White Lies [152]
occupied with public duties."
Madame de Beaurepaire despised this threadbare excuse too much to notice it at all. She went on as if he had said nothing. "Intimate as you were with us, you must have some reason for deserting us so suddenly."
"I have," said Edouard, gravely.
"What is it?"
"Excuse me," said Edouard, sullenly.
"No, monsieur, I cannot. This neglect, succeeding to a somewhat ardent pursuit of my daughter, is almost an affront. You shall, of course, withdraw yourself altogether, if you choose. But not without an explanation. This much is due to me; and, if you are a gentleman, you will not withhold it from me."
"If he is a gentleman!" cried Rose; "O mamma, do not you affront a gentleman, who never, never gave you nor me any ground of offence. Why affront the friends and benefactors we have lost by our own fault?"
"Oh, then, it is all your fault," said the baroness. "I feared as much."
"All my fault, all," said Rose; then putting her pretty palms together, and casting a look of abject supplication on Edouard, she murmured, "my temper!"
"Do not you put words into his mouth," said the shrewd old lady. "Come, Monsieur Riviere, be a man, and tell me the truth. What has she said to you? What has she done?"
By this time the abject state of terror the high-spirited Rose was in, and her piteous glances, had so disarmed Edouard, that he had not the heart to expose her to her mother.
"Madame," said he, stiffly, taking Rose's hint, "my temper and mademoiselle's could not accord."
"Why, her temper is charming: it is joyous, equal, and gentle."
"You misunderstand me, madame; I do not reproach Mademoiselle Rose. It is I who am to blame."
"For what?" inquired the baroness dryly.
"For not being able to make her love me."
"Oh! that is it! She did not love you?"
"Ask herself, madame," said Edouard, bitterly.
"Rose," said the baroness, her eye now beginning to twinkle, "were you really guilty of such a want of discrimination? Didn't you love monsieur?"
Rose flung her arms round her mother's neck, and said, "No, mamma, I did not love Monsieur Edouard," in an exquisite tone of love, that to a female ear conveyed the exact opposite of the words.
But Edouard had not that nice discriminating ear. He sighed deeply, and the baroness smiled. "You tell me that?" said she, "and you are crying!"
"She is crying, madame?" said Edouard, inquiringly, and taking a step towards them.
"Why, you see she is, you foolish boy. Come, I must put an end to this;" and she rose coolly from her seat, and begging Edouard to forgive her for leaving him a moment with his deadly enemy, went off with knowing little nods into Josephine's room; only, before she entered it, she turned, and with a maternal smile discharged this word at the pair.
"Babies!"
But between the alienated lovers was a long distressing silence. Neither knew what to say; and their situation was intolerable. At last Rose ventured in a timorous voice to say, "I thank you for your generosity. But I knew that you would not betray me."
"Your secret is safe for me," sighed Edouard. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Rose shook her head sadly.
Edouard moved to the door.
Rose bowed her head with a despairing moan. It took him by the heart and held him. He hesitated, then came towards her.
"I see you are sorry for what you have done to me who loved you so; and you loved me. Oh! yes, do not deny it, Rose; there was a time you loved me. And that makes it worse: to have given me such sweet hopes, only to crush both them and me. And is not this cruel of you to weep so and let me see your penitence--when it is too late?"
"Alas! how can I help my regrets? I have insulted so good a friend."
There was a sad silence. Then as he looked at her, her looks belied the charge her own lips had made against herself.
A light seemed to burst on Edouard from that high-minded, sorrow- stricken face.
"Tell me it is false!" he cried.
She hid her face in her hands--woman's instinct to avoid being
Madame de Beaurepaire despised this threadbare excuse too much to notice it at all. She went on as if he had said nothing. "Intimate as you were with us, you must have some reason for deserting us so suddenly."
"I have," said Edouard, gravely.
"What is it?"
"Excuse me," said Edouard, sullenly.
"No, monsieur, I cannot. This neglect, succeeding to a somewhat ardent pursuit of my daughter, is almost an affront. You shall, of course, withdraw yourself altogether, if you choose. But not without an explanation. This much is due to me; and, if you are a gentleman, you will not withhold it from me."
"If he is a gentleman!" cried Rose; "O mamma, do not you affront a gentleman, who never, never gave you nor me any ground of offence. Why affront the friends and benefactors we have lost by our own fault?"
"Oh, then, it is all your fault," said the baroness. "I feared as much."
"All my fault, all," said Rose; then putting her pretty palms together, and casting a look of abject supplication on Edouard, she murmured, "my temper!"
"Do not you put words into his mouth," said the shrewd old lady. "Come, Monsieur Riviere, be a man, and tell me the truth. What has she said to you? What has she done?"
By this time the abject state of terror the high-spirited Rose was in, and her piteous glances, had so disarmed Edouard, that he had not the heart to expose her to her mother.
"Madame," said he, stiffly, taking Rose's hint, "my temper and mademoiselle's could not accord."
"Why, her temper is charming: it is joyous, equal, and gentle."
"You misunderstand me, madame; I do not reproach Mademoiselle Rose. It is I who am to blame."
"For what?" inquired the baroness dryly.
"For not being able to make her love me."
"Oh! that is it! She did not love you?"
"Ask herself, madame," said Edouard, bitterly.
"Rose," said the baroness, her eye now beginning to twinkle, "were you really guilty of such a want of discrimination? Didn't you love monsieur?"
Rose flung her arms round her mother's neck, and said, "No, mamma, I did not love Monsieur Edouard," in an exquisite tone of love, that to a female ear conveyed the exact opposite of the words.
But Edouard had not that nice discriminating ear. He sighed deeply, and the baroness smiled. "You tell me that?" said she, "and you are crying!"
"She is crying, madame?" said Edouard, inquiringly, and taking a step towards them.
"Why, you see she is, you foolish boy. Come, I must put an end to this;" and she rose coolly from her seat, and begging Edouard to forgive her for leaving him a moment with his deadly enemy, went off with knowing little nods into Josephine's room; only, before she entered it, she turned, and with a maternal smile discharged this word at the pair.
"Babies!"
But between the alienated lovers was a long distressing silence. Neither knew what to say; and their situation was intolerable. At last Rose ventured in a timorous voice to say, "I thank you for your generosity. But I knew that you would not betray me."
"Your secret is safe for me," sighed Edouard. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Rose shook her head sadly.
Edouard moved to the door.
Rose bowed her head with a despairing moan. It took him by the heart and held him. He hesitated, then came towards her.
"I see you are sorry for what you have done to me who loved you so; and you loved me. Oh! yes, do not deny it, Rose; there was a time you loved me. And that makes it worse: to have given me such sweet hopes, only to crush both them and me. And is not this cruel of you to weep so and let me see your penitence--when it is too late?"
"Alas! how can I help my regrets? I have insulted so good a friend."
There was a sad silence. Then as he looked at her, her looks belied the charge her own lips had made against herself.
A light seemed to burst on Edouard from that high-minded, sorrow- stricken face.
"Tell me it is false!" he cried.
She hid her face in her hands--woman's instinct to avoid being