Chapter 1
　　Towards the close of the last century the Baron de Beaurepaire livedin the chateau of that name in Brittany. His family was ofprodigious antiquity; seven successive barons had already flourishedon this spot when a younger son of the house accompanied hisneighbor the Duke of Normandy in his descent on England, and wasrewarded by a grant of English land, on which he dug a mote andbuilt a chateau, and called it Beaurepaire (the worthy Saxons turnedthis into Borreper without delay). Since that day more than twentygentlemen of the same lineage had held in turn the original chateauand lands, and handed them down to their present lord.
　　Thus rooted in his native Brittany, Henri Lionel Marie St. Quentinde Beaurepaire was as fortunate as any man can be pronounced beforehe dies. He had health, rank, a good income, a fair domain, agoodly house, a loving wife, and two lovely young daughters, allveneration and affection. Two months every year he visited theFaubourg St. Germain and the Court. At both every gentleman andevery lacquey knew his name, and his face: his return to Brittanyafter this short absence was celebrated by a rustic fete.
　　Above all, Monsieur de Beaurepaire possessed that treasure oftreasures, content. He hunted no heart-burns. Ambition did nottempt him; why should he listen to long speeches, and court theunworthy, and descend to intrigue, for so precarious and equivocal aprize as a place in the Government, when he could be De Beaurepairewithout trouble or loss of self-respect? Social ambition could getlittle hold of him; let parvenus give balls half in doors, half out,and light two thousand lamps, and waste their substance battling andmanoeuvring for fashionable distinction; he had nothing to gain bysuch foolery, nothing to lose by modest living; he was the twenty-ninth Baron of Beaurepaire. So wise, so proud, so little vain, sostrong in health and wealth and honor, one would have said nothingless than an earthquake could shake this gentleman and his house.
　　Yet both were shaken, though rooted by centuries to the soil; and byno vulgar earthquake.
　　For years France had bowed in silence beneath two galling burdens--aselfish and corrupt monarchy, and a multitudinous, privileged, lazy,and oppressive aristocracy, by whom the peasant was handled like aRussian serf. [Said peasant is now the principal proprietor of thesoil.]
　　The lower orders rose upon their oppressors, and soon showedthemselves far blacker specimens of the same breed. Law, religion,humanity, and common sense, hid their faces; innocent blood flowedin a stream, and terror reigned. To Monsieur de Beaurepaire theserepublicans--murderers of women, children, and kings--seemed themost horrible monsters nature had ever produced; he put on black,and retired from society; he felled timber, and raised large sums ofmoney upon his estate. And one day he mounted his charger, anddisappeared from the chateau.
　　Three months after this, a cavalier, dusty and pale, rode into thecourtyard of Beaurepaire, and asked to see the baroness. She cameto him; he hung his head and held her out a letter.
　　It contained a few sad words from Monsieur de Laroche-jaquelin. Thebaron had just fallen in La Vendee, fighting for the Crown.
　　From that hour till her death the baroness wore black.
　　The mourner would have been arrested, and perhaps beheaded, but fora friend, the last in the world on whom the family reckoned for anysolid aid. Dr. Aubertin had lived in the chateau twenty years. Hewas a man of science, and did not care a button for money; so he hadretired from the practice of medicine, and pursued his researches atease under the baron's roof. They all loved him, and laughed at hisoccasional reveries, in the days of prosperity; and now, in onegreat crisis, the protege became the protector, to their astonishmentand his own. But it was an age of ups and downs. This amiabletheorist was one of the oldest verbal republicans in Europe. Andwhy not? In theory a republic is the perfect form of government:
　　it is merely in practice that it is impossible; it is only upongoing off paper into reality, and trying actually to self-governlimited nations, after heating them white hot with the fire ofpolitics and the bellows of bombast--that the thing resolvesitself into bloodshed silvered with moonshine.
　　Dr. Aubertin had for years talked and written speculativerepublicanism. So they applied to him whether the baroness sharedher husband's opinions, and he boldly assured them she did not; headded, "She is a pupil of mine." On this audacious statement theycontented themselves with laying a heavy fine on the lands ofBeaurepaire.
　　Assignats were abundant, but good mercantile paper, a notoriouscoward, had made itself wings and fled, and specie was creeping intostrong boxes like a startled rabbit into its hole. The fine waspaid; but Beaurepaire had to be heavily mortgaged, and the loan borea high rate of interest. This, with the baron's previous mortgages,swamped the estate.
　　The baroness sold her carriage and horses, and she and her daughtersprepared to deny themselves all but the bare necessaries of life,and pay off their debts if possible. On this their dependants fellaway from them; their fair-weather friends came no longer near them;and many a flush of indignation crossed their brows, and many anaching pang their hearts, as adversity revealed the baseness andinconstancy of common people high or low.
　　When the other servants had retired with their wages, one Jacintharemained behind, and begged permission to speak to the baroness.
　　"What would you with me, my child?" asked that lady, with an accentin which a shade of surprise mingled with great politeness.
　　"Forgive me, madame," began Jacintha, with a formal courtesy; "buthow can I leave you, and Mademoiselle Josephine, and MademoiselleRose? I was born at Beaurepaire; my mother died in the chateau: myfather died in the village; but he had meat every day from thebaron's own table, and fuel from the baron's wood, and died blessingthe house of Beaurepaire. I CANNOT go. The others are gone becauseprosperity is here no longer. Let it be so; I will stay till thesun shines again upon the chateau, and then you shall send me awayif you are bent on it; but not now, my ladies--oh, not now! Oh! oh!
　　oh!" And the warm-hearted girl burst out sobbing ungracefully.
　　"My child," said the baroness, "these sentiments touch me, and honoryou. But retire, if you please, while I consult my daughters."Jacintha cut her sobs dead short, and retreated with a formalreverence.
　　The consultation consisted of the baroness opening her arms, andboth her daughters embracing her at once. Proud as they were, theywept with joy at having made one friend amongst all their servants.
　　Jacintha stayed.
　　As months rolled on, Rose de Beaurepaire recovered her naturalgayety in spite of bereavement and poverty; so strong are youth, andhealth, and temperament. But her elder sister had a grief all herown: Captain Dujardin, a gallant young officer, well-born, and hisown master, had courted her with her parents' consent; and, evenwhen the baron began to look coldly on the soldier of the Republic,young Dujardin, though too proud to encounter the baron's irony andlooks of scorn, would not yield love to pique. He came no more tothe chateau, but he would wait hours and hours on the path to thelittle oratory in the park, on the bare chance of a passing word oreven a kind look from Josephine. So much devotion gradually won aheart which in happier times she had been half encouraged to givehim; and, when he left her on a military service of uncommon danger,the woman's reserve melted, and, in that moment of mutual grief andpassion, she vowed she loved him better than all the world.
　　Letters from the camp breathing a devotion little short of worshipfed her attachment; and more than one public mention of his name andservices made her proud as well as fond of the fiery young soldier.
　　Still she did not open her heart to her parents. The baron, aliveat that time, was exasperated against the Republic, and all whoserved it; and, as for the baroness, she was of the old school: apassionate love in a lady's heart before marriage was contrary toher notions of etiquette. Josephine loved Rose very tenderly; butshrank with modest delicacy from making her a confidante offeelings, the bare relation of which leaves the female hearer achild no longer.
　　So she hid her heart, and delicious first love nestled deep in hernature, and thrilled in every secret vein and fibre.
　　They had parted two years, and he had joined the army of thePyrenees about one month, when suddenly all correspondence ceased onhis part.
　　Restless anxiety rose into terror as this silence continued; andstarting and trembling at every sound, and edging to the window atevery footstep, Josephine expected hourly the tidings of her lover'sdeath.
　　Months rolled on in silence.
　　Then a new torture came. He must not be dead but unfaithful. Atthis all the pride of her race was fired in her.
　　The struggle between love and ire was almost too much for nature:
　　violently gay and moody by turns she alarmed both her mother and thegood Dr. Aubertin. The latter was not, I think, quite withoutsuspicion of the truth; however, he simply prescribed change of airand place; she must go to Frejus, a watering-place distant aboutfive leagues. Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire yielded a languid assent.
　　To her all places were alike.
　　But when they returned from Frejus a change had taken place. Rosehad extracted her sister's secret, and was a changed girl. Pity,and the keen sense of Josephine's wrong, had raised her sisterlylove to a passion. The great-hearted girl hovered about her lovely,suffering sister like an angel, and paid her the tender attentionsof a devoted lover, and hated Camille Dujardin with all her heart:
　　hated him all the more that she saw Josephine shrink even from herwhenever she inveighed against him.
　　At last Rose heard some news of the truant lover. The fact is, thisyoung lady was as intelligent as she was inexperienced; and she hadasked Jacintha to tell Dard to talk to every soldier that passedthrough the village, and ask him if he knew anything about CaptainDujardin of the 17th regiment. Dard cross-examined about a hundredinvalided warriors, who did not even recognize the captain's name;but at last, by extraordinary luck, he actually did fall in withtwo, who told him strange news about Captain Dujardin. And so thenDard told Jacintha; and Jacintha soon had the men into the kitchenand told Rose. Rose ran to tell Josephine; but stopped in thepassage, and turned suddenly very cold. Her courage failed her; shefeared Josephine would not take the news as she ought; and perhapswould not love her so well if SHE told her; so she thought toherself she would let the soldiers tell their own tale. She wentinto the room where Josephine was reading to the baroness and Dr.
　　Aubertin; she sat quietly down; but at the first opportunity madeJosephine one of those imperceptible signals which women, and aboveall, sisters, have reduced to so subtle a system. This done, shewent carelessly out: and Josephine in due course followed her, andfound her at the door.
　　"What is it?" said Josephine, earnestly.
　　"Have you courage?" was Rose's reply.
　　"He is dead?" said Josephine, turning pale as ashes.
　　"No, no;" said Rose hastily; "he is alive. But you will need allyour courage.""Since he lives I fear nothing," said Josephine; and stood there andquivered from head to foot. Rose, with pitying looks, took her bythe hand and drew her in silence towards the kitchen.
　　Josephine yielded a mute submission at first; but at the very doorhung back and faltered, "He loves another; he is married: let mego." Rose made no reply, but left her there and went into thekitchen and found two dragoons seated round a bottle of wine. Theyrose and saluted her.
　　"Be seated, my brave men," said she; "only please tell me what youtold Jacintha about Captain Dujardin.""Don't stain your mouth with the captain, my little lady. He is atraitor.""How do you know?""Marcellus! mademoiselle asks us how we know Captain Dujardin to bea traitor. Speak."Marcellus, thus appealed to, told Rose after his own fashion that heknew the captain well: that one day the captain rode out of the campand never returned: that at first great anxiety was felt on hisbehalf, for the captain was a great favorite, and passed for thesmartest soldier in the division: that after awhile anxiety gaveplace to some very awkward suspicions, and these suspicions it washis lot and his comrade's here to confirm. About a month later heand the said comrade and two more were sent, well mounted, toreconnoitre a Spanish village. At the door of a little inn theycaught sight of a French uniform. This so excited their curiositythat he went forward nearer than prudent, and distinctly recognizedCaptain Dujardin seated at a table drinking between two guerillas;then he rode back and told the others, who then came up andsatisfied themselves it was so: that if any of the party hadentertained a doubt, it was removed in an unpleasant way; he,Marcellus, disgusted at the sight of a French uniform drinking amongSpaniards, took down his carabine and fired at the group ascarefully as a somewhat restive horse permitted: at this, as if bymagic, a score or so of guerillas poured out from Heaven knowswhere, musket in hand, and delivered a volley; the officer incommand of the party fell dead, Jean Jacques here got a broken arm,and his own horse was wounded in two places, and fell from loss ofblood a few furlongs from the French camp, to the neighborhood ofwhich the vagabonds pursued them, hallooing and shouting and firinglike barbarous banditti as they were.
　　"However, here I am," concluded Marcellus, "invalided for awhile, mylady, but not expended yet: we will soon dash in among them againfor death or glory. Meantime," concluded he, filling both glasses,"let us drink to the eyes of beauty (military salute); and to therenown of France; and double damnation to all her traitors, likethat Captain Dujardin; whose neck may the devil twist."Ere they could drink to this energetic toast, a low wail at thedoor, like a dying hare's, arrested the glasses on their road, andthe rough soldiers stood transfixed, and looked at one another insome dismay. Rose flew to the door with a face full of concern.
　　Josephine was gone.
　　Then Rose had the tact and resolution to say a few kind, encouragingwords to the soldiers, and bid Jacintha be hospitable to them. Thisdone she darted up-stairs after Josephine; she reached the maincorridor just in time to see her creep along it with the air andcarriage of a woman of fifty, and enter her own room.
　　Rose followed softly with wet eyes, and turned the handle gently.
　　But the door was locked.
　　"Josephine! Josephine!"No answer.
　　"I want to speak to you. I am frightened. Oh, do not be alone."A choking voice answered, "Give me a little while to draw mybreath." Rose sank down at the door, and sat close to it, with herhead against it, sobbing bitterly. She was hurt at not being letin; such a friend as she had proved herself. But this personalfeeling was only a fraction of her grief and anxiety.
　　A good half hour elapsed ere Josephine, pale and stern as no one hadever seen her till that hour, suddenly opened the door. She startedat sight of Rose couched sorrowful on the threshold; her stern lookrelaxed into tender love and pity; she sank, blushing, on her knees,and took her sister's head quickly to her bosom. "Oh, my littlelove, have you been here all this time?"--"Oh! oh! oh!" was all thelittle love could reply. Then the deserted one, still kneeling,took Rose in her lap, and caressed and comforted her, and pouredwords of gratitude and affection over her like a warm shower.
　　They rose hand in hand.
　　Then Rose suddenly seized Josephine, and looked long and anxiouslydown into her eyes. They flashed fire under the scrutiny. "Yes, itis all over; I could not despise and love. I am dead to him, as heis dead to France."This was joyful news to Rose. "I hoped it would be so," said she;"but you frightened me. My noble sister, were I ever to lose youresteem, I should die. Oh, how awful yet how beautiful is yourscorn. For worlds I would not be that Cam"-- Josephine laid herhand imperiously on Rose's mouth. "To mention his name to me willbe to insult me; De Beaurepaire I am, and a Frenchwoman. Come,dear, let us go down and comfort our mother."They went down; and this patient sufferer, and high mindedconqueror, of her own accord took up a commonplace book, and readaloud for two mortal hours to her mother and Aubertin. Her voiceonly wavered twice.
　　To feel that life is ended; to wish existence, too, had ceased; andso to sit down, an aching hollow, and take a part and sham aninterest in twaddle to please others; such are woman's feats. Howlike nothing at all they look!
　　A man would rather sit on the buffer of a steam-engine and ride atthe Great Redan.
　　Rose sat at her elbow, a little behind her, and turned the leaves,and on one pretence or other held Josephine's hand nearly all therest of the day. Its delicate fibres remained tense, like agreyhound's sinews after a race, and the blue veins rose to sight init, though her voice and eyes were mastered.
　　So keen was the strife, so matched the antagonists, so hard thevictory.
　　For ire and scorn are mighty. And noble blood in a noble heart isheroic. And Love is a giant.
Chapter 2
　　The French provinces were now organized upon a half military plan,by which all the local authorities radiated towards a centre ofgovernment. By-the-by, this feature has survived subsequentrevolutions and political changes.
　　In days of change, youth is at a premium; because, though experienceis valuable, the experience of one order of things unfits ordinarymen for another order of things. So a good many old fogies inoffice were shown the door, and a good deal of youth and energyinfused into the veins of provincial government. For instance,Edouard Riviere, who had but just completed his education withsingular eclat at a military school, was one fine day ordered intoBrittany to fill a responsible post under Commandant Raynal, ablunt, rough soldier, that had risen from the ranks, and bore a muchhigher character for zeal and moral integrity than for affability.
　　This officer was the son of a widow that kept a grocer's shop inParis. She intended him for spice, but he thirsted for glory, andvexed her. So she yielded, as mothers will.
　　In the armies of the republic a good soldier rose with unparalleledcertainty, and rapidity, too; for when soldiers are being mowed downlike oats, it is a glorious time for such of them as keep theirfeet. Raynal mounted fast, and used to write to his mother, andjoke her about the army being such a bad profession; and, as he wasall for glory, not money, he lived with Spartan frugality, and savedhalf his pay and all his prize money for the old lady in Paris.
　　But this prosperous man had to endure a deep disappointment; on thevery day he was made commandant and one of the general's aides-de-camp, came a letter into the camp. His mother was dead after ashort illness. This was a terrible blow to the simple, ruggedsoldier, who had never had much time nor inclination to flirt with alot of girls, and toughen his heart. He came back to Paris honoredand rich, but downcast. The old home, empty of his mother, seemedto him not to have the old look. It made him sadder. To cheer himup they brought him much money. The widow's trade had taken awonderful start the last few years, and she had been playing thesame game as he had, living on ten-pence a day, and saving all forhim. This made him sadder, if anything.
　　"What," said he, "have we both been scraping all this dross togetherfor? I would give it all to sit one hour by the fire, with her handin mine, and hear her say, 'Scamp, you made me unhappy when you wereyoung, but I have lived to be proud of you.'"He applied for active service, no matter what: obtained at once thispost in Brittany, and threw himself into it with that honest zealand activity, which are the best earthly medicine for all ourgriefs. He was busy writing, when young Riviere first presentedhimself. He looked up for a moment, and eyed him, to take hismeasure; then put into his hand a report by young Nicole, asubordinate filling a post of the same nature as Riviere's; and badehim analyze that report on the spot: with this he instantly resumedhis own work.
　　Edouard Riviere was an adept at this sort of task, and soon handedhim a neat analysis. Raynal ran his eye over it, nodded coldapproval, and told him to take this for the present as a guide as tohis own duties. He then pointed to a map on which Riviere'sdistrict was marked in blue ink, and bade him find the centre of it.
　　Edouard took a pair of compasses off the table, and soon discoveredthat the village of Beaurepaire was his centre. "Then quarteryourself at Beaurepaire; and good-day," said Raynal.
　　The chateau was in sight from Riviere's quarters, and he soonlearned that it belonged to a royalist widow and her daughters, whoall three held themselves quite aloof from the rest of the world.
　　"Ah," said the young citizen, "I see. If these rococo citizens playthat game with me, I shall have to take them down." Thus a freshperil menaced this family, on whose hearts and fortunes such heavyblows had fallen.
　　One evening our young official, after a day spent in the service ofthe country, deigned to take a little stroll to relieve the cares ofadministration. He imprinted on his beardless face the expressionof a wearied statesman, and strolled through an admiring village.
　　The men pretended veneration from policy; the women, whose views ofthis great man were shallower but more sincere, smiled approval ofhis airs; and the young puppy affected to take no notice of eithersex.
　　Outside the village, Publicola suddenly encountered two youngladies, who resembled nothing he had hitherto met with in hisdistrict; they were dressed in black, and with extreme simplicity;but their easy grace and composure, and the refined sentiment oftheir gentle faces, told at a glance they belonged to the highnobility. Publicola divined them at once, and involuntarily raisedhis hat to so much beauty and dignity, instead of poking it with afinger as usual. On this the ladies instantly courtesied to himafter the manner of their party, with a sweep and a majesty, and aprecision of politeness, that the pup would have laughed at if hehad heard of it; but seeing it done, and well done, and by lovelywomen of rank, he was taken aback by it, and lifted his hat again,and bowed again after he had gone by, and was generally flustered.
　　In short, instead of a member of the Consular Government salutingprivate individuals of a decayed party that existed only bysufferance, a handsome, vain, good-natured boy had met two self-possessed young ladies of distinction and breeding, and had cut theusual figure.
　　For the next hundred yards his cheeks burned and his vanity cooled.
　　But bumptiousness is elastic in France, as in England, and doubtlessamong the Esquimaux. "Well, they are pretty girls," says he tohimself. "I never saw two such pretty girls together; they will dofor me to flirt with while I am banished to this Arcadia." Banishedfrom school, I beg to observe.
　　And "awful beauty" being no longer in sight, Mr. Edouard resolved hewould flirt with them to their hearts' content. But there areladies with whom a certain preliminary is required before you canflirt with them. You must be on speaking terms. How was this to bemanaged?
