Presently we had left the borders of the drowsy Seine, which is so
busy by day, so strangely silent by night. We crossed the immense
Place de la Concorde. Once again we were rolling smoothly along the
Champs Elysées. Only a few hours before we had driven through this
very avenue, Rosa and I, but with what different feelings from those
which possessed us now! How serene and quiet it was! Occasionally a
smooth-gliding carriage, or a bicyclist flitting by with a Chinese
lantern at the head of his machine--that was all. As we approached
the summit of the hill where the Arc de Triomphe is, a new phenomenon
awaited us. The moon rose--a lovely azure crescent over the houses,
and its faint mild rays were like a benediction upon us. Then we had
turned to the left, and were in the Bois de Boulogne. We stopped the
carriage under the trees, which met overhead; the delicatest breeze
stirred the branches to a crooning murmur. All around was solitude and
a sort of hushed expectation. Suddenly Rosa put her hand into mine,
and with a simultaneous impulse we got out of the carriage and
strolled along a by-path.
"Carl," she said, "I have a secret for you. But you must tell no one."
She laughed mischievously.
"What is it?" I answered, calmly smiling.
"It is that I love you," and she buried her face against my shoulder.
"Tell me that again," I said, "and again and again."
And so under the tall rustling trees we exchanged vows--vows made more
sacred by the bitterness of our experience. And then at last, much to
the driver's satisfaction, we returned to the carriage, and were
driven back to the Rue de Rivoli. I gave the man a twenty-franc
piece; certainly the hour was unconscionably late.
I bade good night, a reluctant good night, to Rosa at the entrance to
her flat.
"Dearest girl," I said, "let us go to England to-morrow. You are
almost English, you know; soon you will be the wife of an Englishman,
and there is no place like London."
"True," she answered. "There is no place like London. We'll go. The
Opéra Comique will manage without me. And I will accept no more
engagements for a very, very long time. Money doesn't matter. You have
enough, and I--oh, Carl, I've got stacks and piles of it. It's so
easy, if you have a certain sort of throat like mine, to make more
money than you can spend."