At length she broke the awkward silence; replacing the letter in her
bosom and turning to Alain, she said:--

"I must go and get your chamber ready. I shall be back anon." And she
left the room by the concealed door.

Left alone with his mistress, Alain fell into a great embarrassment.
Marguerite, for her part, felt a qualm of conscience, had he only known
it. But her _amour-propre_ was, none the less, extremely hurt by his
cavalier treatment of her flowers. She was by no means in love with the
saucy Scot, who had indeed given her some offence by the frankness of
his leave-taking, though this was a matter of which she was not
likely to complain, least of all to her official adorer.

"_Pourquoi me boudez-vous, Monsieur_?" at last she said; "are you
perhaps permitting yourself to be offended at my seeing M. Elliot to the
door? Do you not know that he is our old friend?"

"He is nothing to me," answered Alain, moodily, "it is you of whom I am
thinking."

"As Rose says, we can take care of ourselves. Do you for one moment
think that I acknowledge any restraining right on your part, any
privilege of question even? But come, if M. Elliot is an old friend you
are a much older. Do not let us quarrel."

"It takes two to make a quarrel," said the foolish fellow, not
observing the olive-branch.