　　He used to watch at his window with a telescope, and whenever thesisters came out of their own grounds, which unfortunately was notabove twice a week, he would throw himself in their way by themerest accident, and pay them a dignified and courteous salute,which he had carefully got up before a mirror in the privacy of hisown chamber.
　　One day, as he took off his hat to the young ladies, there brokefrom one of them a smile, so sudden, sweet, and vivid, that heseemed to feel it smite him first on the eyes then in the heart. Hecould not sleep for this smile.
　　Yet he had seen many smilers; but to be sure most of them smiledwithout effect, because they smiled eternally; they seemed cast withtheir mouths open, and their pretty teeth forever in sight; and thishas a saddening influence on a man of sense--when it has any. Buthere a fair, pensive face had brightened at sight of him; a lovelycountenance, on which circumstances, not nature, had impressedgravity, had sprung back to its natural gayety for a moment, and hadthrilled and bewitched the beholder.
　　The next Sunday he went to church--and there worshipped--whom?
　　Cupid. He smarted for his heathenism; for the young ladies wentwith higher motives, and took no notice of him. They lowered theirlong silken lashes over one breviary, and scarcely observed thehandsome citizen. Meantime he, contemplating their pious beautywith earthly eyes, was drinking long draughts of intoxicatingpassion. And when after the service they each took an arm of Dr.
　　Aubertin, and he with the air of an admiral convoying two shipschoke-full of specie, conducted his precious charge away home, ouryoung citizen felt jealous, and all but hated the worthy doctor.
　　This went on till he became listless and dejected on the days he didnot see them. Then he asked himself whether he was not a cowardlyfool to keep at such a distance. After all he was a man inauthority. His friendship was not to be despised, least of all by afamily suspected of disaffection to the state.
　　He put on his glossy beaver with enormous brim, high curved; hisblue coat with brass buttons; his white waistcoat, gray breeches,and top-boots; and marched up to the chateau of Beaurepaire, andsent in his card with his name and office inscribed.
　　Jacintha took it, bestowed a glance of undisguised admiration on theyoung Adonis, and carried it to the baroness. That lady sent herpromptly down again with a black-edged note to this effect.
　　Highly flattered by Monsieur de Riviere's visit, the baroness mustinform him that she receives none but old acquaintances, in thepresent grief of the family, and of the KINGDOM.
　　Young Riviere was cruelly mortified by this rebuff. He went offhurriedly, grinding his teeth with rage.
　　"Cursed aristocrats! We have done well to pull you down, and wewill have you lower still. How I despise myself for giving any onethe chance to affront me thus. The haughty old fool; if she hadknown her interest, she would have been too glad to make a powerfulfriend. These royalists are in a ticklish position; I can tell herthat. She calls me De Riviere; that implies nobody without a 'De'
　　to their name would have the presumption to visit her old tumble-down house. Well, it is a lesson; I am a republican, and theCommonwealth trusts and honors me; yet I am so ungrateful as to goout of the way to be civil to her enemies, to royalists; as if thoseworn-out creatures had hearts, as if they could comprehend thestruggle that took place in my mind between duty, and generosity tothe fallen, before I could make the first overture to theiracquaintance; as if they could understand the politeness of theheart, or anything nobler than curving and ducking and heartlessetiquette. This is the last notice I will ever take of that oldwoman, unless it is to denounce her."He walked home to the town very fast, his heart boiling, and hislips compressed, and his brow knitted.
　　To this mood succeeded a sullen and bitter one. He was generous,but vain, and his love had humiliated him so bitterly, he resolvedto tear it out of his heart. He absented himself from church; hemet the young ladies no more. He struggled fiercely with hispassion; he went about dogged, silent, and sighing. Presently hedevoted his leisure hours to shooting partridges instead of ladies.
　　And he was right; partridges cannot shoot back; whereas beautifulwomen, like Cupid, are all archers more or less, and often with onearrow from eye or lip do more execution than they have suffered fromseveral discharges of our small shot.
　　In these excursions, Edouard was generally accompanied by a thick-set rustic called Dard, who, I believe, purposes to reveal his owncharacter to you, and so save me that trouble.
　　One fine afternoon, about four o'clock, this pair burst remorselesslythrough a fence, and landed in the road opposite Bigot's Auberge; along low house, with "ICI ON LOGE A PIED ET A CHEVAL," written allacross it in gigantic letters. Riviere was for moving homeward,but Dard halted and complained dismally of "the soldier's gripes."The statesman had never heard of that complaint, so Dard explainedthat the VULGAR name for it was hunger. "And only smell," said he,"the soup is just fit to come off the fire."Riviere smiled sadly, but consented to deign to eat a morsel in theporch. Thereat Dard dashed wildly into the kitchen.
　　They dined at one little round table, each after his fashion. WhenDard could eat no more, he proceeded to drink; and to talk inproportion. Riviere, lost in his own thoughts, attended to him asmen of business do to a babbling brook; until suddenly from the massof twaddle broke forth a magic word--Beaurepaire; then the languidlover pricked up his ears and found Mr. Dard was abusing that noblefamily right and left. Young Riviere inquired what ground ofoffence they had given HIM. "I'll tell you," said Dard; "theyimpose on Jacintha; and so she imposes on me." Then observing hehad at last gained his employer's ear, he became prodigiouslyloquacious, as such people generally are when once they get upontheir own griefs.
　　"These Beaurepaire aristocrats," said he, with his hard peasantgood-sense, "are neither the one thing nor the other; they cannotkeep up nobility, they have not the means; they will not come downoff their perch, they have not the sense. No, for as small as theyare, they must look and talk as big as ever. They can only affordone servant, and I don't believe they pay her; but they must beattended on just as obsequious as when they had a dozen. And thisis fatal to all us little people that have the misfortune to beconnected with them.""Why, how are you connected with them?""By the tie of affection.""I thought you hated them.""Of course I do; but I have the ill-luck to love Jacintha, and sheloves these aristocrats, and makes me do little odd jobs for them."And at this Dard's eyes suddenly glared with horror.
　　"Well, what of that?" asked Riviere.
　　"What of it, citizen, what? you do not know the fatal meaning ofthose accursed words?""Why, I never heard of a man's back being broken by little oddjobs.""Perhaps not his back, citizen, but his heart? if little odd jobswill not break that, why nothing will. Torn from place to place,and from trouble to trouble; as soon as one tiresome thing begins togo a bit smooth, off to a fresh plague, in-doors work when it isdry, out-a-doors when it snows; and then all bustle; no taking one'swork quietly, the only way it agrees with a fellow. 'Milk the cow,Dard, but look sharp; the baroness's chair wants mending. Takethese slops to the pig, but you must not wait to see him enjoy them:
　　you are wanted to chop billets.' Beat the mats, take down thecurtains, walk to church (best part of a league), and heat the pewcushions; come back and cut the cabbages, paint the door, and wheelthe old lady about the terrace, rub quicksilver on the little dog'sback,--mind he don't bite you to make hisself sick,--repair theottoman, roll the gravel, scour the kettles, carry half a ton ofwater up twopurostairs, trim the turf, prune the vine, drag thefish-pond; and when you ARE there, go in and gather water lilies forMademoiselle Josephine while you are drowning the puppies; that islittle odd jobs: may Satan twist her neck who invented them!""Very sad all this," said young Riviere.
　　Dard took the little sneer for sympathy, and proceeded to "thecruellest wrong of all.""When I go into their kitchen to court Jacintha a bit, instead offinding a good supper there, which a man has a right to, courting acook, if I don't take one in my pocket, there is no supper, not tosay supper, for either her or me. I don't call a salad and a bit ofcheese-rind--SUPPER. Beggars in silk and satin! Every sou theyhave goes on to their backs, instead of into their bellies.""I have heard their income is much reduced," said Edouard gently.
　　"Income! I would not change with them if they'd throw me in half apancake a day. I tell you they are the poorest family for leaguesround; not that they need be quite so starved, if they could swallowa little of their pride. But no, they must have china and plate andfine linen at dinner; so their fine plates are always bare, andtheir silver trays empty. Ask the butcher, if you don't believe ME.
　　Just you ask him whether he does not go three times to the smallestshopkeeper, for once he goes to Beaurepaire. Their tenants sendthem a little meal and eggs, and now and then a hen; and their greatgarden is chock full of fruit and vegetables, and Jacintha makes medig in it gratis; and so they muddle on. But, bless your heart,coffee! they can't afford it; so they roast a lot of horse-beansthat cost nothing, and grind them, and serve up the liquor in asilver coffee-pot, on a silver salver. Haw, haw, haw!""Is it possible? reduced to this?" said Edouard gravely.
　　"Don't you be so weak as to pity them," cried the remorselessplebeian. "Why don't they melt their silver into soup, and cut downtheir plate into rashers of bacon? why not sell the superfluous, andbuy the needful, which it is grub? And, above all, why don't theylet their old tumble-down palace to some rich grocer, and thataccursed garden along with it, where I sweat gratis, and live smalland comfortable, and pay honest men for their little odd jobs, and"--Here Riviere interrupted him, and asked if it was really trueabout the beans.
　　"True?" said Dard, "why, I have seen Rose doing it for the oldwoman's breakfast: it was Rose invented the move. A girl ofnineteen beginning already to deceive the world! But they are alltarred with the same stick. Down with the aristocrats!""Dard," said Riviere, "you are a brute.""Me, citizen?" inquired Dard with every appearance of genuinesurprise.
　　Edouard Riviere rose from his seat in great excitement. Dard'sabuse of the family he was lately so bitter against had turned himright round. He pitied the very baroness herself, and forgave herdeclining his visit.
　　"Be silent," said he, "for shame! There is such a thing as noblepoverty; and you have described it. I might have disdained thesepeople in their prosperity, but I revere them in their affliction.
　　And I'll tell you what, don't you ever dare to speak slightly ofthem again in my presence, or"--He did not conclude his threat, for just then he observed that astrapping girl, with a basket at her feet, was standing against thecorner of the Auberge, in a mighty careless attitude, but doingnothing, so most likely listening with all her ears and soul. Dard,however, did not see her, his back being turned to her as he sat; sohe replied at his ease,--"I consent," said he very coolly: "that is your affair; but permitme," and here he clenched his teeth at remembrance of his wrongs,"to say that I will no more be a scullery man without wages to thesehigh-minded starvelings, these illustrious beggars." Then he heatedhimself red-hot. "I will not even be their galley slave. Next, Ihave done my last little odd job in this world," yelled the nowinfuriated factotum, bouncing up to his feet in brief fury. "Of twothings one: either Jacintha quits those aristos, or I leave Jacin--eh?--ah!--oh!--ahem! How--'ow d'ye do, Jacintha?" And his roarended in a whine, as when a dog runs barking out, and receives infull career a cut from his master's whip, his generous rage turns towhimper with ludicrous abruptness. "I was just talking of you,Jacintha," quavered Dard in conclusion.
　　"I heard you, Dard," replied Jacintha slowly, softly, grimly.
　　Dard withered.
　　It was a lusty young woman, with a comely peasant face somewhatfreckled, and a pair of large black eyes surmounted by coal-blackbrows. She stood in a bold attitude, her massive but well-formedarms folded so that the pressure of each against the other made themseem gigantic, and her cheek red with anger, and her eyes glisteninglike basilisks upon citizen Dard. She looked so grand, with herlowering black brows, that even Riviere felt a little uneasy. Asfor Jacintha, she was evidently brooding with more ire than shechose to utter before a stranger. She just slowly unclasped herarms, and, keeping her eye fixed on Dard, pointed with a domineeringgesture towards Beaurepaire. Then the doughty Dard seemed no longermaster of his limbs: he rose slowly, with his eyes fastened to hers,and was moving off like an ill-oiled automaton in the directionindicated; but at that a suppressed snigger began to shake Riviere'swhole body till it bobbed up and down on the seat. Dard turned tohim for sympathy.
　　"There, citizen," he cried, "do you see that imperious gesture?
　　That means you promised to dig in the aristocrat's garden thisafternoon, so march! Here, then, is one that has gained nothing bykings being put down, for I am ruled with a mopstick of iron. Thankyour stars, citizen, that you are not in may place.""Dard," retorted Jacintha, "if you don't like your place, I'd quitit. There are two or three young men down in the village will beglad to take it.""I won't give them the chance, the vile egotists!" cried Dard. Andhe returned to the chateau and little odd jobs.
　　Jacintha hung behind, lowered her eyes, put on a very deferentialmanner, and thanked Edouard for the kind sentiments he had uttered;but at the same time she took the liberty to warn him againstbelieving the extravagant stories Dard had been telling about hermistress's poverty. She said the simple fact was that the baron hadcontracted debts, and the baroness, being the soul of honor, wasliving in great economy to pay them off. Then, as to Dard gettingno supper up at Beaurepaire, a complaint that appeared to sting herparticularly, she assured him she was alone to blame: the baronesswould be very angry if she knew it. "But," said she, "Dard is anegotist. Perhaps you may have noticed that trait in him.""Glimpses of it," replied Riviere, laughing.
　　"Monsieur, he is so egotistic that he has not a friend in the worldbut me. I forgive him, because I know the reason; he has never hada headache or a heartache in his life."Edouard, aged twenty, and a male, did not comprehend this piece offeminine logic one bit: and, while he puzzled over it in silence,Jacintha went on to say that if she were to fill her egotist'spaunch, she should never know whether he came to Beaurepaire forher, or himself. "Now, Dard," she added, "is no beauty, monsieur;why, he is three inches shorter than I am.""You are joking! he looks a foot," said Edouard.
　　"He is no scholar neither, and I have had to wipe up many a sneerand many a sarcasm on his account; but up to now I have always beenable to reply that this five feet one of egotism loves me sincerely;and the moment I doubt this, I give him the sack,--poor littlefellow!""In a word," said Riviere, a little impatiently, "the family atBeaurepaire are not in such straits as he pretends?""Monsieur, do I look like one starved?""By Jove, no! by Ceres, I mean.""Are my young mistresses wan, and thin?""Treason! blasphemy! ah, no! By Venus and Hebe, no!"Jacintha smiled at this enthusiastic denial, and also because hersex is apt to smile when words are used they do not understand.
　　"Dard is a fool," suggested Riviere, by way of general solution. Headded, "And yet, do you know I wish every word he said had beentrue." (Jacintha's eyes expressed some astonishment.) "Becausethen you and I would have concerted means to do them kindnesses,secretly; for I see you are no ordinary servant; you love your youngmistresses. Do you not?"These simple words seemed to touch a grander chord in Jacintha'snature.
　　"Love them?" said she, clasping her hands; "ah, sir, do not beoffended; but, believe me, it is no small thing to serve an old, oldfamily. My grandfather lived and died with them; my father wastheir gamekeeper, and fed to his last from off the poor baron'splate (and now they have killed him, poor man); my mother died inthe house and was buried in the sacred ground near the familychapel. They put an inscription on her tomb praising her fidelityand probity. Do you think these things do not sink into the heartof the poor?--praise on her tomb, and not a word on their own, butjust the name, and when each was born and died, you know. Ah! thepride of the mean is dirt; but the pride of the noble is gold.""For, look you, among parvenues I should be a servant, and nothingmore; in this proud family I am a humble friend; of course they arenot always gossiping with me like vulgar masters and mistresses; ifthey did, I should neither respect nor love them; but they all smileon me whenever I come into the room, even the baroness herself. Ibelong to them, and they belong to me, by ties without number, bythe many kind words in many troubles, by the one roof that shelteredus a hundred years, and the grave where our bones lie together tillthe day of judgment."** The French peasant often thinks half a sentence, and utters theother half aloud, and so breaks air in the middle of a thought.
　　Probably Jacintha's whole thought, if we had the means of knowingit, would have run like this--Besides, I have another reason: Icould not be so comfortable myself elsewhere--for, look you"--Jacintha clasped her hands, and her black eyes shone out warmthrough the dew. Riviere's glistened too.
　　"That is well said," he cried; "it is nobly said: yet, after all,these are ties that owe their force to the souls they bind. Howoften have such bonds round human hearts proved ropes of sand! Theygrapple YOU like hooks of steel; because you are steel yourself tothe backbone. I admire you, Jacintha. Such women as you have agreat mission in France just now."Jacintha shook her head incredulously. "What can we poor women do?""Bring forth heroes," cried Publicola with fervor. "Be the mothersof great men, the Catos and the Gracchi of the future!"Jacintha smiled. She did not know the Gracchi nor their politics;but the name rang well. "Gracchi!" Aristocrats, no doubt. "Thatwould be too much honor," replied she modestly. "At present, I mustsay adieu!" and she moved off an inch at a time, in an uncertainhesitating manner, not very difficult to read; but Riviere, you mustknow, had more than once during this interview begged her to sitdown, and in vain; she had always thanked him, but said she had nota moment to stay. So he made no effort to detain her now. Theconsequence was--she came slowly back of her own accord, and satdown in a corner of the porch, where nobody could see her, and thenshe sighed deeply.
　　"What is the matter now?" said Edouard, opening his eyes.
　　She looked at him point-blank for one moment; and her scale turned.
　　"Monsieur," said she timidly, "you have a good face, and a goodheart. All I told you was--give me your honor not to betray us.""I swear it," said Edouard, a little pompously.
　　"Then--Dard was not so far from the truth; it was but a guess ofhis, for I never trusted my own sweetheart as I now trust astranger. But to see what I see every day, and have no one I darebreathe a word to, oh, it is very hard! But on what a thread thingsturn! If any one had told me an hour ago it was you I should openmy heart to! It's not economy: it's not stinginess; they are notpaying off their debts. They never can. The baroness and theDemoiselles de Beaurepaire--are paupers.""Paupers, Jacintha?""Ay, paupers! their debts are greater than their means. They livehere by sufferance. They have only their old clothes to wear. Theyhave hardly enough to eat. Just now our cow is in full milk, youknow; so that is a great help: but, when she goes dry, Heaven knowswhat we shall do; for I don't. But that is not the worst; better alight meal than a broken heart. Your precious government offers thechateau for sale. They might as well send for the guillotine atonce, and cut off all our heads. You don't know my mistress as Ido. Ah, butchers, you will drag nothing out of that but her corpse.
　　And is it come to this? the great old family to be turned adriftlike beggars. My poor mistress! my pretty demoiselles that I playedwith and nursed ever since I was a child! (I was just six whenJosephine was born) and that I shall love with my last breath"--She could say no more, but choked by the strong feeling so long pentup in her own bosom, fell to sobbing hysterically, and tremblinglike one in an ague.
　　The statesman, who had passed all his short life at school andcollege, was frightened, and took hold of her and pulled her, andcried, "Oh! don't, Jacintha; you will kill yourself, you will die;this is frightful: help here! help!" Jacintha put her hand to hismouth, and, without leaving off her hysterics, gasped out, "Ah!
　　don't expose me." So then he didn't know what to do; but he seizeda tumbler and filled it with wine, and forced it between her lips.
　　All she did was to bite a piece out of the glass as clean as if adiamond had cut it. This did her a world of good: destruction ofsacred household property gave her another turn. "There, I've brokeyour glass now," she cried, with a marvellous change of tone; andshe came-to and cried quietly like a reasonable person, with herapron to her eyes.
　　When Edouard saw she was better, he took her hand and said proudly,"Secret for secret. I choose this moment to confide to you that Ilove Mademoiselle Rose de Beaurepaire. Love her? I did love her;but now you tell me she is poor and in distress, I adore her." Theeffect of this declaration on Jacintha was magical, comical. Herapron came down from one eye, and that eye dried itself and sparkledwith curiosity: the whole countenance speedily followed suit andbeamed with sacred joy. What! an interesting love affair confidedto her all in a moment! She lowered her voice to a whisperdirectly. "Why, how did you manage? She never goes into company.""No; but she goes to church. Besides, I have met her eleven timesout walking with her sister, and twice out of the eleven she smiledon me. O Jacintha! a smile such as angels smile; a smile to warmthe heart and purify the soul and last forever in the mind.""Well, they say 'man is fire and woman tow:' but this beats all.
