"Of course she would not! I had forbidden it!" and in her voice was the bitterness of remorse.
Then Renée told her of the cottage at St. Cloud where, since as far back as she could remember, they had lived with Susette and Gabriel. She told, too, of Emile and the days when he had gone to Paris to study with an old sculptor, and how bravely he had gone away to war with a company from St. Cloud!
Mrs. Forrester pushed Renée's hair back and looked intently at her.
"I can see it now! You are like her--a little! But your eyes are like--your father's."
There were voices in the hall and in a moment Mrs. Lee and Aunt Pen walked into the room. Aunt Pen was greatly excited and came straight to Renée.
"I am so glad, my dear," she whispered.
But no one had eyes for anything but the queer old box which Mrs. Lee had placed upon the bed.
"How old it looks," sighed Mrs. Forrester, caressing for a moment the worn leather. Her fingers trembled so that she could not hold the tiny key and it was Renée who fitted it into the lock and turned it. It turned slowly and the lid fell back, revealing packages of papers and letters, tied neatly together.
Although not knowing exactly what she had always imagined was in the box, Renée was vaguely disappointed! But Mrs. Forrester fell to eagerly sorting over the packages. Lying loose among them was a folded sheet, addressed to herself.
"Her writing!" she cried, holding it close to her eyes. "Read it for me--I cannot."