“Of course he might, and you would have lost nothing by permitting me to be courteous to a guest and an invalid.  If you had not played the tyrant, and taken the matter into your own hands, I should have found means to soothe your jeal—­I mean your vanity; but you preferred to have your own way.  Well, you have had it.”

“Yes, mademoiselle, you have given me a lesson; you have shown me how idle it is to attempt to force a young lady’s inclinations in anything.”

He bade her good-day, and went away sorrowful.

She cut Camille dead for the rest of the day.

Next morning, early, Edouard called expressly to see her.  “Mademoiselle Rose,” said he, humbly, “I called to apologize for the ungentlemanly tone of my remonstrances yesterday.”

“Fiddle-dee,” said Rose.  “Don’t do it again; that is the best apology.”

“I am not likely to offend so again,” said he sadly.  “I am going away.  I am sorry to say I am promoted; my new post is ten leagues.  He will have it all his own way now.  But perhaps it is best.  Were I to stay here, I foresee you would soon lose whatever friendly feeling you have for me.”

“Am I so changeable?  I am not considered so,” remonstrated Rose, gently.

Riviere explained; “I am not vain,” said he, with that self-knowledge which is so general an attribute of human beings; “no man less so, nor am I jealous; but I respect myself, and I could never be content to share your time and your regard with Colonel Dujardin, nor with a much better man.  See now; he has made me arrogant.  Was I ever so before?”

“No! no! no! and I forgive you now, my poor Edouard.”

“He has made you cold as ice to me.”

“No! that was my own wickedness and spitefulness.”

“Wickedness, spitefulness! they are not in your nature.  It is all that wretch’s doing.”

Rose sighed, but she said nothing; for she saw that to excuse Camille would only make the jealous one more bitter against him.

“Will you deign to write to me at my new post? once a month? in answer to my letters?”

“Yes, dear.  But you will ride over sometimes to see us.”

“Oh, yes; but for some little time I shall not be able.  The duties of a new post.”

“Perhaps in a month—­a fortnight?”

“Sooner perhaps; the moment I hear that man is out of the house.”

Edouard went away, dogged and sad; Rose shut herself up in her room and had a good cry.  In the afternoon Josephine came and remonstrated with her.  “You have not walked with him at all to-day.”

“No; you must pet him yourself for once.  I hate the sight of him; it has made mischief between Edouard and me, my being so attentive to him.  Edouard is jealous, and I cannot wonder.  After all, what right have I to mystify him who honors me with his affection?”

Then, being pressed with questions by Josephine, she related to her all that had passed between Edouard and her, word for word.