　　Ha! ha!""Oh! do not jest. I did not laugh at you. Jacintha, it is nolaughing matter; I revere her as mortals revere the saints; I loveher so that were I ever to lose all hope of her I would not live aday. And now that you have told me she is poor and in sorrow, and Ithink of her walking so calm and gentle--always in black, Jacintha,--and her low courtesy to me whenever we met, and her sweet smile tome though her heart must be sad, oh! my heart yearns for her. Whatcan I do for her? How shall I surround her with myself unseen--makeher feel that a man's love waits upon her feet every step she takes--that a man's love floats in the air round that lovely head?" Thendescending to earth for a moment, "but I say, you promise not tobetray me; come, secret for secret.""I will not tell a soul; on the honor of a woman," said Jacintha.
　　The form of protestation was quite new to Edouard, and not exactlythe one his study of the ancient writers would have led him toselect. But the tone was convincing: he trusted her. They partedsworn allies; and, at the very moment of parting, Jacintha, who hadcast many a furtive glance at the dead game, told Edouard demurely,Mademoiselle Rose was very fond of roast partridge. On this he madeher take the whole bag; and went home on wings. Jacintha'srevelation roused all that was noble and forgiving in him. Hisunderstanding and his heart expanded from that hour, and his fancyspread its pinions to the sun of love. Ah! generous Youth, let whowill betray thee; let who will sneer at thee; let me, though youngno longer, smile on thee and joy in thee! She he loved was sad, waspoor, was menaced by many ills; then she needed a champion. Hewould be her unseen friend, her guardian angel. A hundred wildschemes whirled in his beating heart and brain. He could not go in-doors, indeed, no room could contain him: he made for a green lanehe knew at the back of the village, and there he walked up and downfor hours. The sun set, and the night came, and the starsglittered; but still he walked alone, inspired, exalted, full ofgenerous and loving schemes: of sweet and tender fancies: a heart onfire; and youth the fuel, and the flame vestal.
Chapter 3
　　This very day was the anniversary of the baron's death.
　　The baroness kept her room all the morning, and took no nourishmentbut one cup of spurious coffee Rose brought her. Towards eveningshe came down-stairs. In the hall she found two chaplets offlowers; they were always placed there for her on this sad day. Shetook them in her hand, and went into the little oratory that was inthe park; there she found two wax candles burning, and two freshchaplets hung up. Her daughters had been there before her.
　　She knelt and prayed many hours for her husband's soul; then sherose and hung up one chaplet and came slowly away with the other inher hand. At the gate of the park, Josephine met her with tenderanxiety in her sapphire eyes, and wreathed her arms round her, andwhispered, "But you have your children still."The baroness kissed her and they came towards the house together,the baroness leaning gently on her daughter's elbow.
　　Between the park and the angle of the chateau was a small plot ofturf called at Beaurepaire the Pleasance, a name that had descendedalong with other traditions; and in the centre of this Pleasance, orPleasaunce, stood a wonderful oak-tree. Its circumference wasthirty-four feet. The baroness came to this ancient tree, and hungher chaplet on a mutilated limb called the "knights' bough."The sun was setting tranquil and red; a broad ruby streak lingeredon the deep green leaves of the prodigious oak. The baroness lookedat it awhile in silence.
　　Then she spoke slowly to it and said, "You were here before us: youwill be here when we are gone."A spasm crossed Josephine's face, but she said nothing at the time.
　　And so they went in together.
　　Now as this tree was a feat of nature, and, above all, played acurious part in our story, I will ask you to stay a few minutes andlook at it, while I say what was known about it; not the thousandthpart of what it could have told, if trees could speak as well asbreathe.
　　The baroness did not exaggerate; the tree was far older than eventhis ancient family. They possessed among other archives amanuscript written by a monk, a son of the house, about four hundredyears before our story, and containing many of the oral traditionsabout this tree that had come down to him from remote antiquity.
　　According to this authority, the first Baron of Beaurepaire hadpitched his tent under a fair oak-tree that stood prope rivum, neara brook. His grandson built a square tower hard by, and dug a moatthat enclosed both tree and tower, and received the waters of thebrook aforesaid.
　　At this time the tree seems only to have been remarked for itsheight. But, a century and a half before the monk wrote, it hadbecome famous in all the district for its girth, and in the monk'sown day had ceased to grow; but not begun to decay. The mutilatedarm I have mentioned was once a long sturdy bough, worn smooth asvelvet in one part from a curious cause: it ran about as high abovethe ground as a full-sized horse, and the knights and squires usedto be forever vaulting upon it, the former in armor; the monk, whena boy, had seen them do it a thousand times. This bough broke intwo, A.D. 1617: but the mutilated limb was still called the knights'
　　bough, nobody knew why. So do names survive their ideas.
　　What had not this tree seen since first it came green and tender asa cabbage above the soil, and stood at the mercy of the first hareor rabbit that should choose to cut short its frail existence!
　　Since then eagles had perched on its crown, and wild boars fedwithout fear of man upon its acorns. Troubadours had sung beneathit to lords and ladies seated round, or walking on the grass andcommenting the minstrel's tales of love by exchange of amorousglances. Mediaeval sculptors had taken its leaves, and wiselytrusting to nature, had adorned churches with those leaves cut instone.
　　It had seen a Norman duke conquer England, and English kings invadeFrance and be crowned at Paris. It had seen a girl put knights tothe rout, and seen the warrior virgin burned by envious priests withcommon consent both of the curs she had defended and the curs shehad defeated.
　　Why, in its old age it had seen the rise of printing, and the firstdawn of national civilization in Europe. It flourished and decayedin France; but it sprung in Gaul. And more remarkable still, thoughby all accounts it may see the world to an end, it was a tree inancient history: its old age awaits the millennium; its first youthbelonged to that great tract of time which includes the birth ofChrist, the building of Rome, and the siege of Troy.
　　The tree had, ere this, mingled in the fortunes of the family. Ithad saved their lives and taken their lives. One lord ofBeaurepaire, hotly pursued by his feudal enemies, made for the tree,and hid himself partly by a great bough, partly by the thick screenof leaves. The foe darted in, made sure he had taken to the house,ransacked it, and got into the cellar, where by good-luck was astore of Malvoisie: and so the oak and the vine saved the quakingbaron. Another lord of Beaurepaire, besieged in his castle, wasshot dead on the ramparts by a cross-bowman who had secreted himselfunobserved in this tree a little before the dawn.
　　A young heir of Beaurepaire, climbing for a raven's nest to the topof this tree, lost his footing and fell, and died at its foot: andhis mother in her anguish bade them cut down the tree that hadkilled her boy. But the baron her husband refused, and spake inthis wise: "ytte ys eneugh that I lose mine sonne, I will nat alsoelose mine Tre." In the male you see the sober sentiment of theproprietor outweighed the temporary irritation of the parent. Thenthe mother bought fifteen ells of black velvet, and stretched a pallfrom the knights' bough across the west side to another branch, andcursed the hand that should remove it, and she herself "wolde neverpasse the Tre neither going nor coming, but went still about." Andwhen she died and should have been carried past the tree to thepark, her dochter did cry from a window to the bearers, "Goe about!
　　goe about!" and they went about, and all the company. And in timethe velvet pall rotted, and was torn and driven away by the winds:
　　and when the hand of Nature, and no human hand, had thus flouted anddispersed the trappings of the mother's grief, two pieces werepicked up and preserved among the family relics: but the blackvelvet had turned a rusty red.
　　So the baroness did nothing new in this family when she hung herchaplet on the knights' bough; and, in fact, on the west side, abouteighteen feet from the ground, there still mouldered one corner ofan Atchievement an heir of Beaurepaire had nailed there twocenturies before, when his predecessor died: "For," said he, "thechateau is of yesterday, but the tree has seen us all come and go."The inside of the oak was hollow as a drum; and on its east sideyawned a fissure as high as a man and as broad as a street-door.
　　Dard used to wheel his wheelbarrow into the tree at a trot, andthere leave it.
　　Yet in spite of excavation and mutilation not life only but vigordwelt in this wooden shell. The extreme ends of the longer boughswere firewood, touchwood, and the crown was gone this many a year:
　　but narrow the circle a very little to where the indomitable trunkcould still shoot sap from its cruse deep in earth, and there onevery side burst the green foliage in its season countless as thesand. The leaves carved centuries ago from these very models,though cut in stone, were most of them mouldered, blunted, notched,deformed: but the delicate types came back with every summer,perfect and lovely as when the tree was but their elder brother: andgreener than ever: for, from what cause nature only knows, theleaves were many shades richer than any other tree could show for ahundred miles round; a deep green, fiery, yet soft; and then theirmultitude--the staircases of foliage as you looked up the tree, andcould scarce catch a glimpse of the sky. An inverted abyss ofcolor, a mound, a dome, of flake emeralds that quivered in thegolden air.
　　And now the sun sets; the green leaves are black; the moon rises:
　　her cold light shoots across one half that giant stem.
　　How solemn and calm stands the great round tower of living wood,half ebony, half silver, with its mighty cloud above of flake jetleaves tipped with frosty fire!
　　Now is the still hour to repeat in a whisper the words of the dameof Beaurepaire, "You were here before us: you will be here when weare gone."We leave the hoary king of trees standing in the moonlight, calmlydefying time, and follow the creatures of a day; for, what theywere, we are.
　　A spacious saloon panelled; dead but showy white picked outsparingly with gold. Festoons of fruits and flowers finely carvedin wood on some of the panels. These also not smothered in gilding,but as it were gold speckled here and there, like tongues of flamewinding among insoluble snow. Ranged against the walls were sofasand chairs covered with rich stuffs well worn. And in one littledistant corner of the long room a gray-haired gentleman and twoyoung ladies sat round a small plain table, on which burned asolitary candle; and a little way apart in this candle's twilight anold lady sat in an easy-chair, thinking of the past, scarce daringto inquire the future. Josephine and Rose were working: not fancy-work but needle-work; Dr. Aubertin writing. Every now and then heput the one candle nearer the girls. They raised no objection: onlya few minutes after a white hand would glide from one or other ofthem like a serpent, and smoothly convey the light nearer to thedoctor's manuscript.
　　"Is it not supper-time?" he inquired. "I have an inward monitor;and I think our dinner was more ethereal than usual.""Hush!" said Josephine, and looked uneasily towards her mother.
　　"Wax is so dear.""Wax?--ah!--pardon me:" and the doctor returned hastily to his work.
　　But Rose looked up and said, "I wonder Jacintha does not come; it iscertainly past the hour;" and she pried into the room as if sheexpected to see Jacintha on the road. But she saw in fact verylittle of anything, for the spacious room was impenetrable to hereye; midway from the candle to the distant door its twilightdeepened, and all became shapeless and sombre. The prospect endedsharp and black, as in those out-o'-door closets imagined andpainted by a certain great painter, whose Nature comes to a fullstop as soon as he has no further commercial need of her, instead ofmelting by fine expanse and exquisite gradation into genuinedistance, as nature does in Claude and in nature. To reverse thepicture, if you stood at the door you looked across forty feet ofblack, and the little corner seemed on fire, and the fair headsabout the candle shone like the St. Cecilias and Madonnas in anantique stained-glass window.
　　At last the door opened, and another candle fired Jacintha's comelypeasant face in the doorway. She put down her candle outside thedoor, and started as crow flies for the other light. After glowinga moment in the doorway she dived into the shadow and emerged intolight again close to the table with napkins on her arm. She removedthe work-box reverentially, the doctor's manuscript unceremoniously,and proceeded to lay a cloth: in which operation she looked at Rosea point-blank glance of admiration: then she placed the napkins; andin this process she again cast a strange look of interest upon Rose.
　　The young lady noticed it this time, and looked inquiringly at herin return, half expecting some communication; but Jacintha loweredher eyes and bustled about the table. Then Rose spoke to her with asort of instinct of curiosity, on the chance of drawing her out.
　　"Supper is late to-night, is it not, Jacintha?""Yes, mademoiselle; I have had more cooking than usual," and withthis she delivered another point-blank look as before, and divedinto the palpable obscure, and came to light in the doorway.
　　Her return was anxiously expected; for, if the truth must be told,they were very hungry. So rigorous was the economy in this decayedbut honorable house that the wax candles burned to-day in theoratory had scrimped their dinner, unsubstantial as it was wont tobe. Think of that, you in fustian jackets who grumble after meat.
　　The door opened, Jacintha reappeared in the light of her candle amoment with a tray in both hands, and, approaching, was lost toview; but a strange and fragrant smell heralded her. All their eyesturned with curiosity towards the unwonted odor, and Jacintha dawnedwith three roast partridges on a dish.
　　They were wonder-struck, and looked from the birds to her in mutesurprise, that was not diminished by a certain cynical indifferenceshe put on. She avoided their eyes, and forcibly excluded from herface everything that could imply she did not serve up partridges tothis family every night of her life.
　　"The supper is served, madame," said she, with a respectful courtesyand a mechanical tone, and, plunging into the night, swam out at herown candle, shut the door, and, unlocking her face that moment,burst out radiant, and so to the kitchen, and, with a tear in hereye, set-to and polished all the copper stewpans with a vigor andexpedition unknown to the new-fangled domestic.
　　"Partridges, mamma! What next?""Pheasants, I hope," cried the doctor, gayly. "And after themhares; to conclude with royal venison. Permit me, ladies." And heset himself to carve with zeal.
　　Now nature is nature, and two pair of violet eyes brightened anddwelt on the fragrant and delicate food with demure desire; for allthat, when Aubertin offered Josephine a wing, she declined it. "Nopartridge?" cried the savant, in utter amazement.
　　"Not to-day, dear friend; it is not a feast day to-day.""Ah! no; what was I thinking of?""But you are not to be deprived," put in Josephine, anxiously. "Wewill not deny ourselves the pleasure of seeing you eat some.""What!" remonstrated Aubertin, "am I not one of you?"The baroness had attended to every word of this. She rose from herchair, and said quietly, "Both you and he and Rose will be so goodas to let me see you eat.""But, mamma," remonstrated Josephine and Rose in one breath.
　　"Je le veux," was the cold reply.
　　These were words the baroness uttered so seldom that they werelittle likely to be disputed.
　　The doctor carved and helped the young ladies and himself.
　　When they had all eaten a little, a discussion was observed to begoing on between Rose and her sister. At last Aubertin caught thesewords, "It will be in vain; even you have not influence enough forthat, Rose.""We shall see," was the reply, and Rose put the wing of a partridgeon a plate and rose calmly from her chair. She took the plate andput it on a little work-table by her mother's side. The otherspretended to be all mouths, but they were all ears. The baronesslooked in Rose's face with an air of wonder that was not veryencouraging. Then, as Rose said nothing, she raised heraristocratic hand with a courteous but decided gesture of refusal.
　　Undaunted Rose laid her palm softly on the baroness's shoulder, andsaid to her as firmly as the baroness herself had just spoken,--"Il le veut."The baroness was staggered. Then she looked with moist eyes at thefair young face, then she reflected. At last she said, with anexquisite mixture of politeness and affection, "It is his daughterwho has told me 'Il le veut.' I obey."Rose returning like a victorious knight from the lists, saucilyexultant, and with only one wet eyelash, was solemnly kissed andpetted by Josephine and the doctor.
　　Thus they loved one another in this great, old, falling house.
　　Their familiarity had no coarse side; a form, not of custom butaffection, it went hand-in-hand with courtesy by day and night.
　　The love of the daughters for their mother had all the tenderness,subtlety, and unselfishness of womanly natures, together with acertain characteristic of the female character. And whither thatone defect led them, and by what gradations, it may be worth thereader's while to observe.
　　The baroness retired to rest early; and she was no sooner gone thanJosephine leaned over to Rose, and told her what their mother hadsaid to the oak-tree. Rose heard this with anxiety; hitherto theyhad carefully concealed from their mother that the governmentclaimed the right of selling the chateau to pay the creditors, etc.;and now both sisters feared the old lady had discovered it somehow,or why that strange thing she had said to the oak-tree? But Dr.
　　Aubertin caught their remarks, and laid down his immortal MS. onFrench insects, to express his hope that they were putting a forcedinterpretation on the baroness's words.
　　"I think," said he, "she merely meant how short-lived are we allcompared with this ancient oak. I should be very sorry to adopt theother interpretation; for if she knows she can at any moment beexpelled from Beaurepaire, it will be almost as bad for her as thecalamity itself; THAT, I think, would kill her.""Why so?" said Rose, eagerly. "What is this house or that? Mammawill still have her daughters' love, go where she will."Aubertin replied, "It is idle to deceive ourselves; at her age menand women hang to life by their habits; take her away from herchateau, from the little oratory where she prays every day for thedeparted, from her place in the sun on the south terrace, and fromall the memories that surround her here; she would soon pine, anddie."Here the savant seeing a hobby-horse near, caught him and jumped on.
　　He launched into a treatise upon the vitality of human beings, andproved that it is the mind which keeps the body of a man alive forso great a length of time as fourscore years; for that he had in theearlier part of his studies carefully dissected a multitude ofanimals,--frogs, rabbits, dogs, men, horses, sheep, squirrels,foxes, cats, etc.,--and discovered no peculiarity in man's organs toaccount for his singular longevity, except in the brain or organ ofmind. Thence he went to the longevity of men with contented minds,and the rapid decay of the careworn. Finally he succeeded inconvincing them the baroness was so constituted, physically andmentally, that she would never move from Beaurepaire except into hergrave. However, having thus terrified them, he proceeded to consolethem. "You have a friend," said he, "a powerful friend; and here inmy pocket--somewhere--is a letter that proves it."The letter was from Mr. Perrin the notary. It appeared by it thatDr. Aubertin had reminded the said Perrin of his obligations to thelate baron, and entreated him to use all his influence to keep theestate in this ancient family.
　　Perrin had replied at first in a few civil lines; but his presentletter was a long and friendly one. It made both the daughters ofBeaurepaire shudder at the peril they had so narrowly escaped. Forby it they now learned for the first time that one Jaques Bonard, asmall farmer, to whom they owed but five thousand francs, had goneto the mayor and insisted, as he had a perfect right, on the estatebeing put up to public auction. This had come to Perrin's ears justin time, and he had instantly bought Bonard's debt, and stopped theauction; not, however, before the very bills were printed; for whichhe, Perrin, had paid, and now forwarded the receipt. He concludedby saying that the government agent was personally inert, and wouldnever move a step in the matter unless driven by a creditor.
　　"But we have so many," said Rose in dismay. "We are not safe a day."Aubertin assured her the danger was only in appearance. "Your largecreditors are men of property, and such men let their funds lieunless compelled to move them. The small mortgagee, the pettymiser, who has, perhaps, no investment to watch but one small loan,about which he is as anxious and as noisy as a hen with one chicken,he is the clamorous creditor, the harsh little egoist, who for fearof risking a crown piece would bring the Garden of Eden to thehammer. Now we are rid of that little wretch, Bonard, and havePerrin on our side; so there is literally nothing to fear."The sisters thanked him warmly, and Rose shared his hopes; and saidso; but Josephine was silent and thoughtful. Nothing more worthrecording passed that night. But the next day was the first of May,Josephine's birthday.
　　Now they always celebrated this day as well as they could; and usedto plant a tree, for one thing. Dard, well spurred by Jacintha, hadgot a little acacia; and they were all out in the Pleasaunce toplant it. Unhappily, they were a preposterous time making up theirfeminine minds where to have it set; so Dard turned rusty and saidthe park was the best place for it. There it could do no harm,stick it where you would.
　　"And who told you to put in your word?" inquired Jacintha. "You'rehere to dig the hole where mademoiselle chooses; not to argufy."Josephine whispered Rose, "I admire the energy of her character.
　　Could she be induced to order once for all where the poor thing isto be planted?""Then where WILL you have it, mademoiselle?" asked Dard, sulkily.
　　"Here, I think, Dard," said Josephine sweetly.
　　Dard grinned malignantly, and drove in his spade. "It will never bemuch bigger than a stinging nettle," thought he, "for the roots ofthe oak have sucked every atom of heart out of this." His blacksoul exulted secretly.
　　Jacintha stood by Dard, inspecting his work; the sistersintertwined, a few feet from him. The baroness turned aside, andwent to look for a moment at the chaplet she had placed yesterday onthe oak-tree bough. Presently she uttered a slight ejaculation; andher daughters looked up directly.
　　"Come here, children," said she. They glided to her in a moment;and found her eyes fixed upon an object that lay on the knights'
　　bough.
　　It was a sparkling purse.
