They are one in heart.
"I am yours to the death," he says.
While Natalie sips her chocolate next morning, a carriage draws
up before Aristide Dauvray's home. Josephine is busied with the
household. Louise, singing like a lark, gayly aids her foster-mother.
Aristide is far away. He toils at the new structures of beauty.
Arm in arm, the young artists are taking a long stroll.
A gentleman of elegant appearance descends, with anxious visage. The
peal of the bell indicates haste. Josephine receives her visitor.
He curtly explains his visit. The guardian of Louise Moreau needs
her instant presence. She is ill, perhaps dying. In her excitement,
Josephine's prudence is forgotten. To lose the income from the
child, to hazard the child's chances of property. "But the child
must go: at once!" Josephine is awed and flurried. As she hastily
makes preparation, a ray of suspicion darts through her mind. Who
is this messenger?
"I think I had better accompany you," cries Josephine. Then, "her
house," to be left to only one feeble old servant.
"Ah, ciel! It is terrible."
"Madame, we have no time to lose. It is near the train time. We will
telegraph. You can follow in two hours," the stranger remarks, in
silken voice.
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