"I can bear it," said Madame, half to herself, "because I have been his
wife. If he had been taken away before we were married, I should have
gone, too. But now I have only to wait until God brings us together
again."
Outwardly, Rose was calm and unperturbed; inwardly, tense and unstrung.
She wondered if, at last, the sorrow had been healed enough for speech.
Upstairs there was a room that was always locked. No one but Aunt
Francesca ever entered it, and she but rarely. Once or twice, Rose had
chanced to see her coming through the open door, transfigured by some
spiritual exaltation too great for words. For days afterward there was
about her a certain uplift of soul, fading gradually into her usual
serenity.
Mr. Boffin stalked in, jumped into Madame's lap, and began to purr
industriously. She laughed as she stroked his tawny head and the purr
increased rapidly in speed and volume.
"Don't let him burst himself," cautioned Rose, welcoming the change of
mood. "I never knew a cat to purr so--well, so thoroughly, did you?"
"He's lost his hold of the brake," Madame answered.
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