“M. d’Aguesseau,� she said, blushing a little under his glance, “my grand’mère, Madame de St. Cyr desires to see you, being acquainted with your family,—she knew your mother.�
His eyes lighted with surprise and pleasure.
“Madame de St. Cyr does me much honor to request a visit, mademoiselle,� he replied; “I am at her service.�
Rosaline and Babet had been into Nîmes to shop, and they were ready to go. The young girl laid her hand on the older woman’s arm.
“Then we will expect you to-morrow afternoon, monsieur,� she said quietly; “my very good friend Charlot will direct you to St. Cyr, and madame my grand’mère will be pleased to make you welcome.�
M. d’Aguesseau murmured his acknowledgments, while he aided Babet in gathering up numerous small packages, and then the two women bade Charlot adieu and departed,—the drawn face of the cobbler clouding as Rosaline left, as though the sun were obscured. The younger man turned from the door with an exclamation.
“Who is that angel?� he demanded eagerly.
Le Bossu was stitching a shoe, his fingers shaking a little as he thrust the needle into the stubborn leather.
“Mademoiselle Rosaline de St. Cyr,� he replied quietly, his brown eyes searching his guest with a new sternness. “You had better retire, monsieur, there comes one of the Franciscan fathers for his shoes.