Elsie ran on with her story, not careful to inquire into the mood of
Jacqueline,—suspicious of that mood, no doubt,—but at last, made
breathless by her haste and agitation, she paused, looked anxiously at
Jacqueline, and finally said,—
"You think I ought not to have gone?"
"Oh, no,—it gave you pleasure."
A pause followed. It was broken at length by Elsie, exclaiming, in a voice changed from its former speaking,—
"Jacqueline Gabrie, you are homesick! horribly homesick, Jacqueline!"
"You do not ask for Antonine: yet you know I went to spend the day with her," said Jacqueline, very gravely.
"How is Antonine Duprè?" asked Elsie.
"She is dead. I have told you a good many times that she must die. Now, she is dead."
"Dead?" repeated Elsie.
"You care as much as if a candle had gone out," said Jacqueline.