“Don’t be alarmed, Mademoiselle,” said Diane, who considered the innocent Rose as her worst enemy next the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel.
“I can get an engagement in Paris without the slightest difficulty. When you come back from the theatre, Grandin, please to go to your room the other way, because I shall have to sleep on the sofa here to-night. The wife and child of the Marquis are in my room. To-morrow I shall be gone.”
They all were stunned and dazed, but governed by the iron discipline of the stage which required them in five minutes to be in their canvas dressing-rooms, rose to go.
“I always told you I was ashamed to own the Marquis as a cousin,” said François after a moment.
“But the advertisement is not utterly lost,” bellowed Grandin. “I only hope Mademoiselle Rose will have an adventure with a marquis.”
“Oh,” cried Madame Grandin, reproachfully, to her husband, “you always think of advertising first! Well, Diane expected something great to happen at Bienville, and I am sure something great has happened.”
Only Jean lingered a moment as he passed Diane, his strong face working in agitation.
“I will kill him, Diane!” he said.
“Oh, no!” cried Diane, catching him by the sleeve, “that would be doing him a service. And besides, it would cost your life. No, leave him to me; I will do much worse than kill him.”
Jean went out, and Diane, taking off her hat and cloak, busied herself with arranging a little supper on a tray for Madame Egmont and the child. She took it in, stirred up the fire once more, and lighted a softly shaded lamp. Madame Egmont made no fresh protests of gratitude, but her eyes were eloquent, and the little girl clung to Diane. Warmth and food and attendance were luxuries to the wife and child of the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel.