At last she heard no more.  Then a scream of anguish and recall rose to her lips.  She fought it down, for Josephine and Raynal.  Edouard was gone.  She had but her sister now, the sister she loved better than herself; the sister to save whose life and honor she had this moment sacrificed her own, and all a woman lives for.

She turned, with a wild cry of love and pity, to that sister’s side to help her; and when she kneeled down beside her, an iron arm was promptly thrust out between the beloved one and her.

“This is my care, madame,” said Raynal, coldly.

There was no mistaking his manner.  The stained one was not to touch his wife.

She looked at him in piteous amazement at his ingratitude.  “It is well,” said she.  “It is just.  I deserve this from you.”

She said no more, but drooped gently down beside the cradle, and hid her forehead in the clothes beside the child that had brought all this woe, and sobbed bitterly.

Then honest Raynal began to be sorry for her, in spite of himself.  But there was no time for this.  Josephine stirred; and, at the same moment, a violent knocking came at the door of the apartment, and the new servant’s voice, crying, “Ladies, for Heaven’s sake, what is the matter?  The baroness heard a fall—­she is getting up—­she will be here.  What shall I tell her is the matter?”

Raynal was going to answer, but Rose, who had started up at the knocking, put her hand in a moment right before his mouth, and ran to the door.  “There is nothing the matter; tell mamma I am coming down to her directly.”  She flew back to Raynal in an excitement little short of frenzy.  “Help me carry her into her own room,” cried she imperiously.  Raynal obeyed by instinct; for the fiery girl spoke like a general, giving the word of command, with the enemy in front.  He carried the true culprit in his arms, and laid her gently on her bed.

“Now put it out of sight—­take this, quick, man! quick!” cried Rose.

Raynal went to the cradle.  “Ah! my poor girl,” said he, as he lifted it in his arms, “this is a sorry business; to have to hide your own child from your own mother!”

“Colonel Raynal,” said Rose, “do not insult a poor, despairing girl.  C’est lache.”

“I am silent, young woman,” said Raynal, sternly.  “What is to be done?”

“Take it down the steps, and give it to Jacintha.  Stay, here is a candle; I go to tell mamma you are come; and, Colonel Raynal, I never injured you:  if you tell my mother you will stab her to the heart, and me, and may the curse of cowards light on you!—­may”—­

“Enough!” said Raynal, sternly.  “Do you take me for a babbling girl?  I love your mother better than you do, or this brat of yours would not be here.  I shall not bring her gray hairs down with sorrow to the grave.  I shall speak of this villany to but one person; and to him I shall talk with this, and not with the idle tongue.”  And he tapped his sword-hilt with a sombre look of terrible significance.