“’Tis hard for me to explain,� she said plaintively; “I can have no objections to you personally, M. de Baudri, but I am averse to doing anything to force Rosaline’s inclinations.�
He smiled scornfully. “Madame does not expect me to believe in so flimsy an excuse, surely?� he remarked with a frown. “I never heard that the whims of a mere girl controlled arrangements of this kind. My marriage with your granddaughter would benefit you in many ways. The de Baudris confer an honor when they marry.�
A red spot flamed in madame’s white cheeks; her situation had made a coward of her, but there was a limit even to her endurance.
“The St. Cyrs thank monsieur,� she said ironically, “but they also are of noble blood. No man could confer an honor on the daughter of the house; she will confer it, when she makes her choice. We are poor, M. de Baudri, but we ask favors of no one.�
He saw his error, and bowed low before the old dame, his hand on his heart.
“Mademoiselle is an angel,� he said; “if I did not recognize that, I would not, a second time, sue for her hand. I also am proud, madame.�
The old woman returned his bow, but was silent. She was hurt, angry, alarmed. She began to fear those handsome, bold eyes, and the smooth voice; after all, he was like a panther, ready to spring, and her beautiful darling, the idol of her old age was the object of his desire. But for that fearful danger, their concealed religion, she could have faced him well enough, but he had a mighty weapon in his hand, and she almost feared that he knew it. For herself, death would be no great hardship, but for Rosaline—she shuddered, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, and staring out of the window. Meanwhile M. de Baudri watched her narrowly; he knew far less than she thought, but he was fiercely in love with Rosaline, and such love as his was as dangerous as hate. The girl’s indifference enraged him; he would have her, and then—Mother of Heaven! he would teach her to scorn him, indeed! He would break her will and humble her into his slave. Madame de St. Cyr felt all this, vaguely, it is true, but still strongly enough to make her recoil from him. What could she do? she thought, a helpless old woman with all the world against her! Père Ambroise loved the child, it was true, but might not Père Ambroise favor an orthodox lover? M. de Baudri’s smooth voice broke in on her troubled thoughts, and demanded her attention again.
“You have advanced no reasonable objections to my suit, madame,� he said affably; “I shall therefore regard it as accepted by you, and only in abeyance on account of mademoiselle’s maidenly scruples.�
“But I have not accepted it,� she protested, greatly troubled; “I will not accept any offer for the child that—that does not give her happiness. Why should I desire to part with the jewel of my old age? You are naturally forgetful of my situation, monsieur; Rosaline’s marriage would leave me desolate.�
“Nay, madame,� he replied, not ungracefully, “you would but gain a son. If this is your only scruple—is it not a selfish one?