"He made believe marry you, then, did he?" asked the childish old lady.

"He did that to a great many women, I believe. Gentlemen often do such things, so they tell me. Your child is of course illegitimate then."

Rose's lips moved, but no answer came.

"And what do you intend to do with him, child?"

"Bring him up to despise the sin of which his father was guilty,"

replied Rose, boldly.

"Oh yes, that's all very proper; but if you give him to me, there will be no occasion ever to mention it at all, or _you either_, child."

"Madame," said Rose, with a proud dignity. "Is it a mother who speaks to a mother such words as these? You love _your_ son none the less that he made _my_ name a reproach and a by-word, crimsoned my innocent cheek with shame, dimmed my eyes with unavailing tears. Shall I, think you, love _my_ son the less that _your son_ deserted him? Shall I love my son the less that through days and nights of tearful anguish his smile, his love, was all of heaven I ever dared to look for?"

"Oh, certainly not--oh, of course not," replied the old lady, nervously; "but you know he may not _always_ love you as well as he does now, when he knows--"

"In G.o.d I put my trust;" said Rose, as tears streamed from her eyes.

"Well, don't cry, child--don't cry. I hate to see people cry. All I wanted to say was, that you would always be a drag on him, if he tried to rise in the world; but don't cry. It is right for you to trust in G.o.d, every body ought to be pious, it is so respectable. I have been confirmed myself; but don't cry, it will spoil your handsome eyes. You are young yet, perhaps somebody may marry you, if you keep quiet about this."

"I would never so deceive any man," answered Rose, with dignity.

"_Deceive!_ oh, no, child, that would be _very_ wrong. I only meant that you should say nothing about it; that is a different thing, you see. Now I loved a Mr. Perry much better than I did my husband, but it would have been quite foolish had I allowed it to be known, you know, because Vincent was very rich, and it was necessary I should have a handsome establishment. Oh, no! of course I do not approve of deception, that is very wrong, but there _are_ cases where it is best for a woman to keep quiet. Well, how about Charley? have you quite decided not to part with him?"

"Quite," said Rose, "Charley must remain with me;" and, with a dignified air, she bowed madame to her carriage.

CHAPTER XLVII.

"A regular little romance, I declare," said madame, laying off her black bonnet, and fanning herself languidly, "quite a little romance.

"_Vincent's_ boy! no wonder he is so handsome; no wonder I was so attracted toward him. Vincent was a little wild, but very likely that young thing did _her_ part of the courting. She is very handsome, and, with a little instruction under other circ.u.mstances--with a little instruction from me, I say, she would be quite presentable in society.

"It is very odd she would not give up Charley. I thought that style of people were always glad to get rid of their children; in fact, I think it her _duty_ not to stand in the child's light. She is a Puritanical little puss, and quite queenly, too, for a Magdalen. I was quite dashed, as one may say, once or twice, by her manner, although I pride myself on my self-possession. She is really quite superior to her station; but Vincent, dear boy, always had indisputable taste; there never was a taint of grossness about him.

"He was very fastidious. I remember I put off his father's funeral one whole day, in order that the tailor might alter the coat-collar of his new mourning-suit. Yes, and he was so sensitive, too, poor dear! he felt his father's death so much that he was obliged to go directly from the grave to the club-house, to dissipate his mournful thoughts.

"Ah! Anne, is that you? sit down; I have just returned. Do you know, the mother of that baby refused to give him up. She says it is one of our Vincent's children. She is a very pretty young woman, Anne--not a high-bred beauty, of course; that you never see, except in aristocratic circles, still, she is quite pretty."

"Very," replied Anne, quite nonchalantly.

"Ha! you have seen her, then?" asked madame, with some surprise.

"My dear madame, I really would prefer saying nothing upon the subject.

I answered your first question frankly, because I make it a point never to deceive you; but I really wish you would not question me, I dislike so much to speak ill of any one."

"But I insist upon knowing, Anne; in fact, I think it is quite unkind of you to have any secrets from me, so long as you have been in my confidence, too."

"Ah, well, dear madame, if you insist, I suppose I must yield, for I can refuse you nothing. The person you have been to see this morning is an arrant impostor. She is playing a deep game with you; her refusal is not sincere; she expects you will return and persist in asking for Charley, and intends then to make money out of the operation."

