"And you, then, are the mother of the beautiful child, I wish to adopt?"
asked Madame Vincent, gazing admiringly at Rose.
Our heroine's long lashes drooped upon a cheek that crimsoned like the
heart of a June rose, as she timidly answered:
"Yes, madame."
"You are extremely pretty, child, and very young to be a mother. Have
you any other children?"
"None," replied Rose, "but Charley."
"And you would not give him up to me?" asked madame, coaxingly. "Do you
think his father would object?"
"His father is dead, madame," said Rose, in a low voice.
"Pardon me, child, I did not know that you were a widow. _I_ am a widow.
It is very dull, being a widow; don't you think so, dear? Did your
husband leave you property?"
"No," replied Rose, answering the inexcusable question, for she could
not bear to seem disrespectful to Vincent's mother.
"That is a pity, dear; my husband left me plenty. I shall will it all
to Charley, if you will only give him up to me. What was your husband's
name, dear."
"Vincent L'Estrange Vincent;" answered Rose, startled at the strange
sound of her own voice.
"Singular! Same name as my son's," said madame, "Very singular."
"He _was_ your son;" said Rose, in the same strange, cold tone.
"My son never was married;" replied madame.
"God knows he told me we were so, and I believed him," answered Rose.
"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 God 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
God, 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.