He fancied, as she turned her face from him, that he heard a little catch in her breath.  But she faced him again quickly.

“We have been happy.  No woman in the world has been happier than I. And you—­four years?  In that time you have not heard much music.  Shall I play for you?”

She rose and went to the piano without waiting for him to reply.  Philip leaned back and partly closed his eyes as she began to play.  The spell of music held him silent, and neither spoke until Josephine and her father returned.  Philip did not catch the laughing words Adare turned to his wife.  In the door Josephine had stopped.  To his surprise she was dressed in her red coat and hood, and her feet were moccasined.  She made a quick little signal to him.

“I am ready, Philip,” she said.

He arose, fearing that his tongue might betray him if he replied to her in words.  Adare came unwittingly to his assistance.

“You’ll get used to this before the winter is over, Philip,” he exclaimed banteringly.  “Metoosin once called Josephine ’Wapikunoo’—­the White Owl, and the name has stuck ever since.  I haven’t known Mignonne to miss a walk on a moonlit winter night since I can remember.  But I prefer my airings in the day.  Eh, Miriam?”

“And there is no moon to-night,” laughed his wife.

“Hush—­but there is Philip!” whispered Adare loudly.  “It may be that our Josephine will prefer the darker nights after this.  Can you remember—­”

Josephine was pulling Philip through the door, laughing back over her shoulder.  As soon as they were in the hall she caught his arm excitedly.

“Let us hurry to your room,” she urged.  “You can dress and slip out unseen, leaving Jean and me alone.  You are sure—­he wants to see me—­alone?”

There was a tremble in her voice now.

“Yes.”  They came to his door and he tapped on it lightly.  Instantly it was opened.  Josephine stared at Jean as she darted in.

“Jean—­you have something to tell me?” she whispered, no longer hiding the fear in her face.  “You must see me—­alone?”

“Oui, M’selle,” murmured Jean, turning to Philip.  “If M’sieur Philip can arrange for us to be alone.”

“I will be gone in a moment,” said Philip, hastily beginning to put on heavier garments.  “Lock the door, Jean.  It will not do to be interrupted now.”

When he was ready Josephine went to him, her eyes shining softly.  Jean turned to the window.

“You—­your faith in me is beautiful,” she said gratefully, so low that only he could hear her.  “I don’t deserve it, Philip.”

For a moment he pressed her hand, his face telling her more than he could trust his lips to speak.  Jean heard him turn the key in the lock, and he turned quickly.

“I have thought it would be better for you to go out by the window, M’sieur.”

“You are right,” agreed Philip, relocking the door.