　　I dare say you have noticed that the bark on the boughs of thesevery ancient trees is as deeply furrowed as the very stem of an oaktree that boasts but a few centuries; and in one of these deepfurrows lay a green silk purse with gold coins glittering throughthe glossy meshes.
　　Josephine and Rose eyed it a moment like startled deer; then Rosepounced on it. "Oh, how heavy!" she cried. This brought up Dardand Jacintha, in time to see Rose pour ten shining gold pieces outof the purse into her pink-white palm, while her face flushed andher eyes glittered with excitement. Jacintha gave a scream of joy;"Our luck is turned," she cried, superstitiously. Meanwhile,Josephine had found a slip of paper close to the purse. She openedit with nimble fingers; it contained one line in a hand like that ofa copying clerk: FROM A FRIEND: IN PART PAYMENT OF A GREAT DEBT.
　　Keen, piquant curiosity now took the place of surprise. Who couldit be? The baroness's suspicion fell at once on Dr. Aubertin. ButRose maintained he had not ten gold pieces in the world. Thebaroness appealed to Josephine. She only blushed in an extraordinaryway, and said nothing. They puzzled, and puzzled, and were as muchin the dark as ever, when lo! one of the suspected parties deliveredhimself into the hands of justice with ludicrous simplicity. Ithappened to be Dr. Aubertin's hour of out-a-door study; and hecame mooning along, buried in a book, and walked slowly into thegroup--started, made a slight apology, and was mooning off, lostin his book again. Then the baroness, who had eyed him with grimsuspicion all the time, said with well-affected nonchalance, "Doctor,you dropped your purse; we have just picked it up." And she handedit to him. "Thank you, madame," said he, and took it quietly withoutlooking at it, put it in his pocket, and retired, with his soul inhis book. They stared comically at one another, and at this coolhand. "It's no more his than it's mine," said Jacintha, bluntly.
　　Rose darted after the absorbed student, and took him captive. "Now,doctor," she cried, "be pleased to come out of the clouds." Andwith the word she whipped the purse out of his coat pocket, andholding it right up before his eye, insisted on his telling herwhether that was his purse or not, money and all. Thus adjured,he disowned the property mighty coolly, for a retired physician,who had just pocketed it.
　　"No, my dear," said he; "and, now I think of it, I have not carrieda purse this twenty years."The baroness, as a last resource, appealed to his honor whether hehad not left a purse and paper on the knights' bough. The questionhad to be explained by Josephine, and then the doctor surprised themall by being rather affronted--for once in his life.
　　"Baroness," said he, "I have been your friend and pensioner nearlytwenty years; if by some strange chance money were to come into myhands, I should not play you a childish trick like this. What! haveI not the right to come to you, and say, 'My old friend, here Ibring you back a very small part of all I owe you?'""What geese we are," remarked Rose. "Dear doctor, YOU tell us whoit is."Dr. Aubertin reflected a single moment; then said he could make ashrewd guess.
　　"Who? who? who?" cried the whole party.
　　"Perrin the notary."It was the baroness's turn to be surprised; for there was nothingromantic about Perrin the notary. Aubertin, however, let her knowthat he was in private communication with the said Perrin, and thiswas not the first friendly act the good notary had done her in secret.
　　While he was converting the baroness to his view, Josephine and Roseexchanged a signal, and slipped away round an angle of the chateau.
　　"Who is it?" said Rose.
　　"It is some one who has a delicate mind.""Clearly, and therefore not a notary.""Rose, dear, might it not be some person who has done us some wrong,and is perhaps penitent?""Certainly; one of our tenants, or creditors, you mean; but then,the paper says 'a friend.' Stay, it says a debtor. Why a debtor?
　　Down with enigmas!""Rose, love," said Josephine, coaxingly, "think of some one thatmight--since it is not the doctor, nor Monsieur Perrin, might it notbe--for after all, he would naturally be ashamed to appear before me.""Before you? Who do you mean?" asked Rose nervously, catching aglimpse now.
　　"He who once pretended to love me.""Josephine, you love that man still.""No, no. Spare me!""You love him just the same as ever. Oh, it is wonderful; it isterrible; the power he has over you; over your judgment as well asyour heart.""No! for I believe he has forgotten my very name; don't you think so?""Dear Josephine, can you doubt it? Come, you do doubt it.""Sometimes.""But why? for what reason?""Because of what he said to me as we parted at that gate; the wordsand the voice seem still to ring like truth across the weary years.
　　He said, 'I am to join the army of the Pyrenees, so fatal to ourtroops; but say to me what you never yet have said, Camille, I loveyou: and I swear I will come back alive.' So then I said to him, 'Ilove you,'--and he never came back.""How could he come here? a deserter, a traitor!""It is not true; it is not in his nature; inconstancy may be. Tellme that he never really loved me, and I will believe you; but notthat he is a traitor. Let me weep over my past love, not blush forit.""Past? You love him to-day as you did three years ago.""No," said Josephine, "no; I love no one. I never shall love anyone again.""But him. It is that love which turns your heart against others.
　　Oh, yes, you love him, dearest, or why should you fancy our secretbenefactor COULD be that Camille?""Why? Because I was mad: because it is impossible; but I see myfolly. I am going in.""What! don't you care to know who I think it was, perhaps?""No," said Josephine sadly and doggedly; she added with coldnonchalance, "I dare say time will show." And she went slowly in,her hand to her head.
　　"Her birthday!" sighed Rose.
　　The donor, whoever he was, little knew the pain he was inflicting onthis distressed but proud family, or the hard battle that ensuedbetween their necessities and their delicacy. The ten gold pieceswere a perpetual temptation: a daily conflict. The words thataccompanied the donation offered a bait. Their pride and dignitydeclined it; but these bright bits of gold cost them many a sharppang. You must know that Josephine and Rose had worn out theirmourning by this time; and were obliged to have recourse to gayermaterials that lay in their great wardrobes, and were older, butless worn. A few of these gold pieces would have enabled the poorgirls to be neat, and yet to mourn their father openly. And it wentthrough and through those tender, simple hearts, to think that theymust be disunited, even in so small a thing as dress; that whiletheir mother remained in her weeds, they must seem no longer toshare her woe.
　　The baroness knew their feeling, and felt its piety, and yet couldnot bow her dignity to say, "Take five of these bits of gold, andlet us all look what we are--one." Yet in this, as in everythingelse, they supported each other. They resisted, they struggled, andwith a wrench they conquered day by day. At last, by generalconsent, Josephine locked up the tempter, and they looked at it nomore. But the little bit of paper met a kinder fate. Rose made alittle frame for it, and it was kept in a drawer, in the salon: andoften looked at and blessed. Just when they despaired of humanfriendship, this paper with the sacred word "friend" written on it,had fallen all in a moment on their aching hearts.
　　They could not tell whence it came, this blessed word.
　　But men dispute whence comes the dew?
　　Then let us go with the poets, who say it comes from heaven.
　　And even so that sweet word, friend, dropped like the dew fromheaven on these afflicted ones.
　　So they locked the potent gold away from themselves, and took thekind slip of paper to their hearts.
　　The others left off guessing: Aubertin had it all his own way: heupheld Perrin as their silent benefactor, and bade them all observethat the worthy notary had never visited the chateau openly sincethe day the purse was left there. "Guilty conscience," saidAubertin dryly.
　　One day in his walks he met a gaunt figure ambling on a fat pony: hestopped him, and, holding up his finger, said abruptly, "We havefound you out, Maitre Perrin."The notary changed color.
　　"Oh, never be ashamed," said Aubertin; "a good action done slyly isnone the less a good action."The notary wore a puzzled air.
　　Aubertin admired his histrionic powers in calling up this look.
　　"Come, come, don't overdo it," said he. "Well, well; they cannotprofit by your liberality; but you will be rewarded in a betterworld, take my word for that."The notary muttered indistinctly. He was a man of moderate desires;would have been quite content if there had been no other world inperspective. He had studied this one, and made it pay: did notdesire a better; sometimes feared a worse.
　　"Ah!" said Aubertin, "I see how it is; we do not like to hearourselves praised, do we? When shall we see you at the chateau?""I propose to call on the baroness the moment I have good news tobring," replied Perrin; and to avoid any more compliments spurredthe dun pony suddenly; and he waddled away.
　　Now this Perrin was at that moment on the way to dine with acharacter who plays a considerable part in the tale--CommandantRaynal. Perrin had made himself useful to the commandant, and hadbecome his legal adviser. And, this very day after dinner, thecommandant having done a good day's work permitted himself a littlesentiment over the bottle, and to a man he thought his friend. Helet out that he had a heap of money he did not know what to do with,and almost hated it now his mother was gone and could not share it.
　　The man of law consoled him with oleaginous phrases: told him hevery much underrated the power of money. His hoard, directed by ajudicious adviser, would make him a landed proprietor, and thehusband of some young lady, all beauty, virtue, and accomplishment,whose soothing influence would soon heal the sorrow caused by anexcess of filial sentiment.
　　"Halt!" shouted Raynal: "say that again in half the words."Perrin was nettled, for he prided himself on his colloquial style.
　　"You can buy a fine estate and a chaste wife with the money,"snapped this smooth personage, substituting curt brutality forhoneyed prolixity.
　　The soldier was struck by the propositions the moment they flew athim small and solid, like bullets.
　　"I've no time," said he, "to be running after women. But the estateI'll certainly have, because you can get that for me without mytroubling my head.""Is it a commission, then?" asked the other sharply.
　　"Of course. Do you think I speak for the sake of talking?"And so Perrin received formal instructions to look out for a landedestate; and he was to receive a handsome commission as agent.
　　Now to settle this affair, and pocket a handsome percentage forhimself, he had only to say "Beaurepaire."Well, he didn't. Never mentioned the place; nor the fact that itwas for sale.
　　Such are all our agents, when rival speculators. Mind that. Stillit is a terrible thing to be so completely in the power of any manof the world, as from this hour Beaurepaire was in the power ofPerrin the notary.
Chapter 4
　　Edouard Riviere was unhappy. She never came out now. This alonemade the days dark to him. And then he began to fear it was him sheshunned. She must have seen him lie in wait for her; and so shewould come out no more. He prowled about and contrived to fall inwith Jacintha; he told her his grief. She assured him the simplefact was their mourning was worn out, and they were ashamed to goabroad in colors. This revelation made his heart yearn still more.
　　"O Jacintha," said he, "if I could only make a beginning; but herewe might live a century in the same parish, and not one chance for apoor wretch to make acquaintance."Jacintha admitted this, and said gentlefolks were to be pitied.
　　"Why, if it was the likes of me, you and I should have made friendslong before now."Jacintha herself was puzzled what to do; she would have told Rose ifshe had felt sure it would be well received; but she could not findout that the young lady had even noticed the existence of Edouard.
　　But her brain worked, and lay in wait for an opportunity.
　　One came sooner than she expected. One morning at about sixo'clock, as she came home from milking the cow, she caught sight ofyoung Riviere trying to open the iron gate. "What is up now?"thought she; suddenly the truth flashed upon her, clear as day. Sheput her pail down and stole upon him. "You want to leave us anotherpurse," said she. He colored all over and panted.
　　"How did you know? how could you know? you won't betray me? youwon't be so cruel? you promised.""Me betray you," said Jacintha; "why, I'll help you; and then theywill be able to buy mourning, you know, and then they will come out,and give you a chance. You can't open that gate, for it's locked.
　　But you come round to the lane, and I'll get you the key; it ishanging up in the kitchen."The key was in her pocket. But the sly jade wanted him away fromthat gate; it commanded a view of the Pleasaunce. He was no soonersafe in the lane, than she tore up-stairs to her young ladies, andasked them with affected calm whether they would like to know wholeft the purse.
　　"Oh, yes, yes!" screamed Rose.
　　"Then come with me. You ARE dressed; never mind your bonnets, oryou will be too late."Questions poured on her; but she waived all explanation, and did notgive them time to think, or Josephine, for one, she knew would raiseobjections. She led the way to the Pleasaunce, and, when she got tothe ancestral oak, she said hurriedly, "Now, mesdemoiselles, hide inthere, and as still as mice. You'll soon know who leaves the purses."With this she scudded to the lane, and gave Edouard the key. "Looksharp," said she, "before they get up; it's almost their dressingtime.""YOU'LL SOON KNOW WHO LEAVES THE PURSES!"Curiosity, delicious curiosity, thrilled our two daughters of Eve.
　　This soon began to alternate with chill misgivings at the novelty ofthe situation.
　　"She is not coming back," said Josephine ruefully.
　　"No," said Rose, "and suppose when we pounce out on him, it shouldbe a stranger.""Pounce on him? surely we are not to do that?""Oh, y-yes; that is the p-p-programme," quavered Rose.
　　A key grated, and the iron gate creaked on its hinges. They rantogether and pinched one another for mutual support, but did notdare to speak.
　　Presently a man's shadow came slap into the tree. They crouched andquivered, and expected to be caught instead of catching, and wishedthemselves safe back in bed, and all this a nightmare, and no worse.
　　At last they recovered themselves enough to observe that thisshadow, one half of which lay on the ground, while the head andshoulders went a little way up the wall of the tree, represented aman's profile, not his front face. The figure, in short, wasstanding between them and the sun, and was contemplating thechateau, not the tree.
　　The shadow took off its hat to Josephine, in the tree. Then wouldshe have screamed if she had not bitten her white hand instead, andmade a red mark thereon.
　　It wiped its brow with a handkerchief; it had walked fast, poorthing! The next moment it was away.
　　They looked at one another and panted. They scarcely dared do itbefore. Then Rose, with one hand on her heaving bosom, shook herlittle white fist viciously at where the figure must be, and perhapsa comical desire of vengeance stimulated her curiosity. She nowglided through the fissure like a cautious panther from her den; andnoiseless and supple as a serpent began to wind slowly round thetree. She soon came to a great protuberance in the tree, andtwining and peering round it with diamond eye, she saw a very young,very handsome gentleman, stealing on tiptoe to the nearest flower-bed. Then she saw him take a purse out of his bosom, and drop it onthe bed. This done, he came slowly past the tree again, and waseven heard to vent a little innocent chuckle of intense satisfaction:
　　but of brief duration; for, when Rose saw the purse leave his hand,she made a rapid signal to Josephine to wheel round the other sideof the tree, and, starting together with admirable concert, boththe daughters of Beaurepaire glided into sight with a vast appearanceof composure.
　　Two women together are really braver than fifteen separate; butstill, most of this tranquillity was merely put on, but so admirablythat Edouard Riviere had no chance with them. He knew nothing abouttheir tremors; all he saw or heard was, a rustle, then a flap oneach side of him as of great wings, and two lovely women were uponhim with angelic swiftness. "Ah!" he cried out with a start, andglanced from the first-comer, Rose, to the gate. But Josephine wason that side by this time, and put up her hand, as much as to say,"You can't pass here." In such situations, the mind works quickerthan lightning. He took off his hat, and stammered an excuse--"Cometo look at the oak." At this moment Rose pounced on the purse, andheld it up to Josephine. He was caught. His only chance now was tobolt for the mark and run; but it was not the notary, it was anovice who lost his presence of mind, or perhaps thought it rude torun when a lady told him to stand still. All he did was to crushhis face into his two hands, round which his cheeks and neck nowblushed red as blood. Blush? they could both see the color rushlike a wave to the very roots of his hair and the tips of hisfingers.
　　The moment our heroines, who, in that desperation which is one ofthe forms of cowardice, had hurled themselves on the foe, saw this,flash--the quick-witted poltroons exchanged purple lightning overEdouard's drooping head, and enacted lionesses in a moment.
　　It was with the quiet composure of lofty and powerful natures thatJosephine opened on him. "Compose yourself, sir; and be so good asto tell us who you are." Edouard must answer. Now he could notspeak through his hands; and he could not face a brace of tranquillionesses: so he took a middle course, removed one hand, and shadinghimself from Josephine with the other, he gasped out, "I am--my nameis Riviere; and I--I--ladies!""I am afraid we frighten you," said Josephine, demurely.
　　"Don't be frightened," said Rose, majestically; "we are not VERYangry, only a LITTLE curious to know why you water our flowers withgold."At this point-blank thrust, and from her, Edouard was so confoundedand distressed, they both began to pity him. He stammered out thathe was so confused he did not know what to say. He couldn't thinkhow ever he could have taken such a liberty; might he be permittedto retire? and with this he tried to slip away.
　　"Let me detain you one instant," said Josephine, and made for thehouse.
　　Left alone so suddenly with the culprit, the dignity, and majesty,and valor of Rose seemed to ooze gently out; and she stood blushing,and had not a word to say; no more had Edouard. But he hung hishead, and she hung her head. And, somehow or other, whenever sheraised her eyes to glance at him, he raised his to steal a look ather, and mutual discomfiture resulted.
　　This awkward, embarrassing delirium was interrupted by Josephine'sreturn. She now held another purse in her hand, and quietly pouredthe rest of the coin into it. She then, with a blush, requested himto take back the money.
　　At that he found his tongue. "No, no," he cried, and put up hishands in supplication. "Ladies, do let me speak ONE word to you.
　　Do not reject my friendship. You are alone in the world; yourfather is dead; your mother has but you to lean on. After all, I amyour neighbor, and neighbors should be friends. And I am yourdebtor; I owe you more than you could ever owe me; for ever since Icame into this neighborhood I have been happy. No man was ever sohappy as I, ever since one day I was walking, and met for the firsttime an angel. I don't say it was you, Mademoiselle Rose. It mightbe Mademoiselle Josephine.""How pat he has got our names," said Rose, smiling.
　　"A look from that angel has made me so good, so happy. I used tovegetate, but now I live. Live! I walk on wings, and tread onroses. Yet you insist on declining a few miserable louis d'or fromhim who owes you so much. Well, don't be angry; I'll take themback, and throw them into the nearest pond, for they are really nouse to me. But then you will be generous in your turn. You willaccept my devotion, my services. You have no brother, you know;well, I have no sisters; let me be your brother, and your servantforever."At all this, delivered in as many little earnest pants as there weresentences, the water stood in the fair eyes he was looking into sopiteously.
　　Josephine was firm, but angelical. "We thank you, MonsieurRiviere," said she, softly, "for showing us that the world is stillembellished with hearts like yours. Here is the money;" and sheheld it out in her creamy hand.
　　"But we are very grateful," put in Rose, softly and earnestly.
　　"That we are," said Josephine, "and we beg to keep the purse as asouvenir of one who tried to do us a kindness without mortifying us.
　　And now, Monsieur Riviere, you will permit us to bid you adieu."Edouard was obliged to take the hint. "It is I who am theintruder," said he. "Mesdemoiselles, conceive, if you can, my prideand my disappointment." He then bowed low; they courtesied low tohim in return; and he retired slowly in a state of mixed feelingindescribable.
　　With all their sweetness and graciousness, he felt overpowered bytheir high breeding, their reserve, and their composure, in asituation that had set his heart beating itself nearly out of hisbosom. He acted the scene over again, only much more adroitly, andconcocted speeches for past use, and was very hot and very cold byturns.
　　I wish he could have heard what passed between the sisters as soonas ever he was out of earshot. It would have opened his eyes, andgiven him a little peep into what certain writers call "the sex.""Poor boy," murmured Josephine, "he has gone away unhappy.""Oh, I dare say he hasn't gone far," replied Rose, gayly. "Ishouldn't if I was a boy."Josephine held up her finger like an elder sister; then went on tosay she really hardly knew why she had dismissed him.
　　"Well, dear," said Rose, dryly, "since you admit so much, I must sayI couldn't help thinking--while you were doing it--we were letting'the poor boy' off ridiculously cheap.""At least I did my duty?" suggested Josephine, inquiringly.
　　"Magnificently; you overawed even me. So now to business, as thegentlemen say. Which of us two takes him?""Takes whom?" inquired Josephine, opening her lovely eyes.
　　"Edouard," murmured Rose, lowering hers.
　　Josephine glared on the lovely minx with wonder and comical horror.
　　"Oh! you shall have him," said Rose, "if you like. You are theeldest, you know.""Fie!""Do now; TO OBLIGE ME.""For shame! Rose. Is this you? talking like that!""Oh! there's no compulsion, dear; I never force young ladies'
　　inclinations. So you decline him?""Of course I decline him.""Then, oh, you dear, darling Josephine, this is the prettiestpresent you ever made me," and she kissed her vehemently.
