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Page 3
So, gradually, it became understood that the young soldier's name was
not to be mentioned to his widow. She took up her burden and went on,
devoting herself to the army service until the war was over. Then she
ceased to labour with lint and bandages and betook herself to new
surroundings. Her husband's brother offered her a home, but she was
unable to accept, for the two men looked so much alike that she could
not have borne it. Sometimes, even now, she turned away in pain from
Rose, who resembled her father.
"'Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,'" Madame Bernard was saying. "I
seem to run to conversational antiques tonight. 'Doctor, lawyer,
merchant, chief--' which will you have, Rose? If I remember rightly,
you've had all but the thief already. Shall I get you a nice embezzler,
or will a plain burglar do?"
"Neither," laughed Rose. "I'm safe from embezzlers, I think, but I live
in nightly fear of being burgled, as you well know."
"None the less, we've got to take the risk. Isabel will not be contented
with you and me. She'll want other hats on the rack besides the
prehistoric relic we keep there as a warning to burglars."
"I'd forgotten Isabel," answered Rose, with a start. "What is she
doing?"
"Dressing for dinner. My dear, that child brought three trunks with her
and I understand another is coming. She has enough clothes to set up a
modest shop, should she desire to 'go into trade' as the English say."
"I'd forgotten Isabel," said Rose, again. "We must find some callow
youths to amuse her. A girl of twenty can't appreciate a real man."
"Sometimes a girl of forty can't, either," laughed Madame, with a sly
glance at Rose. "Cheer up, my dear--I'm nearing seventy, and I assure
you that forty is really very young."
"It's scarcely infantile, but I'll admit that I'm young--comparatively."
"All things are comparative in this world, and perhaps you and Isabel,
with your attendant swains, may enable me to forget that I'm no longer
young, even comparatively."
The guest came in, somewhat shyly. She was a cousin of Rose's, on the
mother's side, and had arrived only that afternoon on a visit.
"Bless us," said Madame Bernard; "how pretty we are! Isabel, you're a
credit to the establishment."
Isabel smiled--a little, cool smile. She was almost as tall as Rose and
towered far above the little lady in grey who offered her a welcoming
hand and invited her to sit by the fire. Isabel's gown was turquoise
blue and very becoming, as her hair and eyes were dark and her skin was
fair. Her eyes were almost black and very brilliant; they literally
sparkled when she allowed herself to become interested in anything.
"I'm not late, am I?" she asked.
"No," answered Rose, glancing at the clock. "It's ten minutes to seven."
"I couldn't find my things. It was like dressing in a dream, when, as
soon as you find something you want, you immediately lose everything
else."
"I know," laughed Rose. "I had occasion to pack a suit-case myself last
night, during my troubled slumbers."
A large yellow cat appeared mysteriously out of the shadows and came,
yawning, toward the fire. He sat down on the edge of Madame's grey gown,
and blinked.
Isabel drew her skirts away. "I don't like cats," she said.
"There are cats and cats," remarked Madame Bernard in a tone of gentle
rebuke. "Mr. Boffin is not an ordinary cat. He is a gentleman and a
scholar and he never forgets his manners."
"I've wondered, sometimes," said Rose, "whether he really knows
everything, or only pretends that he does. He looks very wise."
"Silence and reserve will give anyone a reputation for wisdom," Madame
responded. She bent down to stroke the yellow head, but, though Mr.
Boffin gratefully accepted the caress, he did not condescend to purr.
Presently he stalked away into the shadows, waving his yellow tail.
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