Then Rose forgot all about herself, and even what she had come for.  She clung about her sister’s neck, and implored her, for her sake, to try and love Raynal.

Josephine shuddered, and clung weeping to her sister in turn.  For in Rose’s arms she realized more powerfully what that sister would suffer if she were to die.  Now, while they clung together, Rose felt something hard, and contrived just to feel it with her cheek.  It was the phial.

A chill suspicion crossed the poor girl.  The attitude in which she had found Josephine; the letter, the look of despair, and now this little bottle, which she had hidden.  Why hide it?  She resolved not to let Josephine out of her sight; at all events, until she had seen this little bottle, and got it away from her.

She helped her to dress, and breakfasted with her in the tapestried room, and dissembled, and put on gayety, and made light of everything but Josephine’s health.

Her efforts were not quite in vain.  Josephine became more composed; and Rose even drew from her a half promise that she would give Raynal and time a fair trial.

And now Rose was relieved of her immediate apprehensions for Josephine, but the danger of another kind, from Edouard, remained.  So she ran into her bedroom for her bonnet and shawl, determined to take the strong measure of visiting Edouard at once, or intercepting him.  While she was making her little toilet, she heard her mother’s voice in the room.  This was unlucky; she must pass through that room to go out.  She sat down and fretted at this delay.  And then, as the baroness appeared to be very animated, Rose went to the keyhole, and listened.  Their mother was telling Josephine how she had questioned Rose, and how Rose had told her an untruth, and how she had made that young lady write to Edouard, etc.; in short, the very thing Rose wanted to conceal from Josephine.

Rose lost all patience, and determined to fly through the room and out before anybody could stop her.  She heard Jacintha come in with some message, and thought that would be a good opportunity to slip out unmolested.  So she opened the door softly.  Jacintha, it seemed, had been volunteering some remark that was not well received, for the baroness was saying, sharply, “Your opinion is not asked.  Go down directly, and bring him up here, to this room.”  Jacintha cast a look of dismay at Rose, and vanished.

Rose gathered from that look, as much as from the words, who the visitor was.  She made a dart after Jacintha.  But the room was a long one, and the baroness intercepted her:  “No,” said she, gravely, “I cannot spare you.”

Rose stood pale and panting, but almost defiant.  “Mamma,” said she, “if it is Monsieur Riviere, I must ask your leave to retire.  And you have neither love nor pity, nor respect for me, if you detain me.”

“Mademoiselle!” was the stern reply, “I forbid you to move.  Be good enough to sit there;” with which the baroness pointed imperiously to a sofa at the other side of the room.  “Josephine, go to your room.”  Josephine retired, casting more than one anxious glance over her shoulder.