　　Josephine was frightened now. She held Rose out at arm's lengthwith both hands, and looked earnestly into her, and implored her notto play with fire. "Take warning by me."Rose recommended her to keep her pity for Monsieur Riviere, "who hadfallen into nice hands," she said. That no doubt might remain onthat head, she whispered mysteriously, but with much gravity andconviction, "I am an Imp;" and aimed at Josephine with herforefinger to point the remark. For one second she stood andwatched this important statement sink into her sister's mind, thenset-to and gambolled elfishly round her as she moved stately andthoughtful across the grass to the chateau.
　　Two days after this a large tree was blown down in Beaurepaire park,and made quite a gap in the prospect. You never know what a bigthing a leafy tree is till it comes down. And this ill wind blewEdouard good; for it laid bare the chateau to his inquiringtelescope. He had not gazed above half an hour, when a femalefigure emerged from the chateau. His heart beat. It was onlyJacintha. He saw her look this way and that, and presently Dardappeared, and she sent him with his axe to the fallen tree. Edouardwatched him hacking away at it. Presently his heart gave a violentleap; for why? two ladies emerged from the Pleasaunce and walkedacross the park. They came up to Dard, and stood looking at thetree and Dard hacking it, and Edouard watched them greedily. Youknow we all love to magnify her we love. And this was a delightfulway of doing it. It is "a system of espionage" that prevails underevery form of government. How he gazed, and gazed, on his now polarstar; studied every turn, every gesture, with eager delight, andtried to gather what she said, or at least the nature of it.
　　But by and by they left Dard and strolled towards the other end ofthe park. Then did our astronomer fling down his tube, and comerunning out in hopes of intercepting them, and seeming to meet themby some strange fortuity. Hope whispered he should be blessed witha smile; perhaps a word even. So another minute and he was runningup the road to Beaurepaire. But his good heart was doomed to bediverted to a much humbler object than his idol; as he came near thefallen tree he heard loud cries for help, followed by groans ofpain. He bounded over the hedge, and there was Dard hanging overhis axe, moaning. "What is the matter? what is the matter?" criedEdouard, running to him.
　　"Oh! oh! cut my foot. Oh!"Edouard looked, and turned sick, for there was a gash right throughDard's shoe, and the blood welling up through it. But, recoveringhimself by an effort of the will, he cried out, "Courage, my lad!
　　don't give in. Thank Heaven there's no artery there. Oh, dear, itis a terrible cut! Let us get you home, that is the first thing.
　　Can you walk?""Lord bless you, no! nor stand neither without help."Edouard flew to the wheelbarrow, and, reversing it, spun a lot ofbillet out. "Ye must not do that," said Dard with all the energy hewas capable of in his present condition. "Why, that is Jacintha'swood."--"To the devil with Jacintha and her wood too!" criedEdouard, "a man is worth more than a fagot. Come, I shall wheel youhome: it is only just across the park."With some difficulty he lifted him into the barrow. Luckily he hadhis shooting-jacket on with a brandy-flask in it: he administered itwith excellent effect.
　　The ladies, as they walked, saw a man wheeling a barrow across thepark, and took no particular notice; but, as Riviere was making forthe same point they were, though at another angle, presently thebarrow came near enough for them to see Dard's head and arms in it.
　　Rose was the first to notice this. "Look! look! if he is notwheeling Dard in the barrow now.""Who?""Can you ask? Who provides all our excitement?"Josephine instantly divined there was something amiss. "Consider,"said she, "Monsieur Riviere would not wheel Dard all across the parkfor amusement."Rose assented; and in another minute, by a strange caprice of fate,those Edouard had come to intercept, quickened their pace tointercept him. As soon as he saw their intention he thrilled allover, but did not slacken his pace. He told Dard to take his coatand throw it over his foot, for here were the young ladies coming.
　　"What for?" said Dard sulkily. "No! let them see what they havedone with their little odd jobs: this is my last for one while. Isha'n't go on two legs again this year."The ladies came up with them.
　　"O monsieur!" said Josephine, "what is the matter?""We have met with a little accident, mademoiselle, that is all.
　　Dard has hurt his foot; nothing to speak of, but I thought he wouldbe best at home."Rose raised the coat which Riviere, in spite of Dard, had flung overhis foot.
　　"He is bleeding! Dard is bleeding! Oh, my poor Dard. Oh! oh!""Hush, Rose!""No, don't put him out of heart, mademoiselle. Take another pull atthe flask, Dard. If you please, ladies, I must have him homewithout delay.""Oh yes, but I want him to have a surgeon," cried Josephine. "Andwe have no horses nor people to send off as we used to have.""But you have me, mademoiselle," said Edouard tenderly. "Me, whowould go to the world's end for you." He said this to Josephine,but his eye sought Rose. "I'm a famous runner," he added, a littlebumptiously; "I'll be at the town in half an hour, and send asurgeon up full gallop.""You have a good heart," said Rose simply.
　　He bowed his blushing, delighted face, and wheeled Dard to hiscottage hard by with almost more than mortal vigor. How softly, hownobly, that frolicsome girl could speak! Those sweet words rang inhis ears and ran warm round and round his heart, as he straightenedhis arms and his back to the work. When they had gone about ahundred yards, a single snivel went off in the wheelbarrow. Fiveminutes after, Dard was at home in charge of his grandmother, hisshoe off, his foot in a wet linen cloth; and Edouard, his coat tiedround the neck, squared his shoulders, and ran the two short leaguesout. He ran them in forty minutes, found the surgeon at home, toldthe case, pooh-poohed that worthy's promise to go to the patientpresently, darted into his stable, saddled the horse, brought himround, saw the surgeon into the saddle, started him, dined at therestaurateur's, strolled back, and was in time to get a good look atthe chateau of Beaurepaire just as the sun set on it.
　　Jacintha came into Dard's cottage that evening.
　　"So you have been at it, my man," cried she cheerfully and ratherroughly, then sat down and rocked herself, with her apron over herhead. She explained this anomalous proceeding to his grandmotherprivately. "I thought I would keep his heart up anyway, but you seeI was not fit."Next morning, as Riviere sat writing, he received an unexpectedvisit from Jacintha. She came in with her finger to her lips, andsaid, "You prowl about Dard's cottage. They are sure to go and seehim every day, and him wounded in their service.""Oh, you good girl! you dear girl!" cried Edouard.
　　She did not reply in words, but, after going to the door, returnedand gave him a great kiss without ceremony. "Dare say you know whatthat's for," said she, and went off with a clear conscience andreddish cheeks.
　　Dard's grandmother had a little house, a little land, a littlemoney, and a little cow. She could just maintain Dard and herself,and her resources enabled Dard to do so many little odd jobs forlove, yet keep his main organ tolerably filled.
　　"Go to bed, my little son, since you have got hashed," said she.--"Bed be hanged," cried he. "What good is bed? That's a silly oldcustom wants doing away with. It weakens you: it turns you intotrain oil: it is the doctor's friend, and the sick man's bane. Manya one dies through taking to bed, that could have kept his life ifhe had kept his feet like a man. If I had cut myself in two I wouldnot go to bed,--till I go to the bed with a spade in it. No! sit uplike Julius Caesar; and die as you lived, in your clothes: don'tstrip yourself: let the old women strip you; that is their delightlaying out a chap; that is the time they brighten up, the oldsorceresses." He concluded this amiable rhapsody, the latter partof which was levelled at a lugubrious weakness of his grandmother'sfor the superfluous embellishment of the dead, by telling her it wasbad enough to be tied by the foot like an ass, without settling downon his back like a cast sheep. "Give me the armchair. I'll sit init, and, if I have any friends, they will show it now: they willcome and tell me what is going on in the village, for I can't getout to see it and hear it, they must know that."Seated in state in his granny's easy-chair, the loss of which afterthirty years' use made her miserable, she couldn't tell why, leSieur Dard awaited his friends.
　　They did not come.
　　The rain did, and poured all the afternoon. Night succeeded, andsolitude. Dard boiled over with bitterness. "They are a lot ofpigs then, all those fellows I have drunk with at Bigot's andSimmet's. Down with all fair-weather friends."The next day the sun shone, the air was clear, and the sky blue.
　　"Ah! let us see now," cried Dard.
　　Alas! no fellow-drinkers, no fellow-smokers, came to console theirhurt fellow. And Dard, who had boiled with anger yesterday, was nowsad and despondent. "Down with egotists," he groaned.
　　About three in the afternoon came a tap at the door.
　　"Ah! at last," cried Dard: "come in!"The door was slowly opened, and two lovely faces appeared at thethreshold. The demoiselles De Beaurepaire wore a tender look ofinterest and pity when they caught sight of Dard, and on the oldwoman courtesying to them they courtesied to her and Dard. The nextmoment they were close to him, one a little to his right, the otherto his left, and two pair of sapphire eyes with the mild lustre ofsympathy playing down incessantly upon him. How was he? How had heslept? Was he in pain? Was he in much pain? tell the truth now.
　　Was there anything to eat or drink he could fancy? Jacintha shouldmake it and bring it, if it was within their means. A prince couldnot have had more solicitous attendants, nor a fairy king lovelierand less earthly ones.
　　He looked in heavy amazement from one to the other. Rose bent, andwas by some supple process on one knee, taking the measure of thewounded foot. When she first approached it he winced: but the nextmoment he smiled. He had never been touched like this--it wascontact and no contact--she treated his foot as the zephyr theviolets--she handled it as if it had been some sacred thing. By thehelp of his eye he could just know she was touching him. Presentlyshe informed him he was measured for a list shoe: and she would runhome for the materials. During her absence came a timid tap to thedoor; and Edouard Riviere entered. He was delighted to seeJosephine, and made sure Rose was not far off. It was Dard who letout that she was gone to Beaurepaire for some cloth to make him ashoe. This information set Edouard fidgeting on his chair. He sawsuch a chance as was not likely to occur again. He rose withfeigned nonchalance, and saying, "I leave you in good hands; angelvisitors are best enjoyed alone," slowly retired, with a deepobeisance. Once outside the door, dignity vanished in alacrity; heflew off into the park, and ran as hard as he could towards thechateau. He was within fifty yards of the little gate, when sureenough Rose emerged. They met; his heart beat violently.
　　"Mademoiselle," he faltered.
　　"Ah! it is Monsieur Riviere, I declare," said Rose, coolly; all overblushes though.
　　"Yes, mademoiselle, and I am so out of breath. MademoiselleJosephine awaits you at Dard's house.""She sent you for me?" inquired Rose, demurely.
　　"Not positively. But I could see I should please her by coming foryou; there is, I believe, a bull or so about.""A bull or two! don't talk in that reckless way about such things.
　　She has done well to send you; let us make haste.""But I am a little out of breath.""Oh, never mind that! I abhor bulls.""But, mademoiselle, we are not come to them yet, and the faster wego now the sooner we shall.""Yes; but I always like to get a disagreeable thing over as soon aspossible," said Rose, slyly.
　　"Ah," replied Edouard, mournfully, "in that case let us make haste."After a little spurt, mademoiselle relaxed the pace of her ownaccord, and even went slower than before. There was an awkwardsilence. Edouard eyed the park boundary, and thought, "Now what Ihave to say I must say before we get to you;" and being thusimpressed with the necessity of immediate action, he turned to lead.
　　Rose eyed him and the ground, alternately, from under her longlashes.
　　At last he began to color and flutter. She saw something wascoming, and all the woman donned defensive armor.
　　"Mademoiselle.""Monsieur.""Is it quite decided that your family refuse my acquaintance, myservices, which I still--forgive me--press on you? Ah! MademoiselleRose, am I never to have the happiness of--of--even speaking toyou?""It seems so," said Rose, ironically.
　　"Have you then decided against me too?""I?" asked Rose. "What have I to do with questions of etiquette? Iam only a child: so considered at least.""You a child--an angel like you?""Ask any of them, they will tell you I am a child; and it is to thatI owe this conversation, no doubt; if you did not look on me as achild, you would not take this liberty with me," said the young cat,scratching without a moment's notice.
　　"Mademoiselle, do not be angry. I was wrong.""Oh! never mind. Children are little creatures without reserve, andtreated accordingly, and to notice them is to honor them.""Adieu then, mademoiselle. Try to believe no one respects you morethan I do.""Yes, let us part, for there is Dard's house; and I begin to suspectthat Josephine never sent you.""I confess it.""There, he confesses it. I thought so all along; WHAT A DUPE I HAVEBEEN!""I will offend no more," said poor silly Edouard. "Adieu,mademoiselle. May you find friends as sincere as I am, and more toyour taste!""Heaven hear your prayers!" replied the malicious thing, casting upher eyes with a mock tragic air.
　　Edouard sighed; a chill conviction that she was both heartless andempty fell on him. He turned away without another word. She calledto him with a sudden airy cheerfulness that made him start. "Stay,monsieur, I forgot--I have a favor to ask you.""I wish I could believe that:" and his eyes brightened.
　　Rose stopped, and began to play with her parasol. "You seem," saidshe softly, "to be pretty generous in bestowing your acquaintance onstrangers. I should be glad if I might secure you for a dear friendof mine, Dr. Aubertin. He will not discredit my recommendation; andhe will not make so many difficulties as we do; shall I tell youwhy? Because he is really worth knowing. In short, believe me, itwill be a valuable acquaintance for you--and for him," added shewith all the grace of the De Beaurepaires.
　　Many a man, inferior in a general way to Edouard Riviere, would havemade a sensible reply to this. Such as, "Oh, any friend of yours,mademoiselle, must be welcome to me," or the like. But the proposalcaught Edouard on his foible, his vanity, to wit; and our foiblesare our manias. He was mortified to the heart's core. "She refusesto know me herself," thought he, "but she will use my love to makeme amuse that old man." His heart swelled against her injustice andingratitude, and his crushed vanity turned to strychnine.
　　"Mademoiselle," said he, bitterly and doggedly, but sadly, "were Iso happy as to have your esteem, my heart would overflow, not onlyon the doctor but on every honest person around. But if I must nothave the acquaintance I value more than life, suffer me to be alonein the world, and never to say a word either to Dr. Aubertin, or toany human creature if I can help it."The imperious young beauty drew herself up directly. "So be it,monsieur; you teach me how a child should be answered that forgetsherself, and asks a favor of a stranger--a perfect stranger," addedshe, maliciously.
　　Could one of the dog-days change to mid-winter in a second, it wouldhardly seem so cold and cross as Rose de Beaurepaire turned from thesmiling, saucy fairy of the moment before. Edouard felt as it werea portcullis of ice come down between her and him. She courtesiedand glided away. He bowed and stood frozen to the spot.
　　He felt so lonely and so bitter, he must go to Jacintha for comfort.
　　He took advantage of the ladies being with Dard, and marched boldlyinto the kitchen of Beaurepaire.
　　"Well, I never," cried Jacintha. "But, after all, why not?"He hurled himself on the kitchen table (clean as china), and toldher it was all over. "She hates me now; but it is not my fault,"and so poured forth his tale, and feeling sure of sympathy, askedJacintha whether it was not bitterly unjust of Rose to refuse himher own acquaintance, yet ask him to amuse that old fogy.
　　Jacintha stood with her great arms akimbo, taking it all in, andlooking at him with a droll expression of satirical wonder.
　　"Now you listen to a parable," said she. "Once there was a littleboy madly in love with raspberry jam.""A thing I hate.""Don't tell me! Who hates raspberry jam? He came to the storecloset, where he knew there were jars of it, and--oh! misery--thedoor was locked. He kicked the door, and wept bitterly. His mammacame and said, 'Here is the key,' and gave him the key. And whatdid he do? Why, he fell to crying and roaring, and kicking thedoor. 'I don't wa-wa-wa-wa-nt the key-ey-ey. I wa-a-ant the jam--oh! oh! oh! oh!'" and Jacintha mimicked, after her fashion, themingled grief and ire of infancy debarred its jam. Edouard wore apuzzled air, but it was only for a moment; the next he hid his facein his hands, and cried, "Fool!""I shall not contradict you," said his Mentor.
　　"She was my best friend. Once acquainted with the doctor, I couldvisit at Beaurepaire.""Parbleu!""She had thought of a way to reconcile my wishes with this terribleetiquette that reigns here.""She thinks to more purpose than you do; that is clear.""Nothing is left now but to ask her pardon, and to consent; I amoff.""No, you are not," and Jacintha laid a grasp of iron on him. "Willyou be quiet?--is not one blunder a day enough? If you go near hernow, she will affront you, and order the doctor not to speak to you.""O Jacintha! your sex then are fiends of malice?""While it lasts. Luckily with us nothing lasts very long. Now youdon't go near her till you have taken advantage of her hint, andmade the doctor's acquaintance; that is easy done. He walks twohours on the east road every day, with his feet in the puddles andhis head in the clouds. Them's HIS two tastes.""But how am I to get him out of the clouds and the puddles?"inquired Riviere half peevishly.
　　"How?" asked Jacintha, with a dash of that contempt uneducatedpersons generally have for any one who does not know some littlething they happen to know themselves. "How? Why, with the nearestblackbeetle, to be sure.""A blackbeetle?""Black or brown; it matters little. Have her ready for use in yourhandkerchief: pull a long face: and says you--'Excuse me, sir, Ihave THE MISFORTUNE not to know the Greek name of this merchandisehere.' Say that, and behold him launched. He will christen you thebeast in Hebrew and Latin as well as Greek, and tell you her historydown from the flood: next he will beg her of you, and out will comea cork and a pin, and behold the creature impaled. For that is howmen love beetles. He has a thousand pinned down at home--beetles,butterflies, and so forth. When I go near the rubbish with myduster he trembles like an aspen. I pretend to be going to cleanthem, but it is only to see the face he makes, for even a domesticmust laugh now and then--or die. But I never do clean them, forafter all he is more stupid than wicked, poor man: I have nottherefore the sad courage to make him wretched.""Let us return to our beetle--what will his tirades about itsantiquity advance me?""Oh! one begins about a beetle, but one ends Heaven knows where."Riviere profited by this advice. He even improved on it. In duecourse he threw himself into Aubertin's way. He stopped the doctorreverentially, and said he had heard he was an entomologist. WOULDhe be kind enough to tell him what was this enormous chrysalis hehad just found?
　　"The death's head moth!" cried Aubertin with enthusiasm--"thedeath's head moth! a great rarity in this district. Where found youthis?" Riviere undertook to show him the place.
　　It was half a league distant. Coming and going he had time to makefriends with Aubertin, and this was the easier that the oldgentleman, who was a physiognomist as well as ologist, had seengoodness and sensibility in Edouard's face. At the end of the walkhe begged the doctor to accept the chrysalis. The doctor coquetted.
　　"That would be a robbery. You take an interest in these thingsyourself--at least I hope so."The young rogue confessed modestly to the sentiment of entomology,but "the government worked him so hard as to leave him no hopes ofshining in so high a science," said he sorrowfully.
　　The doctor pitied him. "A young man of your attainments and tastesto be debarred from the everlasting secrets of nature, by thefleeting politics of the day."Riviere shrugged his shoulders. "Somebody must do the dirty work,"said he, chuckling inwardly.
　　The chrysalis went to Beaurepaire in the pocket of a grateful man,who that same evening told the whole party his conversation withyoung Riviere, on whom he pronounced high encomiums. Rose's saucyeyes sparkled with fun: you might have lighted a candle at one andexploded a mine at the other; but not a syllable did she utter.
　　The doctor proved a key, and opened the enchanted castle. One fineday he presented his friend in the Pleasaunce to the baroness andher daughters.
　　They received him with perfect politeness. Thus introduced, and ashe was not one to let the grass grow under his feet, he soonobtained a footing as friend of the family, which, being now advisedby Josephine, he took care not to compromise by making love to Rosebefore the baroness. However, he insisted on placing his financialtalent at their service. He surveyed and valued their lands, andsoon discovered that all their farms were grossly underlet. Luckilymost of the leases were run out. He prepared a new rent roll, andshowed it Aubertin, now his fast friend. Aubertin at his requestobtained a list of the mortgages, and Edouard drew a balance-sheetfounded on sure data, and proved to the baroness that in able handsthe said estate was now solvent.
