* * * * *
In the street, Elsie Meril heard of Victor's arrest, and she brought the
news to Jacqueline. They had returned to Meaux, to their old lodging,
and a day had passed, during which, moment by moment, his arrival was
anticipated. Elsie went out to buy a gift for Jacqueline, a bit of fine
apparelling which she had coveted from the moment she knew Jacqueline
should be a bride. She stole away on her errand without remark, and
came back with the gift,--but also with that which made it valueless,
unmentionable, though it was a costly offering, purchased with the wages
of more than a week's labor in the fields.
It was almost dark when she returned to Jacqueline. Her friend was
sitting by the window,--waiting,--not for her; and when she went in to
her, it was silently, with no mention of her errand or her love-gift.
Quietly she sat down, thankful that the night was falling, waiting for
its darkness before she should speak words which would make the darkness
to be felt.
"He does not come," said Jacqueline, at length.
"Did you think it was he, when I came up the stairs?" inquired Elsie,
tenderly.
"Oh, no! I can tell your step from all the rest."
"His, too, I think."
"Yes, and his, too. My best friends. Strange, if I could not!"
"Oh, I'm glad you said that, Jacqueline!"
"My best friends," repeated Jacqueline,--not merely to please Elsie.
Love had opened wide her heart,--and Elsie, weak and foolish though
she might be,--Elsie, her old companion, her playmate, her
fellow-laborer,--Elsie, who should be to her a sister always, and share
in her good-fortune,--Elsie had honorable place there.
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