“I thought that you would not care, that you would have my husband on any terms, and now--”
“The broth is getting cold, and the child is getting frightened,” interrupted Diane with authority. “Now pray behave yourself, and stop crying, and let me put the child to bed.”
Madame Egmont did not stop crying at once, but Diane, drawing up the sofa to the other side of the bed, proceeded to make with pillows and covers ruthlessly taken from Madame Grandin’s stores, a comfortable little nest for the child. She then proceeded to put a dressing-sack of her own on the little Claire, by way of a night-dress, and bundled her up in bed, where she gave her more hot milk. Next, she started to make a fire in the little fireplace. The wood was sullen, however, and would not go off at once. Diane, opening the drawer in the bureau, took out the wedding veil and wreath, and thrusting them into the fireplace, a cheerful, ruddy blaze sprang up immediately. Madame Egmont laughed softly at Diane’s action.
Kindness and warmth and food worked a miracle in Madame Egmont and the child. Madame Egmont lay in bed, calm and resigned; she was a feeble creature physically, not strong and robust like Diane, and the limit of her struggles was reached for the time.
As for the little girl, she lay quite happy and peaceful and dozed off into a soft sleep.
“Now,” said Diane, “you shall stay here as long as you wish. I claim one more interview with your husband at which I shall treat him not as a fine lady like you would treat him, but as an honest girl, a music-hall singer, would. I promise you I shall make him sad and sorry.”
Something like the ghost of a smile came to the pale lips of Madame Egmont at this frank admission of the social gulf between them.
“I am going out now,” said Diane, “but I will come back at seven o’clock and bring you a good supper, and make you both comfortable for the night.”
“I can’t kiss you,” she said, “because I know my husband has kissed you, but you may kiss my child.”
The two women looking into each other’s eyes understood perfectly; Madame Egmont, in giving Diane permission to press her fresh, red lips to the cheek of the little snowdrop of a child, was being accorded the greatest honor that one woman may accord another.