In about a quarter of an hour he came out of it, looking singularly
grave, sad, and stern.
CHAPTER XVII.
Edouard Riviere contrived one Saturday to work off all arrears of
business, and start for Beaurepaire. He had received a very kind letter
from Rose, and his longing to see her overpowered him. On the road his
eyes often glittered, and his cheek flushed with expectation. At last he
got there. His heart beat: for four months he had not seen her. He
ran up into the drawing-room, and there found the baroness alone; she
welcomed him cordially, but soon let him know Rose and her sister were
at Frejus. His heart sank. Frejus was a long way off. But this was not
all. Rose's last letter was dated from Beaurepaire, yet it must have
been written at Frejus. He went to Jacintha, and demanded an explanation
of this. The ready Jacintha said it looked as if she meant to be home
directly; and added, with cool cunning, "That is a hint for me to get
their rooms ready."
"This letter must have come here enclosed in another," said Edouard,
sternly.
"Like enough," replied Jacintha, with an appearance of sovereign
indifference.
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