"Well, she is very much mistaken, then," said the old lady, indignant, as easily duped people are, who always fancy themselves a match for any double and twisted diplomatist, "very much mistaken, for I shall never go near her again. Then that story was all trumped up she told me about the baby being our Vincent's."

"Certainly," said Anne; "I tell you, my dear madame, she has played that game on several people beside you."

"Possible?" said the old lady, fanning herself violently; "the impudent little baggage! But how did you find it all out, Annie?"

"Ah! there, you must really excuse me, my dear madame. My informant is so afraid of being involved, that I was sworn to the strictest secrecy on that point, but, I a.s.sure you, my authority is reliable."

"I have no doubt of it, my dear Anne, if _you_ say so. But why did you not speak of it before?"

"Well, that was my first impulse, of course; but you see how it was. I was placed in very delicate circ.u.mstances, dear madame. Here I am a dependent on your bounty; you have been always like a kind mother to me; your heart was set on adopting this child; had I opposed it, you might have suspected my motives; that thought was too painful for me; and so, up to this time, when you extorted it from me, I have been vacillating," and Anne looked lachrymose.

"You dear, good creature," exclaimed madame, "you always had the best heart in the world. You should not have tortured yourself so unnecessarily, Anne. You know I never would imagine you guilty of such mean motives. You may have my brown silk dress, Anne, and the dark blue brocade. I had never worn either when I was called into mourning. I declare, Anne, you have the best heart in the world. You need not blush about it, child," said madame, as Anne covered her face with her handkerchief to conceal a laugh. "You are too modest by half, Anne; but it is always so with real merit."

"What an invaluable creature that Anne is," exclaimed madame, as she went out of the door in pursuit of the brown silk. "To think of the brazen-facedness of that young woman! I declare I could not have believed any body could tell a lie with such an innocent face. It is really almost past belief; what an invaluable creature Anne is. I never should be able to get along without her. I must go to Mme. Des...o...b..s and select her a new dress hat. Just to think now of the impudence of that Rose.

"I must furnish Anne with means to go on some little excursion. I think I will buy her that pretty music-box I saw yesterday.

"How wide awake Anne is to my interests! Had it not been for her I might have been taken in by that scheming young woman. I hope n.o.body saw me go to her house; I must warn Chloe against her, it will not do for her to go there again."

CHAPTER XLVIII.

Rose was sitting in her little parlor giving Charley his morning bath; the water was dripping from his polished limbs, and he was laughing and splashing about with the nude grace of a young sea-G.o.d; now catching his breath, as his head was immersed under water; now shaking back his dripping curls, and flashing upon you his dark bright eyes, as if life were all sunshine, and his infant sky were cloudless.

"I sall inform you zat you can leave my maison--my house--dis morning,"

said Rose's French landlady, entering the room without a preliminary rap. "You understand, mademoiselle--_dis morning_, I say--you are von bad woman, mademoiselle."

Twice Rose opened her lips to speak, but the color receded from her lips and cheeks, and she stood terror-struck and speechless.

"Zat is all ver' well," said madame, quite accustomed to see her country-women strike an att.i.tude. "Zat is all ver' well; you did not expect I sall know any ting about it, but one personne tell me zat I know; you can go, for you are von bad woman."

"What is all this?" exclaimed Gertrude, opening the door and seeing Rose's pallid face and madame's angry gesticulations.

"Ah, ha! she has impose on you too!" exclaimed Madame Macque. "She von ver' sly woman--ver' bad; she no' stay in my house long time."

"Woman!" said Gertrude, throwing her arm around Rose, "this is my sister; every word you speak against her you speak against me. She is as pure as that sweet child. If she leaves your house, I leave it."

"Ver' well--_tres bien_," said madame, shaking her overloaded French head-dress; "you can go, den--von day you see I tell you de truf when I say she von--"

"Don't repeat that again, in my hearing," said Gertrude, standing before her with sparkling eyes.

"Speak, Rose--dear Rose!" said Gertrude, kissing her cold face, as madame left the room. "Speak, Rose; do not let that miserable bundle of French trumpery crush so pure and n.o.ble a heart as yours. We will go away, Rose--you, and I, and dear little Charley. And, oh, Rose! when could I have a better time to plead for my brother's happiness, for yours, for my own? Put it beyond the power of any one to poison your peace, Rose; be _indeed_ my sister."