Two or three weeks went by, and, although Bidiane's headquarters were nominally at the inn, she visited the horseshoe cottage morning, noon, and night.
Rose always smiled when she heard the rustling of her silk-lined skirts, and often murmured:
"Sa robe fait froufrou, froufrou,
Ses petits pieds font toc, toc, toc."
"I wonder how long she is going to stay here?" said Agapit, one day, to his cousin.
"She does not know,—she obeys Mr. Nimmo blindly, although sometimes she chatters of earning her own living."
"I do not think he would permit that," said Agapit, hastily.
"Nor I, but he does not tell her so."
"He is a kind of Grand Monarque among you women. He speaks, and you listen; and now that Bidiane has broken the ice and we talk more freely of him, I may say that I do not approve of his keeping your boy any longer, although it is a foolish thing for me to mention, since you have never asked my advice on the subject."
"My dear brother," said Rose, softly, "in this one thing I have not agreed with you, because you are not a mother, and cannot understand. I feared to bring back my boy when he was delicate, lest he should die of the separation from Mr. Nimmo. It was better for me to cry myself to sleep for many nights than for me to have him for a few weeks, and then, perhaps, lay his little body in the cold ground. Where would then be my satisfaction? And now that he is strong, I console myself with the thought of the fine schools that he attends, I follow him every hour of the day, through the letters that Mr. Nimmo sends to Bidiane. As I dust my room in the morning, I hold conversations with him.