"Oh, no! she's not the same sort at all."
Balloquet had been with us but a moment, when the bell rang again, and this time Frédérique appeared.
"The servant told me that there were three of you," she said, dropping carelessly upon a chair; "and that's why I ventured to come in. Did I do wrong, Rochebrune?"
"No, madame; you are always welcome. And mademoiselle here will take advantage of the opportunity to express her regret for the unseemly words she used to you the other day."
"Yes, madame," said Rosette, walking up to Madame Dauberny. "I was wrong; I'm hot-headed; but turn your hand over, and I forget all about it. Are you still angry with me?"
"Not in the least, mademoiselle," replied Frédérique, trying to smile; "I assure you that I had forgotten it entirely. But I trust that I shall not arouse your jealousy again."
"Oh! no, madame! Charles has told me that he never loved you, and that's all I ask."
Frédérique bit her lips. I, for my part, was conscious of a sensation that I cannot describe. I would gladly have horsewhipped Rosette, I believe, if it had been possible. Women have a way of adjusting things that often produces the contrary effect.
"Madame is acquainted with my sentiments, mademoiselle," I stammered, awkwardly enough; "she appreciates them——"
"Enough, my friend!" interposed Frédérique; "sentiments are to be proved, not put in words. But, mon Dieu! how sweet your room smells! There's an odor of—of rose; yes, it's surely rose;—is it not, mademoiselle?"