　　This was a great comfort to the old lady: and she said to Aubertin,"Heaven has sent us a champion, a little republican--with the faceof an angel."Descending to practice, Edouard actually put three of the farms intothe market, and let them at an advance of twenty per cent on theexpired leases. He brought these leases signed; and the baronesshad scarcely done thanking him, when her other secret friend,Monsieur Perrin, was announced. Edouard exchanged civilities withhim, and then retired to the Pleasaunce. There he found bothsisters, who were all tenderness and gratitude to him. By this timehe had learned to value Josephine: she was so lovely and so good,and such a true womanly friend to him. Even Rose could not resisther influence, and was obliged to be kind to him, when Josephine wasby. But let Josephine go, and instead of her being more tender, asany other girl would, left alone with her lover, sauciness resumedits empire till sweet Josephine returned. Whereof cometh anexample; for the said Josephine was summoned to a final conferencewith the baroness and Monsieur Perrin.
　　"Don't be long," said Rose, as Josephine glided away, and (takingthe precaution to wait till she was quite out of hearing), "I shallbe so dull, dear, till you come back.""I shall not though," said Edouard.
　　"I am not so sure of that. Now then.""Now then, what?""Begin.""Begin what?""Amusing me." And she made herself look sullen and unamusable allover.
　　"I will try," said Riviere. "I'll tell you what they say of you:
　　that you are too young to love.""So I am, much.""No, no, no! I made a mistake. I mean too young to be loved.""Oh, I am not too young for that, not a bit."This point settled, she suggested that, if he could not amuse her,he had better do THE NEXT BEST THING, and that was, talk sense.
　　"I think I had better not talk at all," said he, "for I am no matchfor such a nimble tongue. And then you are so remorseless. I'llhold my tongue, and make a sketch of this magnificent oak.""Ay, do: draw it as it appeared on a late occasion: with two ladiesflying out of it, and you rooted with dismay.""There is no need; that scene is engraved.""Where? in all the shops?""No; on all our memories.""Not on mine; not on mine. How terrified you were--ha, ha! and howterrified we should have been if you had not. Listen: once upon atime--don't be alarmed: it was long after Noah--a frightened hareran by a pond; the frogs splashed in the water, smit with awe. Thenshe said, 'Ah ha! there are people in the world I frighten in myturn; I am the thunderbolt of war.' Excuse my quoting La Fontaine:
　　I am not in 'Charles the Twelfth of Sweden' yet. I am but a child.""And it's a great mercy, for when you grow up, you will be too muchfor me, that is evident. Come, then, Mademoiselle the Quizzer, comeand adorn my sketch.""Monsieur, shall I make you a confession? You will not be angry: Icould not support your displeasure. I have a strange inclination towalk up and down this terrace while you go and draw that tree in thePleasaunce.""Resist that inclination; perhaps it will fly from you.""No; you fly from me, and draw. I will rejoin you in a few minutes.""Thank you, I'm not so stupid. You will step indoors directly.""Do you doubt my word, sir?" asked she haughtily.
　　He had learned to obey all her caprices; so he went and placedhimself on the west side of the oak and took out his sketch-book,and worked zealously and rapidly. He had done the outlines of thetree and was finishing in detail a part of the huge trunk, when hiseyes were suddenly dazzled: in the middle of the rugged bark,deformed here and there with great wart-like bosses, and wrinkled,seamed, and ploughed all over with age, burst a bit of variegatedcolor; bright as a poppy on a dungeon wall, it glowed and glitteredout through a large hole in the brown bark; it was Rose's facepeeping. To our young lover's eye how divine it shone! None of thehalf tints of common flesh were there, but a thing all rose, lily,sapphire, and soul. His pencil dropped, his mouth opened, he wasdownright dazzled by the glowing, bewitching face, sparkling withfun, in the gaunt tree. Tell me, ladies, did she know, even at thatage, the value of that sombre frame to her brightness? The momentshe found herself detected, the gaunt old tree rang musical with acrystal laugh, and out came the arch-dryad. "I have been there allthe time. How solemn you looked! Now for the result of suchprofound study." He showed her his work; she altered her tone.
　　"Oh, how clever!" she cried, "and how rapid! What a facility youhave! Monsieur is an artist," said she gravely; "I will be morerespectful," and she dropped him a low courtesy. "Mind you promisedit me," she added sharply.
　　"You will accept it, then?""That I will, now it is worth having: dear me, I never reckoned onthat. Finish it directly," cried this peremptory young person.
　　"First I must trouble you to stand out there near the tree.""Me? what for?""Because art loves contrasts. The tree is a picture of age andgradual decay; by its side then I must place a personification ofyouth and growing loveliness."She did not answer, but made a sort of defiant pirouette, and wentwhere she was bid, and stood there with her back to the artist.
　　"That will never do," said he; "you really must be so good as toturn round.""Oh, very well." And when she came round, behold her color hadrisen mightily. Flattery is sweet.
　　This child of nature was delighted, and ashamed it should be seenthat she was.
　　And so he drew her, and kept looking off the paper at her, and had aright in his character of artist to look her full in the face; andhe did so with long lingering glances. To be sure, they all begansevere and businesslike with half-closed eyes, and the peculiarhostile expression art puts on; but then they always ended open-eyed, and so full and tender, that she, poor girl, who was all realgold, though sham brass, blushed and blushed, and did not know whichway to look not to be scorched up by his eye like a tender flower,or blandly absorbed like the pearly dew. Ah, happy hour! ah, happydays of youth and innocence and first love!
　　Trouble loves to intrude on these halcyon days.
　　The usually quiet Josephine came flying from the house, pale andagitated, and clung despairingly to Rose, and then fell to sobbingand lamenting piteously.
　　I shall take leave to relate in my own words what had just occurredto agitate her so. When she entered her mother's room, she foundthe baroness and Perrin the notary seated watching for her. She satdown after the usual civilities, and Perrin entered upon the subjectthat had brought him.
　　He began by confessing to them that he had not overcome therefractory creditor without much trouble; and that he had sincelearned there was another, a larger creditor, likely to press forpayment or for sale of the estate. The baroness was greatlytroubled by this communication: the notary remained cool as acucumber, and keenly observant. After a pause he went on to say allthis had caused him grave reflections. "It seems," said he withcool candor, "a sad pity the estate should pass from a family thathas held it since the days of Charlemagne.""Now God forbid!" cried the baroness, lifting her eyes and herquivering hands to heaven.
　　The notary held the republican creed in all its branches.
　　"Providence, madame, does not interfere--in matters of business,"said he. "Nothing but money can save the estate. Let us then bepractical. Has any means occurred to you of raising money to payoff these incumbrances?""No. What means can there be? The estate is mortgaged to its fullvalue: so they say, at least.""And they say true," put in the notary quickly. "But do notdistress yourself, madame: confide in me.""Ah, my good friend, may Heaven reward you.""Madame, up to the present time I have no complaint to make ofHeaven. I am on the rise: here, mademoiselle, is a gimcrack theyhave given me;" and he unbuttoned his overcoat, and showed them apiece of tricolored ribbon and a clasp. "As for me, I look to 'thesolid;' I care little for these things," said he, swelling visibly,"but the world is dazzled by them. However, I can show yousomething better." He took out a letter. "This is from theMinister of the Interior to a client of mine: a promise I shall bethe next prefect; and the present prefect--I am happy to say--is onhis death-bed. Thus, madame, your humble servant in a few shortmonths will be notary no longer, but prefect; I shall then sell myoffice of notary: and I flatter myself when I am a prefect you willnot blush to own me.""Then, as now, monsieur," said the baroness politely, "we shallrecognize your merit. But"--"I understand, madame: like me you look to 'the solid.' Thus thenit is; I have money.""Ah! all the better for you.""I have a good deal of money. But it is dispersed in a great manysmall but profitable investments: to call it in suddenly wouldentail some loss. Nevertheless, if you and my young lady there haveever so little of that friendly feeling towards me of which I haveso much towards you, all my investments shall be called in, and two-thirds of your creditors shall be paid off at once. A single clientof mine, no less a man than the Commandant Raynal, will, I am sure,advance me the remaining third at an hour's notice; and soBeaurepaire chateau, park, estate, and grounds, down to the old oak-tree, shall be saved; and no power shall alienate them from you,mademoiselle, and from the heirs of your body."The baroness clasped her hands in ecstasy.
　　"But what are we to do for this?" inquired Josephine calmly, "for itseems to me that it can only be effected by a sacrifice on yourpart.""I thank you, mademoiselle, for your penetration in seeing that Imust make sacrifices. I would never have told you, but you haveseen it; and I do not regret that you have seen it. Madame--mademoiselle--those sacrifices appear little to me; will seemnothing; will never be mentioned, or even alluded to after this day,if you, on your part, will lay me under a far heavier obligation, ifin short"--here the contemner of things unsubstantial reopened hiscoat, and brought his ribbon to light again--"if you, madame, willaccept me for your son-in-law--if you, mademoiselle, will take mefor your husband."The baroness and her daughter looked at one another in silence.
　　"Is it a jest?" inquired the former of the latter.
　　"Can you think so? Answer Monsieur Perrin. He has just done us akind office, mother.""I shall remember it. Monsieur, permit me to regret that havinglately won our gratitude and esteem, you have taken this way ofmodifying those feelings. But after all," she added with gentlecourtesy, "we may well put your good deeds against this--this errorin judgment. The balance is in your favor still, provided you neverreturn to this topic. Come, is it agreed?" The baroness's mannerwas full of tact, and the latter sentences were said with an openkindliness of manner. There was nothing to prevent Perrin fromdropping the subject, and remaining good friends. A gentleman or alover would have so done. Monsieur Perrin was neither. He saidbitterly, "You refuse me, then."The tone and the words were each singly too much for the baroness'spride. She answered coldly but civilly,--"I do not refuse you. I do not take an affront into consideration.""Be calm, mamma; no affront whatever was intended.""Ah! here is one that is more reasonable," cried Perrin.
　　"There are men," continued Josephine without noticing him, "who lookto but one thing--interest. It was an offer made politely in theway of business: decline it in the same spirit; that is what youhave to do.""Monsieur, you hear what mademoiselle says? She carries politenessa long way. After all it is a good fault. Well, monsieur, I neednot answer you, since Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire has answered you;but I detain you no longer."Strictly a weasel has no business with the temper of a tiger, butthis one had, and the long vindictiveness of a Corsican. "Ah! mylittle lady, you turn me out of the house, do you?" cried he,grinding his teeth.
　　"Turn him out of the house? what a phrase! where has this manlived?""A man!" snarled Perrin, "whom none ever yet insulted withoutrepenting it, and repenting in vain. You are under obligations tome, and you think to turn me out! You are at my mercy, and youthink I will let you turn me to your door! In less than a mouth Iwill stand here, and say to you, Beaurepaire is mine. Begone fromit!"When he uttered these terrible words, each of which was like asword-stroke to the baroness, the old lady, whose courage was notequal to her strength, shrank over the side of her arm-chair, andcried piteously--"He threatens me! he threatens me! I amfrightened;" and put up her trembling hands, for the notary'seloquence, being accompanied with abundance of gesture, borderedupon physical violence. His brutality received an unexpected check.
　　Imagine that a sparrow-hawk had seized a trembling pigeon, and thata royal falcon swooped, and with one lightning-like stroke of bodyand wing, buffeted him away, and sent him gaping and glaring andgrasping at pigeonless air with his claws. So swift and majestic,Josephine de Beaurepaire came from her chair with one gesture of herbody between her mother and the notary, who was advancing with armsfolded in a brutal, menacing way--not the Josephine we have seenher, the calm languid beauty, but the demoiselle de Beaurepaire--hergreat heart on fire--her blood up--not her own only, but all theblood of all the De Beaurepaires--pale as ashes with great wrath,her purple eyes on fire, and her whole panther-like body full ofspring. "Wretch! you dare to insult her, and before me! Arrieremiserable! or I soil my hand with your face." And her hand was upwith the word, up, up, higher it seemed than ever a hand was raisedbefore. And if he had hesitated one moment, I really believe itwould have come down; not heavily, perhaps--the lightning is notheavy. But there was no need. The towering threat and the flamingeye and the swift rush buffeted the caitiff away: he recoiled. Shefollowed him as he went, strong, FOR A MOMENT OR TWO, as Hercules,beautiful and terrible as Michael driving Satan. He dared not, orcould not stand before her: he writhed and cowered and recoiled alldown the room, while she marched upon him. But the driven serpenthissed horribly as it wriggled away.
　　"You shall both be turned out of Beaurepaire by me, and forever; Iswear it, parole de Perrin."He had not been gone a minute when Josephine's courage oozed away,and she ran, or rather tottered, into the Pleasaunce, and clung likea drowning thing to Rose, and, when Edouard took her hand, she clungto him. They had to gather what had happened how they could: theaccount was constantly interrupted with her sobs and self-reproaches. She said she had ruined all she loved: ruined hersister, ruined her mother, ruined the house of Beaurepaire. Why wasshe ever born? Why had she not died three years ago? (Query, whatwas the date at which Camille's letters suddenly stopped?) "Thatcoward," said she, "has the heart of a fiend. He told us he neverforgave an affront; and he holds our fate in his hands. He willdrive our mother from her home, and she will die: murdered by herown daughter. After all, why did I refuse him? What should I havesacrificed by marrying him? Rose, write to him, and say--say--I wastaken by surprise, I--I"--a violent flood of tears interrupted thesentence.
　　Rose flung her arms round her neck. "My beautiful Josephine marrythat creature? Let house and lands go a thousand times sooner. Ilove my sister a thousand times better than the walls of this or anyother house.""Come, come," cried Edouard, "you are forgetting ME all this time.
　　Do you really think I am the sort of man to stand by with my handsin my pockets, and let her marry that cur, or you be driven out ofBeaurepaire? Neither, while I live.""Alas! dear boy," sighed Josephine, "what can you do?""I'll soon show you. From this hour forth it is a duel between thatPerrin and me. Now, Josephine--Rose--don't you cry and fret likethat: but just look quietly on, and enjoy the fight, both of you."Josephine shook her head with a sad smile: but Rose deliveredherself thus, after a sob, "La, yes; I forgot: we have got agentleman now; that's one comfort."Edouard rose to the situation: he saw that Perrin would lose notime; and that every day, or even hour, might be precious. He toldthem that the first thing he must do for them was to leave thecompany he loved best on earth, and run down to the town to consultPicard the rival notary: he would be back by supper-time, when hehoped they would do him the honor, in a matter of such importance,to admit him to a family council.
　　Josephine assented with perfect simplicity; Rose with a deep blush,for she was too quick not to see all the consequences of admittingso brisk a wooer into a family council.
　　It was a wet evening, and a sad and silent party sat round a woodfire in the great dining-hall. The baroness was almost prostratedby the scene with Perrin; and a sombre melancholy and forebodingweighed on all their spirits, when presently Edouard Riviere enteredbriskly, and saluted them all profoundly, and opened the proceedingswith a little favorite pomposity. "Madame the baroness, and youMonsieur Aubertin, who honor me with your esteem, and youMademoiselle de Beaurepaire, whom I adore, and you MademoiselleRose, whom I hoped to be permitted--you have this day done me thehonor to admit me as your adviser. I am here to lay my plans beforeyou. I believe, madame, I have already convinced you that yourfarms are under-let, and your property lowered in value by generalmismanagement; this was doubtless known to Perrin, and set himscheming. Well, I rely on the same circumstance to defeat him. Ihave consulted Picard and shown him the rent-roll and balance-sheetI had already shown you. He has confessed that the estate is worthmore than its debts, so capitalists can safely advance the money.
　　To-morrow morning, then, I ride to Commandant Raynal for a week'sleave of absence; then, armed with Picard's certificate, shallproceed to my uncle and ask him to lend the money. His estate isvery small compared with Beaurepaire, but he has always farmed ithimself. 'I'll have no go-between,' says he, 'to impoverish bothself and soil.' He is also a bit of a misanthrope, and has made meone. I have a very poor opinion of my fellow-creatures, very.""Well, but," said Rose, "if he is all that, he will not sympathizewith us, who have so mismanaged Beaurepaire. Will he not despiseus?"Edouard was a little staggered, but Aubertin came to his aid.
　　"Permit me, Josephine," said he. "Natural history steps in here,and teaches by me, its mouth-piece. A misanthrope hates allmankind, but is kind to every individual, generally too kind. Aphilanthrope loves the whole human race, but dislikes his wife, hismother, his brother, and his friends and acquaintances. Misanthropeis the potato: rough and repulsive outside, but good to the core.
　　Philanthrope is a peach: his manner all velvet and bloom, his wordssweet juice, his heart of hearts a stone. Let me read Philanthrope'sbook, and fall into the hands of Misanthrope."Edouard admitted the shrewdness of this remark.
　　"And so," said he, "my misanthrope will say plenty of biting words,--which, by-the-by, will not hurt you, who will not hear them, onlyme,--and then he'll lend us the money, and Beaurepaire will be free,and I shall have had a hand in it. Hurrah!"Then came a delicious hour to Edouard Riviere. Young and old pouredout their glowing thanks and praises upon him till his checks burnedlike fire.
　　The baroness was especially grateful, and expressed a gentle regretthat she could see no way of showing her gratitude except in words.
　　"What can we do for this little angel?" said she, turning toJosephine.
　　"Leave that to me, mamma," replied Josephine, turning her lovelyeyes full on Edouard, with a look the baroness misunderstooddirectly.
　　She sat and watched Josephine and Edouard with comical severity allthe rest of the time she was there; and, when she retired, shekissed Rose affectionately, but whispered her eldest daughter, "Ihope you are not serious. A mere boy compared with you.""But such a sweet one," suggested Josephine, apologetically.
　　"What will the world come to?" said the baroness out loud, andretreated with a sour glance at all of them--except Rose.
　　She had not been gone five minutes when a letter came by messengerto Edouard. It was from Picard. He read it out.
　　"Perrin has been with me, to raise money. He wants it in forty-eight hours. Promises good legal security. I have agreed to tryand arrange the matter for him."They were all astonished at this.
　　"The double-faced traitor!" cried Edouard. "Stay; wait a minute.
　　Let us read it to an end.""This promise is, of course, merely to prevent his going elsewhere.
　　At the end of the forty-eight hours I shall begin to makedifficulties. Meantime, as Perrin is no fool, you had better profitto the full by this temporary delay.""Well done, Picard!" shouted Edouard. "Notary cut notary. I won'tlose an hour. I'll start at five; Commandant Raynal is an earlyriser himself."Accordingly, at five he was on the road; Raynal's quarters lay inthe direct line to his uncle's place. He found the commandant athome, and was well received. Raynal had observed his zeal, andliked his manners. He gave him the week's leave, and kept him tobreakfast, and had his horse well fed. At eight o'clock Edouardrode out of the premises in high spirits. At the very gate he met agaunt figure riding in on a squab pony. It was Perrin the notarycoming in hot haste to his friend and employer, Commandant Raynal.
Chapter 5
　　After Edouard's departure, Josephine de Beaurepaire was sad, andweighed down with presentiments. She felt as soldiers sometimesfeel who know the enemy is undermining them; no danger on thesurface; nothing that can be seen, met, baffled, attacked, orevaded; in daily peril, all the more horrible that it imitatesperfect serenity, they await the fatal match. She imparted hermisgivings to Aubertin; but he assured her she exaggerated thedanger.
　　"We have a friend still more zealous and active than our enemy;believe me, your depression is really caused by his absence; we allmiss the contact of that young heroic spirit; we are a body, and heits soul."Josephine was silent, for she said to herself, "Why should I dashtheir spirits? they are so happy and confident."Edouard had animated Rose and Aubertin with his own courage, and hadeven revived the baroness.
　　It had been agreed between him and Picard that the latter shouldcommunicate with Dr. Aubertin direct, should anything fresh occur.
　　And on the third day after Edouard's departure, Picard sent up aprivate message: "Perrin has just sent me a line to say he will nottrouble us, as he is offered the money in another quarter."This was a heavy blow, and sent them all to bed more or lessdespondent.
　　The next day brought a long letter from Edouard to Rose, telling herhe had found his uncle crusty at first; but at last with a littlepatience, and the co-operation of Martha, his uncle's old servant,and his nurse, the old boy had come round. They might look on theaffair as all but settled.
