“Not to let Josephine go to Frejus?” said Rose hastily. “Oh, yes! I promise.” “You are a good girl,” said Aubertin. “You have a will of your own. But you can submit to age and experience.” The doctor then kissed her, and bade her farewell. “I leave for Paris at six in the morning,” he said. “I will not try your patience or hers unnecessarily. Perhaps it will not be three weeks ere she sees her child under her friend’s roof.” The moment Rose was alone, she sat down and sighed bitterly. “There is no end to it,” she sobbed despairingly. “It is like a spider’s web: every struggle to be free but multiplies the fine yet irresistible thread that seems to bind me. And to-night I thought to be so happy; instead of that, he has left me scarce the heart to do what I have to do.” She went back to the room, opened a window, and put out a white handkerchief, then closed the window down on it. Then she went to Josephine’s bedroom-door: it opened on the tapestried room. “Josephine,” she cried, “don’t go to bed just yet.” “No, love. What are you doing? I want to talk to you. Why did you say promise? and what did you mean by looking at me so? Shall I come out to you?” “Not just yet,” said Rose; she then glided into the corridor, and passed her mother’s room and the doctor’s, and listened to see if all was quiet. While she was gone Josephine opened her door; but not seeing Rose in the sitting-room, retired again. Rose returned softly, and sat down with her head in her hand, in a calm attitude belied by her glancing eye, and the quick tapping of her other hand upon the table. Presently she raised her head quickly; a sound had reached her ear,--a sound so slight that none but a high-strung ear could have caught it. It was like a mouse giving a single scratch against a stone wall. Rose coughed slightly. On this a clearer sound was heard, as of a person scratching wood with the finger-nail. Rose darted to the side of the room, pressed against the wall, and at the same time put her other hand against the rim of one of the panels and pushed it laterally; it yielded, and at the opening stood Jacintha in her cloak and bonnet. “Yes,” said Jacintha, “under my cloak--look!” “Ah! you found the things on the steps?” “Yes! I nearly tumbled over them. Have you locked that door?” “No, but I will.” And Rose glided to the door and locked it. Then she put the screen up between Josephine’s room and the open panel: then she and Jacintha were wonderfully busy on the other side the screen, but presently Rose said, “This is imprudent; you must go down to the foot of the stairs and wait till I call you.” Jacintha pleaded hard against this arrangement, and represented that there was no earthly chance of any one coming to that part of the chateau. “No matter; I will be guarded on every side.” “Mustn’t I stop and just see her happy for once?” “No, my poor Jacintha, you must hear it from my lips.”