Louise stifled a sob, and the old doctor took and patted her hand.
“You shall be sent for, my dear, as soon as you can be of use. You are helping me in going. There, good night.”
A minute later, hanging heavily on her brother’s arm, Louise Vine was walking slowly homeward through the silent night. Her heart was too full for words, and Harry uttered a low hoarse sigh from time to time, his lips never once parting to speak till they reached the house.
To the surprise of both, on entering they were confronted by Aunt Marguerite.
“What does all this mean?” she said angrily. “Why did every one go out without telling me a word?”
Louise gently explained to her what had befallen her father’s friend.
“Oh,” said Aunt Marguerite, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Well, it might have been worse. There, I am very tired. Take me up, child, to bed.”
“Good night, Harry; you will go and lie down,” whispered Louise. “Good night, dear.”
She clung to him as if the trouble had drawn them closer, and then went into the hall to light a candle.
“Good night, Henri,” said Aunt Marguerite, holding her cheek for the young man’s mechanical kiss. “This is very sad, of course, but it seems to me like emancipation for you. If it is, I shall not look upon it as a calamity, but as a blessing for us all. Good night.”