"Not if you looked at him like that, I 'll warrant; but as to smiling—he smiles at me too, dear cousin."
Thérèse flung herself into a chair, with a sharp-caught breath.
"And at whom else? Tell me that, tell me that, for there is some one—some one. He thinks of her, he dreams of her, and pushes past other people as if they were posts. If I knew, if I only knew who it was——"
"Well?" said Rosalie curiously.
"I 'd twist her neck for her, or get Mme Guillotine to save me the trouble," said Thérèse viciously.
As she spoke, the door swung open, and Mlle de Rochambeau came in. She had been out to make some trifling purchase, and, nervous of the streets, she had hurried a good deal. Haste and the cold air had brought a bright colour to her cheeks, her eyes shone, and her breath came more quickly than usual.
Thérèse started rudely, and seeing her pass through the shop with the air of one at home, she started up, and with a quick spring placed herself between Mademoiselle and the inner door.
For a moment Aline hesitated, and then, with a murmured "Pardon," advanced a step.
"Who are you?" demanded Thérèse, in her roughest voice.
Rosalie looked up with an expression of annoyance. Really Thérèse and her scenes were past bearing, though they were amusing, for a little.