　　The contents of this letter were conveyed to the baroness. Thehouse brightened under it: the more so that there was some hope oftheir successful champion returning in person next day. MeantimePerrin had applied to Raynal for the immediate loan of a large sumof money on excellent security. Raynal refused plump. Perrin rodeaway disconsolate.
　　But the next day he returned to the charge with another proposal:
　　and the nature of this second proposal we shall learn from events.
　　The day Edouard was expected opened deliciously. It was a balmymorning, and tempted the sisters out before breakfast. Theystrolled on the south terrace with their arms round each other'swaists, talking about Edouard, and wondering whether they shouldreally see him before night. Rose owned she had missed him, andconfessed for the first time she was a proud and happy girl.
　　"May I tell him so?" asked Josephine.
　　"Not for all the world. Would you dare?"Further discussion of that nice point was stopped by the baronesscoming out, leaning on Dr. Aubertin.
　　Then--how we young people of an unceremonious age should havestared--the demoiselles de Beaurepaire, inasmuch as this was theirmother's first appearance, lowered their fair heads at the same timelike young poplars bowing to the wind, and so waited reverently tillshe had slightly lifted her hands, and said, "God bless you, mychildren!"It was done in a moment on both sides, but full of grace and piety,and the charm of ancient manners.
　　"How did our dear mother sleep?" inquired Josephine. Aubertininterposed with a theory that she slept very well indeed if she tookwhat he gave her.
　　"Ay, IF," suggested Rose, saucily.
　　"I slept," said the baroness, "and I wish I had not for I dreamed anugly dream." They all gathered round her, and she told her dream.
　　"I thought I was with you all in this garden. I was admiring theflowers and the trees, and the birds were singing with all theirmight. Suddenly a dark cloud came; it cleared almost directly; butflowers, trees, sky, and birds were gone now, and I could see thechateau itself no more. It means that I was dead. An ugly dream,my children, an ugly dream.""But only a dream, dear mother," said Rose: then with a sweet,consoling smile, "See, here is your terrace and your chateau.""And here are your daughters," said Josephine; and they both cameand kissed her to put their existence out of doubt. "And here isyour Aesculapius," said Aubertin. "And here is your Jacintha.""Breakfast, madame," said Jacintha. "Breakfast, mesdemoiselles.
　　Breakfast, monsieur:" dropping each a distinct courtesy in turn.
　　"She has turned the conversation very agreeably," said the baroness,and went in leaning on her old friend.
　　But the sisters lagged behind and took several turns in silence.
　　Rose was the first to speak. "How superstitious of you!""I said nothing.""No; but you looked volumes at me while mamma was telling her dream.
　　For my part I feel sure love is stronger than hate; and we shallstay all our days in this sweet place: and O Josey! am I not a happygirl that it's all owing to HIM!"At this moment Jacintha came running towards them. They took it fora summons to breakfast, and moved to meet her. But they soon sawshe was almost as white as her apron, and she came open-mouthed andwringing her hands. "What shall I do? what shall I do? Oh, don'tlet my poor mistress know!"They soon got from her that Dard had just come from the town, andlearned the chateau was sold, and the proprietor coming to takepossession this very day. The poor girls were stupefied by theblow.
　　If anything, Josephine felt it worst. "It is my doing," she gasped,and tottered fainting. Rose supported her: she shook it off by aviolent effort. "This is no time for weakness," she cried, wildly;"come to the Pleasaunce; there is water there. I love my mother.
　　What will I not do for her? I love my mother."Muttering thus wildly she made for the pond in the Pleasaunce. Shehad no sooner turned the angle of the chateau than she started backwith a convulsive cry, and her momentary feebleness left herdirectly; she crouched against the wall and griped the ancientcorner-stone with her tender hand till it powdered, and she spiedwith dilating eye into the Pleasaunce, Rose and Jacintha pantingbehind her. Two men stood with their backs turned to her looking atthe oak-tree; one an officer in full uniform, the other the humansnake Perrin. Though the soldier's back was turned, his off-handed,peremptory manner told her he was inspecting the place as its master.
　　"The baroness! the baroness!" cried Jacintha, with horror. Theylooked round, and the baroness was at their very backs.
　　"What is it?" cried she, gayly.
　　"Nothing, mamma.""Let me see this nothing."They glanced at one another, and, idle as the attempt was, the habitof sparing her prevailed, and they flung themselves between her andthe blow.
　　"Josephine is not well," said Rose. "She wants to go in." Bothgirls faced the baroness.
　　"Jacintha," said the baroness, "fetch Dr. Aubertin. There, I havesent her away. So now tell me, why do you drive me back so?
　　Something has happened," and she looked keenly from one to theother.
　　"O mamma! do not go that way: there are strangers in the Pleasaunce.""Let me see. So there are. Call Jacintha back that I may orderthese people out of my premises." Josephine implored her to becalm.
　　"Be calm when impertinent intruders come into my garden?""Mother, they are not intruders.""What do you mean?""They have a right to be in our Pleasaunce. They have bought thechateau.""It is impossible. HE was to buy it for us--there is some mistake--what man would kill a poor old woman like me? I will speak to thisgentleman: he wears a sword. Soldiers do not trample on women. Ah!
　　that man."The notary, attracted by her voice, was coming towards her, a paperin his hand.
　　Raynal coolly inspected the tree, and tapped it with his scabbard,and left Perrin to do the dirty work. The notary took off his hat,and, with a malignant affectation of respect, presented the baronesswith a paper.
　　The poor old thing took it with a courtesy, the effect of habit, andread it to her daughters as well as her emotion permitted, and thelanguage, which was as new to her as the dialect of Cat Island toColumbus.
　　"Jean Raynal, domiciled by right, and lodging in fact at the Chateauof Beaurepaire, acting by the pursuit and diligence of MasterPerrin, notary; I, Guillaume Le Gras, bailiff, give notice toJosephine Aglae St. Croix de Beaurepaire, commonly called theBaroness de Beaurepaire, having no known place of abode"--"Oh!""but lodging wrongfully at the said Chateau of Beaurepaire, that sheis warned to decamp within twenty-four hours"--"To decamp!""failing which that she will be thereto enforced in the manner forthat case made and provided with the aid of all the officers andagents of the public force.""Ah! no, messieurs, pray do not use force. I am frightened enoughalready. I did not know I was doing anything wrong. I have beenhere thirty years. But, since Beaurepaire is sold, I comprehendperfectly that I must go. It is just. As you say, I am not in myown house. I will go, gentlemen, I will go. Whither shall I go, mychildren? The house where you were born to me is ours no longer.
　　Excuse me, gentlemen--this is nothing to you. Ah! sir, you haverevenged yourself on two weak women--may Heaven forgive you!"The notary turned on his heel. The poor baroness, all whose pridethe iron law, with its iron gripe, had crushed into dismay andterror, appealed to him. "O sir! send me from the house, but notfrom the soil where my Henri is laid! is there not in all thisdomain a corner where she who was its mistress may lie down and die?
　　Where is the NEW BARON, that I may ask this favor of him on myknees?"She turned towards Raynal and seemed to be going towards him withoutstretched arms. But Rose checked her with fervor. "Mamma! donot lower yourself. Ask nothing of these wretches. Let us loseall, but not forget ourselves."The baroness had not her daughter's spirit. Her very persontottered under this blow. Josephine supported her, and the nextmoment Aubertin came out and hastened to her side. Her head fellback; what little strength she had failed her; she was half lifted,half led, into the house.
　　Commandant Raynal was amazed at all this, and asked what the deucewas the matter.
　　"Oh!" said the notary, "we are used to these little scenes in ourbusiness.""But I am not," replied the soldier. "You never told me there wasto be all this fuss."He then dismissed his friend rather abruptly and strode up and downthe Pleasaunce. He twisted his mustaches, muttered, and "pested,"and was ill at ease. Accustomed to march gayly into a town, and seethe regiment, that was there before, marching gayly out, or viceversa, and to strike tents twice a quarter at least, he was littleprepared for such a scene as this. True, he did not hear all thebaroness's words, but more than one tone of sharp distress reachedhim where he stood, and the action of the whole scene was soexpressive, there was little need of words. He saw the noticegiven; the dismay it caused, and the old lady turn imploringlytowards him with a speaking gesture, and above all he saw hercarried away, half fainting, her hands clasped, her reverend facepale. He was not a man of quick sensibilities. He did notthoroughly take the scene in at first: it grew upon him afterwards.
　　"Confound it," thought he, "I am the proprietor. They all say so.
　　Instead of which I feel like a thief. Fancy her getting so fond ofa PLACE as all this."Presently it occurred to him that the shortness of the notice mighthave much to do with her distress. "These notaries," said he tohimself, "understand nothing save law: women have piles of baggage,and can't strike tents directly the order comes, as we can. Perhapsif I were to give them twenty-four days instead of hours?--hum!"With this the commandant fell into a brown study. Now each of ushas his attitude of brown study. One runs about the room like hyenain his den; another stands stately with folded arms (this one seldomthinks to the purpose); another sits cross-legged, brows lowered:
　　another must put his head into his hand, and so keep it up tothinking mark: another must twiddle a bit of string, or a key; granthim this, he can hatch an epic. This commandant must draw himselfup very straight, and walk six paces and back very slowly, till theproblem was solved: I suspect he had done a good bit of sentinelwork in his time.
　　Now whilst he was guarding the old oak-tree, for all the world as ifit had been the gate of the Tuileries or the barracks, Josephine deBeaurepaire came suddenly out from the house and crossed thePleasaunce: her hair was in disorder, her manner wild: she passedswiftly into the park.
　　Raynal recognized her as one of the family; and after a moment'sreflection followed her into the park with the good-naturedintention of offering her a month to clear out instead of a day.
　　But it was not so easy to catch her: she flew. He had to take hisscabbard in his left hand and fairly run after her. Before he couldcatch her, she entered the little chapel. He came up and had hisfoot on the very step to go in, when he was arrested by that heheard within.
　　Josephine had thrown herself on her knees and was praying aloud:
　　praying to the Virgin with sighs and sobs and all her soul:
　　wrestling so in prayer with a dead saint as by a strange perversitymen cannot or will not wrestle with Him, who alone can hear amillion prayers at once from a million different places,--canrealize and be touched with a sense of all man's infirmities in away no single saint with his partial experience of them can realizeand be touched by them; who unasked suspended the laws of naturethat had taken a stranger's only son, and she a widow; and wept atanother great human sorrow, while the eyes of all the great saintsthat stood around it and Him were dry.
　　Well, the soldier stood, his right foot on the step and his sword inhis left hand, transfixed: listening gravely to the agony of prayerthe innocent young creature poured forth within:--"O Madonna! hear me: it is for my mother's life. She will die--shewill die. You know she cannot live if she is taken away from herhouse and from this holy place where she prays to you this manyyears. O Queen of Heaven! put out your hand to us unfortunates!
　　Virgin, hear a virgin: mother, listen to a child who prays for hermother's life! The doctor says she will not live away from here.
　　She is too old to wander over the world. Let them drive us forth:
　　we are young, but not her, mother, oh, not her! Forgive the cruelmen that do this thing!--they are like those who crucified your Son--they know not what they are doing. But you, Queen of Heaven, youknow all; and, sweet mother, if you have kind sentiments towards me,poor Josephine, ah! show them now: for you know that it was I whoinsulted that wicked notary, and it is out of hatred to me he hassold our beloved house to a hard stranger. Look down on me, a childwho loves her mother, yet will destroy her unless you pity me andhelp me. Oh! what shall I say?--what shall I do? mercy! mercy! formy poor mother, for me!"Here her utterance was broken by sobs.
　　The soldier withdrew his foot quietly. Her words had knockedagainst his very breast-bone. He marched slowly to and fro beforethe chapel, upright as a dart, and stiff as a ramrod, and actuallypale: for even our nerves have their habits; a woman's passionategrief shook him as a cannon fired over his head could not.
　　Josephine little thought who was her sentinel. She came to the doorat last, and there he was marching backwards and forwards, uprightand stiff. She gave a faint scream and drew back with a shudder atthe sight of their persecutor. She even felt faintish at him, aswomen will in such cases.
　　Not being very quick at interpreting emotion, Raynal noticed heralarm, but not her repugnance; he saluted her with militaryprecision by touching his cap as only a soldier can, and said rathergently for him, "A word with you, mademoiselle."She replied only by trembling.
　　"Don't be frightened," said Raynal, in a tone not very reassuring.
　　"I propose an armistice.""I am at your disposal, sir," said Josephine, now assuming acalmness that was belied by the long swell of her heaving bosom.
　　"Of course you look on me as an enemy.""How can I do otherwise, sir? yet perhaps I ought not. You did notknow us. You just wanted an estate, I suppose--and--oh!""Well, don't cry; and let us come to the point, since I am a man offew words.""If you please, sir. My mother may miss me.""Well, I was in position on your flank when the notary delivered hisfire. And I saw the old woman's distress.""Ah, sir!""When you came flying out I followed to say a good word to you. Icould not catch you. I listened while you prayed to the Virgin.
　　That was not a soldier-like trick, you will say. I confess it.""It matters little, sir, and you heard nothing I blush for.""No! by St. Denis; quite the contrary. Well, to the point. Younglady, you love your mother.""What has she on earth now but her children's love?""Now look here, young lady, I had a mother; I loved her in myhumdrum way very dearly. She promised me faithfully not to die tillI should be a colonel; and she went and died before I was acommandant, even; just before, too.""Then I pity you," murmured Josephine; and her soft purple eye beganto dwell on him with less repugnance.
　　"Thank you for that word, my good young lady," said Raynal. "Now, Ideclare, you are the first that has said that word to me about mylosing the true friend, that nursed me on her knee, and pinched andpinched to make a man of me. I should like to tell you about herand me.""I shall feel honored," said Josephine, politely, but withconsiderable restraint.
　　Then he told her all about how he had vexed her when he was a boy,and gone for a soldier, though she was all for trade, and how he hadbeen the more anxious to see her enjoy his honors and success.
　　"And, mademoiselle," said he, appealingly, "the day this epaulet wasput on my shoulder in Italy, she died in Paris. Ah! how could youhave the heart to do that, my old woman?"The soldier's mustache quivered, and he turned away brusquely, andtook several steps. Then he came back to Josephine, and to hisinfinite surprise saw that her purple eyes were thick with tears.
　　"What? you are within an inch of crying for my mother, you who haveyour own trouble at this hour.""Monsieur, our situations are so alike, I may well spare some littlesympathy for your misfortune.""Thank you, my good young lady. Well, then, to business; while youwere praying to the Virgin, I was saying a word or two for my partto her who is no more.""Sir!""Oh! it was nothing beautiful like the things you said to the other.
　　Can I turn phrases? I saw her behind her little counter in the RueQuincampoix; for she is a woman of the people, is my mother. I sawmyself come to the other side of the counter, and I said, 'Lookhere, mother, here is the devil to pay about this new house. Theold woman talks of dying if we take her from her home, and the youngone weeps and prays to all the saints in paradise; what shall we do,eh?' Then I thought my old woman said to me, 'Jean, you are asoldier, a sort of vagabond; what do you want with a house inFrance? you who are always in a tent in Italy or Austria, or whoknows where. Have you the courage to give honest folk so much painfor a caprice? Come now,' says she, 'the lady is of my age, sayyou, and I can't keep your fine house, because God has willed itotherwise; so give her my place; so then you can fancy it is me youhave set down at your hearth: that will warm your heart up a bit,you little scamp,' said my old woman in her rough way. She was notwell-bred like you, mademoiselle. A woman of the people, nothingmore.""She was a woman of God's own making, if she was like that," criedJosephine, the tears now running down her cheeks.
　　"Ah, that she was, she was. So between her and me it is settled--what are you crying for NOW? why, you have won the day; the field isyours; your mother and you remain; I decamp." He whipped hisscabbard up with his left hand, and was going off without anotherword, if Josephine had not stopped him.
　　"But, sir, what am I to think? what am I to hope? it is impossiblethat in this short interview--and we must not forget what is due toyou. You have bought the estate.""True; well, we will talk over that, to-morrow; but being turned outof the house, that was the bayonet thrust to the old lady. So yourun in and put her heart at rest about it. Tell her that she maylive and die in this house for Jean Raynal; and tell her about theold woman in the Rue Quincampoix.""God bless you, Jean Raynal!" cried Josephine, clasping her hands.
　　"Are you going?" said he, peremptorily.
　　"Oh, yes!" and she darted towards the chateau.
　　But when she had taken three steps she paused, and seemed irresolute.
　　She turned, and in a moment she had glided to Raynal again and hadtaken his hand before he could hinder her, and pressed two velvetlips on it, and was away again, her cheeks scarlet at what she haddone, and her wet eyes beaming with joy. She skimmed the grass likea lapwing; you would have taken her at this minute for Rose, or forVirgil's Camilla; at the gate she turned an instant and clasped herhands together, with such a look, to show Raynal she blessed himagain, then darted into the house.
　　"Aha, my lady," said he, as he watched her fly, "behold you changeda little since you came out." He was soon on the high road marchingdown to the town at a great rate, his sword clanking, and thus ranhis thoughts: "This does one good; you are right, my old woman.
　　Your son's bosom feels as warm as toast. Long live the five-francpieces! And they pretend money cannot make a fellow happy. Theylie; it is because they do not know how to spend it."Meantime at the chateau, as still befalls in emergencies and trials,the master spirit came out and took its real place. Rose was nowthe mistress of Beaurepaire; she set Jacintha, and Dard, and thedoctor, to pack up everything of value in the house. "Do it thismoment!" she cried; "once that notary gets possession of the house,it may be too late. Enough of folly and helplessness. We havefooled away house and lands; our movables shall not follow them."The moment she had set the others to work, she wrote a single lineto Riviere to tell him the chateau and lands were sold, and would hecome to Beaurepaire at once? She ran with it herself to Bigot'sauberge, the nearest post-office, and then back to comfort hermother.
　　The baroness was seated in her arm-chair, moaning and wringing herhands, and Rose was nursing and soothing her, and bathing hertemples with her last drop of eau de Cologne, and trying in vain toput some of her own courage into her, when in came Josephine radiantwith happiness, crying "Joy! joy! joy!" and told her strange tale,with this difference, that she related her own share in it brieflyand coldly, and was more eloquent than I about the strange soldier'sgoodness, and the interest her mother had awakened in his heart.
　　And she told about the old woman in the Rue Quincampoix, her ruggedphrases, and her noble, tender heart. The baroness, deaf to Rose'sconsolations, brightened up directly at Josephine's news, and at herglowing face, as she knelt pouring the good news, and hope, andcomfort, point blank into her. But Rose chilled them both.
　　"It is a generous offer," said, she, "but one we cannot accept. Wecannot live under so great an obligation. Is all the generosity tobe on the side of this Bonapartist? Are we noble in name only?
　　What would our father have said to such a proposal?"Josephine hung her head. The baroness groaned.
　　"No, mother," continued Rose; "let house and land go, but honor andtrue nobility remain.""What shall I do? you are cruel to me, Rose.""Mamma," cried the enthusiastic girl, "we need depend on no one.
　　Josephine and I have youth and spirit.""But no money.""We have plenty of jewels, and pictures, and movables. We can takea farm.""A farm!" shrieked the baroness.
　　"Why, his uncle has a farm, and we have had recourse to him forhelp: better a farmhouse than an almshouse, though that almshousewere a palace instead of a chateau."Josephine winced and held up her hand deprecatingly. The baronesspaled: it was a terrible stroke of language to come from herdaughter. She said sternly, "There is no answer to that. We wereborn nobles, let us die farmers: only permit me to die first.""Forgive me, mother," said Rose, kneeling. "I was wrong; it is forme to obey you, not to dictate. I speak no more." And, afterkissing her mother and Josephine, she crept away, but she left herwords sticking in both their consciences.
　　"HIS uncle," said the shrewd old lady. "She is no longer a child;and she says his uncle. This makes me half suspect it is her thatdear boy--Josephine, tell me the truth, which of you is it?""Dear mother, who should it be? they are nearly of an age: and whatman would not love our sweet Rose, that had eyes or a heart?"The baroness sighed deeply; and was silent. After awhile she said,"The moment they have a lover, he detaches their hearts from theirpoor old mother. She is no longer what my Josephine is to me.""Mamma, she is my superior. I see it more and more every day. Sheis proud: she is just; she looks at both sides. As for me, I am tooapt to see only what will please those I love.""And that is the daughter for me," cried the poor baroness, openingher arms wide to her.
