When she was fully dressed she advanced towards the door, saying, "I will go out upon the ramparts. Put the room in order against my return."
But the girl planted herself in the way, and replied, "You cannot, Mademoiselle. There are strict orders that you remain here, till the Count or the Marchioness come for you."
There was a low suppressed laugh--a laugh of triumph in her power--mingled with the girl's words, which was hard to bear; and Rose felt at first inclined to resist, and then to weep; but she gave way to neither temptation; and, after gazing at her for a minute, merely replied, "What, I am a prisoner, then; and my own maid the gaoler? It is well; but it will prove fruitless. Give me a book, I will read."
The girl inquired what book, and gave her mistress the pain--and she well knew it was a pain,--to speak more than once before she chose to comprehend.
At length, however, a book was brought; and poor Rose d'Albret, placing herself near the window, strove to read with an unconcerned air. But it was in vain she did so; the letters swam before her eyes: her mind wandered to other things: her eye ran over the lines without gathering their sense; and, ere she had mastered more than two or three sentences, there was a step in the ante-room, a knock at the door, and before she could say "Come in," Madame de Chazeul entered, followed by Monsieur de Liancourt. The conflict, she saw, was about to begin, and with an anxious gasp for breath, and a haggard eye, she gazed upon them as they approached, unable to speak, though she strove to do so.
"Be calm, Rose, be calm," said Monsieur de Liancourt, placing a seat for his sister, and taking one himself. "I have come to you thus early in the morning, because Madame de Chazeul and father Walter informed me last night, that you entertained suspicions as to the reality of the sad intelligence which we received last night, and I wish to assure you with my own lips that there is no doubt--that I entertain no doubt of the fact."
Rose wept but could not reply; and after a brief pause, the Count proceeded: "Of course I feel deeply grieved that such a fate should have overtaken my nephew; but I cannot help at the same time remembering, that he has not lately acted as became him, nor shown towards me that respect and gratitude which I trust I deserved at his hands."
"Oh, Sir," cried Rose, waving her hand mournfully; "touch not the memory of the dead--of one who was willing to show you every reverence, although, perhaps, he might feel that he had been wronged and deceived. To you," she continued, seeing the Count's lip quiver, "to you he attributed it not, but to the counsels of others; and you would have found no one more affectionate no one more willing to testify, in every way, his regard and respect."
"Well, well," cried Madame de Chazeul, "there is no use of disputing about such things. That is all past. The question before us is of the present. You had something to say on that score, brother, I think?"
"Why, simply this," replied the Count, "that as my nephew Chazeul is now, without dispute, my heir, he is also, without dispute, the person indicated by the contract between myself and Monsieur de Marennes--as your husband, Rose!" he added, in a slow emphatic tone.