Rosaline sighed; her mood changed entirely now, and her face was grave and even apprehensive. There was no sound but the gentle dash of water from the falls. Presently her eyes lighted on the basket of ferns.
“We have enough, Charlot,� she said, in a dull voice; “I am going back now. Come also, and Babet will give you supper; you must be tired.�
Poor Charlot was at his wits’ end.
“See, mademoiselle, there is a beautiful fern,� he said, pointing his finger at three waving plumes of green; “will you not have that also?�
She looked at it without interest. “No,� she replied indifferently, “let it remain; we have more than enough already, and I am tired.�
She was half-way up the bank, and Charlot rose in despair.
“Mademoiselle,� he said, “come back, I pray you; ’tis not yet time to return to the château.�
She looked around in surprise, and the expression of his face awakened her suspicions.
“What is it?� she demanded quickly; “what do you mean?�
“You were not to return until six o’clock,� he replied, at a loss for an excuse; “Madame de St. Cyr so instructed me.