put on your dinky business clothes, and we'll eat a bite, and"
"Don't!" She held out her hand.
"But, Rosalie, it's not so terrible. Something good will turn up, you see. And I'll write you every day."
"You might come into the Bon Cocher sometimes."
"It's too dangerous—for you, I mean."
"I'm not afraid."
"You weren't afraid a minute or two ago. Somebody's got to be afraid sometimes."
She looked at me with eyes curious and alight. Then she said:
"You are right, my rock of refuge. I shall do as you say. Now I'll go and put on my business clothes—and you can hook me up." She laughed gaily—a little too gaily, it seemed to me.
So she got into her khakis and I hooked her up—and dear old Sœur Anne Marie, who had put me in the most dangerous position of all my life by extracting the promise she had, resting and, I hope, sleeping in a room close by, and never guessing at the fierce little drama that had been played out right alongside her! For, if I had sat tight and been a rock of refuge and all that, let me tell you that it was not because I wanted to, but because my soul wasn't quite as sick as Sœur Anne Marie may have thought. Or maybe she knew it quite well, and had a pretty good idea of what might and did happen, and was lying there loving us and blessing us, and putting out prayers for us that governed the whole thing and made the naughty little devils crawl under the divan
