“Monsieur,” she asked, “what will you say to her?”
“That I am ill—that I——”
“How will that help either you or her?”
He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.
“What then, Madame?”
“I don’t know,” she said, slowly. “It is a very painful note to write. I am very sorry for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for myself that you learned of this through me. It is curious that no one told you,” she sighed. “But perhaps it is just as well that you know.”
“I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you how grateful,” he began, but she held up her hand.
“It pains me to see Miss North unhappy, but I know more of life than she does. I was educated in France, Monsieur, and I know what is expected of American girls who marry into the ancienne noblesse—the noblesse de souche. Of course, without a dot, this marriage is impossible.”
“Yes, Madame, that is true. It is—impossible, absolutely impossible.”
“Aurora—Miss North believes in your love for her—she will hardly understand——”