’s saloon, where the status of the two lovely widows was often canvassed. Both were acknowledged to be “beautiful exceedingly,” and yet so different in style that there could be no comparison between them—one a tall and stately blonde, the other a petite and graceful brunette; so that they were relatively called Juno and Psyche. Both were supposed to be enormously rich—great chances for “elegant but impecunious” fortune-hunters. And more than one adventurer who could not manage to approach the hedged-in royalty on ship-board, determined to keep track of the beauties in hopes of golden opportunities after they should have landed on the other side.
Meanwhile Madame Von Bruyin and Lilith, unconscious of the buzz of gossip, criticism and speculation going on around them in cabin and saloon, kept on the even tenor of their way, until one fine morning near the middle of June they awoke to find themselves at Havre. Their ship had arrived in the night while they slept.