tead of going to Josephine, her determination to do which had
mainly caused the quarrel, sat sadly down, and leaned her head on her
hand. "I am cruel. I am ungrateful. He has gone away broken-hearted.
And what shall I do without him?--little fool! I love him better than he
loves me. He will never forgive me. I have wounded his vanity; and they
are vainer than we are. If we meet at dinner I will be so kind to him,
he will forget it all. No! Edouard will not come to dinner. He is not a
spaniel that you can beat, and then whistle back again. Something tells
me I have lost him, and if I have, what shall I do? I will write him a
note. I will ask him to forgive me."

She sat down at the table, and took a sheet of notepaper and began to
write a few conciliatory words. She was so occupied in making these kind
enough, and not too kind, that a light step approached her unobserved.
She looked up and there was Edouard. She whipped the paper off the
table.

A look of suspicion and misery crossed Edouard's face.

Rose caught it, and said, "Well, am I to be affronted any more?"

"No, Rose. I came back to beg you to forget what passed just now," said
he.

Rose's eye flashed; his return showed her her power. She abused it
directly.

"How can I forget it if you come reminding me?"

"Dear Rose, now don't be so unkind, so cruel--I have not come back to
tease you, sweet one. I come to know what I can do to please you; to
make you love me again?" and he was about to kneel graciously on one
knee.

"I'll tell you. Don't come near me for a month."

Edouard started up, white as ashes with mortification and wounded love.

"This is how you treat me for humbling myself, when it is you that ought
to ask forgiveness."

"Why should I ask what I don't care about?"

"What DO you care about?--except that sister of yours? You have no
heart. And on this cold-blooded creature I have wasted a love an empress
might have been proud of inspiring. I pray Heaven some man may sport
with your affections, you heartless creature, as you have played with
mine, and make you suffer what I suffer now!"

And with a burst of inarticulate grief and rage he flung out of the
room.

Rose sank trembling on the sofa a little while: then with a mighty
effort rose and went to comfort her sister.

Edouard came no more to Beaurepaire.

There is an old French proverb, and a wise one, "Rien n'est certain que
l'imprevu;" it means you can make sure of nothing but