“La pauvre petite!” Suzanne exclaimed, with a sob.
She had been so assiduous in spoiling Rose’s daughter when they were with
me that I naturally thought these words referred to the younger of them.
But I was wrong. It was of the older Rose that she was still thinking,
for she went on more brightly: “Mais, c’est bon. Maintenant elle sera
heureuse.”
“Will she?” I asked.
Mais oui. Suzanne was certain of it. Madame Holt would not have taken
so great a step if she were not to be happier for it.