"Never!" she echoed faintly.
"No, madame."
Jacqueline turned away for a moment with a sob of despair.
"What did he say—what did he do when I—left? Do you remember?"
Rose shuddered at the recollection.
"I shall never forget it! He was like a madman! He shut himself up in his room for days together and wouldn't see anyone. Once he went out and was gone for twenty-four hours. I used to listen outside his door and I heard him sobbing and crying. I was so frightened once that in spite of his orders I went into his room. It was in the evening and he was sitting by the fire burning your letters and photographs and the tears were rolling down his cheeks!"
Jacqueline listened white-faced, and as Rose told the story of her husband's grief a sudden gleam of hope made her dizzy and faint. He had loved her deeply, after all! He must still love her a little! She had not lost everything!
"The boy saved his brain, I think," Rose was saying, but she barely heard her. "He never would let him leave him, night or day. Then he began to calm down a little and seemed to settle to his work again. He has worked a little harder than before—that's all. Then we moved out here," she added.
Jacqueline turned to her and she was more nearly calm than she had been at any moment since entering the house.
"Rose, I must see him!" she cried, determinedly. "Go and tell him that a lady wants to speak to him, but do not let him guess who it is!"