en confusion which
seemed quite foreign to her character, then whispered in his ear,

"Am I to blame, Charles, for trying to make her worthy of you?"

Her son took no notice of the question. He only reiterated sharply, "Let
Rose speak."

"I really had nothing to say," faltered the young girl, growing more and
more confused.

"Oh, but you had!"

There was such an ungracious sharpness in his voice, such an outburst of
petulance in his manner as he spoke, that his mother gave him a warning
touch on the arm, and whispered "Hush!"

Monsieur Lomaque, the land-steward, and Monsieur Trudaine, the
brother, both glanced searchingly at the bride, as the words passed the
bridegroom's lips. She seemed to be frightened and astonished, rather
than irritated or hurt. A curious smile puckered up Lomaque's lean face,
as he looked demurely down on the ground, and began drilling a fresh
hole in the turf with the sharp point of his cane. Trudaine turned aside
quickly, and, sighing, walked away a few paces; then came back, and
seemed about to speak, but Danville interrupted him.

"Pardon me, Rose," he said; "I am so jealous of even the appearance of
any want of attention toward you, that I was nearly allowing myself to
be irritated about nothing."

He kissed her hand very gracefully and tenderly as he made his excuse;
but there was a latent expression in his eye which was at variance
with the apparent spirit of his action. It was noticed by nobody but
observant and submissive Monsieur Lomaque, who smiled to himself again,
and drilled harder than ever at his hole in the grass.

"I think Monsieur Trudaine was about to speak," said Madame Danville.
"Perhaps he will have no objection to let us hear what he was going to
say."

"None, madame," replied Trudaine, politely. "I was about to take upon
myself the blame of Rose's want of respect for believers in omens, by
confessing that I have always encouraged her to laugh at superstitions
of every kind."

"You a ridiculer of superstitions?" said Danville, turning quickly
on him. "You, who have built a laboratory; you, who are an amateur
professor of the occult arts of chemistry--a seeker after the Elixir of
Life. On my word of honor, you astonish me!"

There was an ironical politeness in his voice, look, and manner as he
said this, which his mother and his land-steward, Monsieur Lomaque,
evidently knew how to interpret. The first touched his arm again and
whispered, "Be careful!" the s