"Come along then, Rosalie," she called out impatiently. "Have you forgotten the trial?—we've not too much time."
"Ah!" said Rosalie, nodding slowly; "ah, the trial."
Thérèse tapped impatiently with her foot.
"Come then, for Heaven's sake! or we shall not get places."
"Places," said Rosalie suddenly; "what for?"
"Ma foi, if you are not stupid to-day. The trial, I tell you, that Rochambeau girl's trial—white-faced little fool. Ciel! if I could not play my cards better than that," and she laughed.
Rosalie's hands were hidden by her apron. One of them clutched something. The fingers lifted one by one, and in her mind she counted, "One—two—three—four—five"—and then back again—"One—two—three—four—five—" Thérèse was staring at her.
"What's the matter with you to-day?" she said. "Are you coming or no? It will be amusing, Hébert says; but if you prefer to sit here and sulk, do so by all means. For me, I go."
She turned to do so, but Rosalie was already getting out of her chair.
"Wait then, Thérèse," she grumbled. "Is no one to have any amusement but you? There, give me your arm, come close. Now tell me what's going to happen?"