“Ah, my dear senator!” she cried, holding up her face for a kiss, as he stepped out to meet her. “How glad I am to see you again! As soon as I got your cablegram I started to come to you, feeling that in your trouble my place was by your side to comfort you, for I feared that Marie and Lucile could not come as soon as I.”
She had scarcely uttered the words when the sisters came out to greet her with kisses and loving welcomes.
“But I thought you were absent on your wedding tours?” cried Rosalind, secretly chagrined at their return.
They led her into the small sitting room, and she added, with eager curiosity:
“I was told in Paris that your brother is living yet, but cannot recover. Is it true?”
“He is living yet—and we hope he may recover,” Marie said tearfully, without noticing Rosalind’s frown at the news.
Stifling an angry sob, Rosalind continued spitefully:
“And that horrid girl—the daughter of our village tailoress—she also lives, I suppose? You cannot kill such people! They are very tough.”
She was startled when Lucile said, with a certain proud dignity:
“Please do not talk like that any more, Rosalind, for she is my sister now.”