　　The next morning when they were at breakfast, in came Jacintha tosay the officer was in the dining-room and wanted to speak with theyoung lady he talked to yesterday. Josephine rose and went to him.
　　"Well, mademoiselle," said he gayly, "the old woman was right. HereI have just got my orders to march: to leave France in a month. Apretty business it would have been if I had turned your mother out.
　　So you see there is nothing to hinder you from living here.""In your house, sir?""Why not, pray?""Forgive us. But we feel that would be unjust to you, humiliatingto us: the poor are sometimes proud.""Of course they are," said Raynal: "and I don't want to offend yourpride. Confound the house: why did I go and buy it? It is no useto me except to give pain to worthy people." He then, after amoment's reflection, asked her if the matter could not be arrangedby some third party, a mutual friend. "Then again," said he, "Idon't know any friend of yours.""Yes, sir," said Josephine; "we have one friend, who knows you, andesteems you highly."She wanted to name Edouard; but she hesitated, and asked herconscience if it was fair to name him: and while she blushed andhesitated, lo and behold a rival referee hove in sight. Raynal sawhim, suddenly opened a window, and shouted, "Hallo come in here: youare wanted."Perrin had ridden up to complete the exodus of the De Beaurepaires,and was strolling about inspecting the premises he had expelled themfrom.
　　Here was a pretty referee!
　　Josephine almost screamed--"What are you doing? that is our enemy,our bitterest enemy. He has only sold you the estate to spite us,not for the love of you. I had--we had--we mortified his vanity.
　　It was not our fault: he is a viper. Sir, pray, pray, pray be onyour guard against his counsels."These words spoken with rare fire and earnestness carriedconviction: but it was too late to recall the invitation. Thenotary entered the room, and was going to bow obsequiously toRaynal, when he caught sight of Josephine, and almost started.
　　Raynal, after Josephine's warning, was a little at a loss how tomake him available; and even that short delay gave the notary's onefoible time to lead him into temptation. "Our foibles are ourmanias.""So," said he, "you have taken possession, commandant. Thesemilitary men are prompt, are they not, mademoiselle?""Do not address yourself to me, sir, I beg," said Josephine quietly.
　　Perrin kept his self-command. "It is only as Commandant Raynal'sagent I presume to address so distinguished a lady: in thatcharacter I must inform you that whatever movables you have removedare yours: those we find in the house on entering we keep.""Come, come, not so fast," cried Raynal; "bother the chairs andtables! that is not the point.""Commandant," said the notary with dignity, "have I done anything tomerit this? have I served your interests so ill that you withdrawyour confidence from me?""No, no, my good fellow; but you exceed your powers. Just now Iwant you to take orders, not give them.""That is only just," said Perrin, "and I recall my hasty remark:
　　excuse the susceptibility of a professional man, who is honored withthe esteem of his clients; and favor me with your wishes.""All right," said Raynal heartily. "Well, then--I want mademoiselleand her family to stay here while I go to Egypt with the FirstConsul. Mademoiselle makes difficulties; it offends her delicacy.""Comedy!" said the notary contemptuously.
　　"Though her mother's life depends on her staying here.""Comedy!" said Perrin. Raynal frowned.
　　"Her pride (begging her pardon) is greater than her affection.""Farce!""I have pitched upon you to reconcile the two.""Then you have pitched upon the wrong man," said Perrin bluntly. Headded obsequiously, "I am too much your friend. She has beentalking you over, no doubt; but you have a friend, an Ulysses, whois deaf to the siren's voice. I will be no party to such atransaction. I will not co-operate to humbug my friend and rob himof his rights."If Josephine was inferior to the notary in petty sharpness, she washis superior in the higher kinds of sagacity; and particularly ininstinctive perception of character. Her eye flashed with delightat the line Perrin was now taking with Raynal. The latter speedilyjustified her expectations: he just told Perrin to be off, and sendhim a more accommodating notary.
　　"A more accommodating notary!" screamed Perrin, stung to madness bythis reproach. "There is not a more accommodating notary in Europe.
　　Ungrateful man! is this the return for all my zeal, my integrity, myunselfishness? Is there another agent in the world who would havelet such a bargain as Beaurepaire fall into your hands? It servesme right for deviating from the rules of business. Send me anotheragent--oh!"The honest soldier was confused. The lawyer's eloquence overpoweredhim. He felt guilty. Josephine saw his simplicity, and made a cutwith a woman's two-edged sword. "Sir," said she coolly, "do you notsee it is an affair of money? This is his way of saying, Pay mehandsomely for so unusual a commission.""And I'll pay him double," cried Raynal, catching the idea; "don'tbe alarmed, I'll pay you for it.""And my zeal, my devotion?""Put 'em in figures.""And my prob--?""Add it up.""And my integ--?""Add them together: and don't bother me.""I see! I see! my poor soldier. You are no match for a woman'stongue.""Nor, for a notary's. Go to h---, and send in your bill!" roaredthe soldier in a fury. "Well, will you go?" and he marched at him.
　　The notary scuttled out, with something between a snarl and a squeak.
　　Josephine hid her face in her hands.
　　"What is the matter with you?" inquired Raynal. "Not crying again,surely!""Me! I never cry--hardly. I hid my face because I could not helplaughing. You frightened me, sir," said she: then very demurely, "Iwas afraid you were going to beat him.""No, no; a good soldier never leathers a civilian if he can possiblyhelp it; it looks so bad; and before a lady!""Oh, I would have forgiven you, monsieur," said Josephine benignly,and something like a little sun danced in her eye.
　　"Now, mademoiselle, since my referee has proved a pig, it is yourturn. Choose you a mutual friend."Josephine hesitated. "Ours is so young. You know him very well.
　　You are doubtless the commandant of whom I once heard him speak withsuch admiration: his name is Riviere, Edouard Riviere.""Know him? he is my best officer, out and out." And without amoment's hesitation he took Edouard's present address, and acceptedthat youthful Daniel as their referee; then looked at his watch andmarched off to his public duties with sabre clanking at his heels.
　　The notary went home gnashing his teeth. His sweet revenge wasturned to wormwood this day. Raynal's parting commissions rang inhis ear; in his bitter mood the want of logical sequence in the twoorders disgusted him.
　　So he inverted them.
　　He sent in a thundering bill the very next morning, but postponedthe other commission till his dying day.
　　As for Josephine, she came into the drawing-room beaming with loveand happiness, and after kissing both her mother and Rose withgentle violence, she let them know the strange turn things hadtaken.
　　And she whispered to Rose, "Only think, YOUR Edouard to be OURreferee!"Rose blushed and bent over her work; and wondered how Edouard woulddischarge so grave an office.
　　The matter approached a climax; for, as the reader is aware, Edouardwas hourly expected at Beaurepaire.
　　He did not come; but it was not his fault. On receiving Rose'sletter he declined to stay another hour at his uncle's.
　　He flung himself on his horse; and, before he was well settled onthe stirrups, the animal shied violently at a wheelbarrow some foolhad left there; and threw Edouard on the stones of the courtyard.
　　He jumped up in a moment and laughed at Marthe's terror; meantime afarm-servant caught the nag and brought him back to his work.
　　But when Edouard went to put his hand on the saddle, he found itwould not obey him. "Wait a minute," said he; "my arm is benumbed.""Let me see!" said the farmer, and examined the limb himself;"benumbed? yes; and no wonder. Jacques, get on the brute and ridefor the surgeon.""Are you mad, uncle?" cried Edouard. "I can't spare my horse, and Iwant no surgeon; it will be well directly.""It will be worse before it is better.""I don't know what you mean, uncle; it is only numbed, ah! it hurtswhen I rub it.""It is worse than numbed, boy; it is broken.""Broken? nonsense:" and he looked at it in piteous bewilderment:
　　"how can it be broken? it does not hurt except when I touch it.""It WILL hurt: I know all about it. I broke mine fifteen years ago:
　　fell off a haystack.""Oh, how unfortunate I am!" cried Edouard, piteously. "But I willgo to Beaurepaire all the same. I can have the thing mended there,as well as here.""You will go to bed," said the old man, quietly; "that is whereYOU'LL go.""I'll go to blazes sooner," yelled the young one.
　　The old man made a signal to his myrmidons, whom Marthe's cries hadbrought around, and four stout fellows took hold of Edouard by thelegs and the left shoulder and carried him up-stairs raging andkicking; and deposited him on a bed.
　　Presently he began to feel faint, and so more reasonable. They cuthis coat off, and put him in a loose wrapper, and after considerabledelay the surgeon came, and set his arm skilfully, and behold thisardent spirit caged. He chafed and fretted sadly. Fortitude wasnot his forte.
　　It was two days after his accident. He was lying on his back,environed by slops and cursing his evil fate, and fretting his soulout of its fleshly prison, when suddenly he heard a cheerfultrombone saying three words to Marthe, then came a clink-clank, andMarthe ushered into the sickroom the Commandant Raynal. The sickman raised himself in bed, with great surprise and joy.
　　"O commandant! this is kind to come and see your poor officer inpurgatory.""Ah," cried Raynal, "you see I know what it is. I have been chaineddown by the arm, and the leg, and all: it is deadly tiresome.""Tiresome! it is--it is--oh, dear commandant, Heaven bless you forcoming!""Ta! ta! ta! I am come on my own business.""All the better. I have nothing to do; that is what kills me. I'meating my own heart.""Cannibal! Well, my lad, since you are in that humor, cheer up, forI bring you a job, and a tough one; it has puzzled me.""What is it, commandant? What is it?""Well, do you know a house and a family called Beaurepaire?""Do I know Beaurepaire?"And the pale youth turned very red; and stared with awe at thiswizard of a commandant. He thought he was going to be called overthe coals for frequenting a disaffected family. "Well," saidRaynal, "I have been and bought this Beaurepaire."Edouard uttered a loud exclamation. "It was YOU bought it! shenever told me that.""Yes," said Raynal, "I am the culprit; and we have fixed on you toundo my work without hurting their pride too much, poor souls; butlet us begin with the facts."Then Raynal told him my story after his fashion. Of course I shallnot go and print his version; you might like his concise way betterthan my verbose; and I'm not here to hold up any man's coat-tails.
　　Short as he made it, Edouard's eyes were moist more than once; andat the end he caught Raynal's hand and kissed it. Then he askedtime to reflect; "for," said he, "I must try and be just.""I'll give you an hour," said Raynal, with an air of grandmunificence. The only treasure he valued was time.
　　In less than an hour Edouard had solved the knot, to his entiresatisfaction; he even gave the commandant particular instructionsfor carrying out his sovereign decree. Raynal received these ordersfrom his subordinate with that simplicity which formed part of hisamazing character, and rode home relieved of all responsibility inthe matter.
　　COMMANDANT RAYNAL TO MADEMOISELLE DE BEAUREPAIRE.
　　Mademoiselle,--Before I could find time to write to our referee,news came in that he had just broken his arm;--"Oh! oh, dear! our poor Edouard!"And if poor Edouard had seen the pale faces, and heard the falteringaccents, it would have reconciled him to his broken arm almost.
　　This hand-grenade the commandant had dropped so coolly among them,it was a long while ere they could recover from it enough to readthe rest of the letter,--so I rode over to him, and found him on his back, fretting for wantof something to do. I told him the whole story. He undertook thebusiness. I have received his instructions, and next week shall beat his quarters to clear off his arrears of business, and makeacquaintance with all your family, if they permit.
　　RAYNAL.
　　As the latter part of this letter seemed to require a reply, thebaroness wrote a polite note, and Jacintha sent Dard to leave it forthe commandant at Riviere's lodgings. But first they all sat downand wrote kind and pitying and soothing letters to Edouard. Need Isay these letters fell upon him like balm?
　　They all inquired carelessly in their postscripts what he haddecided as their referee. He replied mysteriously that they wouldknow that in a week or two. Meantime, all he thought it prudent totell them was that he had endeavored to be just to both parties.
　　"Little solemn puppy," said Rose, and was racked with curiosity.
　　Next week Raynal called on the baroness. She received him alone.
　　They talked about Madame Raynal. The next day he dined with thewhole party, and the commandant's manners were the opposite of whatthe baroness had inculcated. But she had a strong prejudice in hisfavor. Had her feelings been the other way his brusquerie wouldhave shocked her. It amused her. If people's hearts are with you,THAT for their heads!
　　He came every day for a week, chatted with the baroness, walked withthe young ladies; and when after work he came over in the evening,Rose used to cross-examine him, and out came such descriptions ofbattles and sieges, such heroism and such simplicity mixed, as madethe evening pass delightfully. On these occasions the young ladiesfixed their glowing eyes on him, and drank in his character as wellas his narrative, in which were fewer "I's" than in anything of thesort you ever read or heard.
　　At length Rose contrived to draw him aside, and, hiding hercuriosity under feigned nonchalance, asked him what the referee haddecided. He told her that was a secret for the present.
　　"Well, but," said Rose, "not from me. Edouard and I have nosecrets.""Come, that's good," said Raynal. "Why, you are the very one hewarned me against the most; said you were as curious as Mother Eve,and as sharp as her needle.""Then he is a little scurrilous traitor," cried Rose, turning veryred. "So that is how he talks of me behind my back, and calls me anangel to my face; I'll pay him for this. Do tell me, commandant;never mind what HE says.""What! disobey orders?""Orders? to you from that boy!""Oh!" said Raynal, "for that matter, we soldiers are used to commandone moment, and obey the next."In a word, this military pedant was impracticable, and Rose gave himup in disgust, and began to call up a sulky look when the other twosang his praises. For the old lady pronounced him charming, andJosephine said he was a man of crystal; never said a word he did notmean, and she wished she was like him. But the baroness thoughtthis was going a little too far.
　　"No, thank you," said she hastily; "he is a man, a thorough man. Hewould make an intolerable woman. A fine life if one had a parcel ofwomen about, all blurting out their real minds every moment, andnever smoothing matters.""Mamma, what a horrid picture!" chuckled Rose.
　　She then proposed that at his next visit they should all three makean earnest appeal to him to let them know what Edouard had decided.
　　But Josephine begged to be excused, feared it would be hardlydelicate; and said languidly that for her part she felt they were ingood hands, and prescribed patience. The baroness acquiesced, andpoor Rose and her curiosity were baffled on every side.
　　At last, one fine day, her torments were relieved without anyfurther exertion on her part. Jacintha bounced into the drawing-room with a notice that the commandant wanted to speak to Josephinea minute out in the Pleasaunce.
　　"How droll he is," said Rose; "fancy sending in for a young ladylike that. Don't go, Josephine; how, he would stare.""My dear, I no more dare disobey him than if I was one of hissoldiers." And she laid down her work, and rose quietly to do whatshe was bid.
　　"Well," said Rose, superciliously, "go to your commanding officer.
　　And, O Josephine, if you are worth anything at all, do get out ofhim what that Edouard has settled."Josephine kissed her, and promised to try. After the firstsalutation, there was a certain hesitation about Raynal whichJosephine had never seen a trace of in him before; so, to put him athis ease, and at the same time keep her promise to Rose, she askedtimidly if their mutual friend had been able to suggest anything.
　　"What! don't you know that I have been acting all along upon hisinstructions?" answered Raynal.
　　"No, indeed! and you have not told us what he advised.""Told you? why, of course not; they were secret instructions. Ihave obeyed one set, and now I come to the other; and there is thedifficulty, being a kind of warfare I know nothing about.""It must be savage warfare, then," suggested the lady politely.
　　"Not a bit of it. Now, who would have thought I was such a coward?"Josephine was mystified; however, she made a shrewd guess. "Do youfear a repulse from any one of us? Then, I suppose, you meditatesome extravagant act of generosity.""Not I.""Of delicacy, then.""Just the reverse. Confound the young dog! why is he not here tohelp me?""But, after all," suggested Josephine, "you have only to carry outhis instructions.""That is true! that is true! but when a fellow is a coward, apoltroon, and all that sort of thing."This repeated assertion of cowardice on the part of the livingDamascus blade that stood bolt-upright before her, struck Josephineas so funny that she laughed merrily, and bade him fancy it was onlya fort he was attacking instead of the terrible Josephine; whom nonebut heroes feared, she assured him.
　　This encouragement, uttered in jest, was taken in earnest. Thesoldier thanked her, and rallied visibly at the comparison. "Allright," said he, "as you say, it is only a fort--so--mademoiselle!""Monsieur!""Hum! will you lend me your hand for a moment?""My hand! what for? there," and she put it out an inch a minute. Hetook it, and inspected it closely.
　　"A charming hand; the hand of a virtuous woman?""Yes," said Josephine as cool as a cucumber, too sublimely andabsurdly innocent even to blush.
　　"Is it your own?""Sir!" She blushed at that, I can tell you.
　　"Because if it was, I would ask you to give it me. (I've fired thefirst shot anyway.)"Josephine whipped her hand off his palm, where it lay like creamspilt on a trencher.
　　"Ah! I see; you are not free: you have a lover.""No, no!" cried Josephine in distress; "I love nobody but my motherand sister: I never shall.""Your mother," cried Raynal; "that reminds me; he told me to askher; by Jove, I think he told me to ask her first;" and Raynal upwith his scabbard and was making off.
　　Josephine begged him to do nothing of the kind.
　　"I can save you the trouble," said she.
　　"Ah, but my instructions! my instructions!" cried the militarypedant, and ran off into the house, and left Josephine "plantedthere," as they say in France.
　　Raynal demanded a private interview of the baroness so significantlyand unceremoniously that Rose had no alternative but to retire, butnot without a glance of defiance at the bear. She ran straight,without her bonnet, into the Pleasaunce to slake her curiosity atJosephine. That young lady was walking pensively, but turned atsight of Rose, and the sisters came together with a clash of tongues.
　　"O Rose! he has"--"Oh!"So nimbly does the female mind run on its little beaten tracks, thatit took no more than those syllables for even these innocent youngwomen to communicate that Raynal had popped.
　　Josephine apologized for this weakness in a hero. "It wasn't hisfault," said she. "It is your Edouard who set him to do it.""My Edouard? Don't talk in that horrid way: I have no Edouard. Yousaid 'no' of course.""Something of the kind.""What, did you not say 'no' plump?""I did not say it brutally, dear.""Josephine, you frighten me. I know you can't say 'no' to any one;and if you don't say 'no' plump to such a man as this, you might aswell say 'yes.'""Well, love," said Josephine, "you know our mother will relieve meof this; what a comfort to have a mother!"They waited for Raynal's departure, to go to the baroness. They hadto wait a long time. Moreover, when he did leave the chateau hecame straight into the Pleasaunce. At sight of him Rose seizedJosephine tight and bade her hold her tongue, as she could not say"no" plump to any one. Josephine was far from raising any objectionto the arrangement.
　　"Monsieur," said Rose, before he could get a word out, "even if shehad not declined, I could not consent."Raynal tapped his forehead reflectively, and drew forth from memorythat he had no instructions whatever to ask HER consent.
　　She colored high, but returned to the charge.
　　"Is her own consent to be dispensed with too? She declined thehonor, did she not?""Of course she did; but this was anticipated in my instructions. Iam to be sure and not take the first two or three refusals.""O Josephine, look at that insolent boy: he has found you out.""Insolent boy!" cried Raynal; "why, it is the referee of your ownchoosing, and as well behaved a lad as ever I saw, and a zealousofficer.""My kind friends," put in Josephine with a sweet languor, "I cannotlet you quarrel about a straw.""It is not about a straw," said Raynal, "it is about you.""The distinction involves a compliment, sir," said Josephine; thenshe turned to Rose, "Is it possible you do not see Monsieur Raynal'sstrange proposal in its true light? and you so shrewd in general.
　　He has no personal feeling whatever in this eccentric proceeding: hewants to make us all happy, especially my mother, without seeming tolay us under too great an obligation. Surely good-nature was nevercarried so far before; ha, ha! Monsieur, I will encumber you with myfriendship forever, if you permit me, but farther than that I willnot abuse your generosity.""Now look here, mademoiselle," began Raynal bluntly, "I did startwith a good motive at first, that there's no denying. But, since Ihave been every day in your company, and seen how good and kind youare to all about you, I have turned selfish; and I say to myself,what a comfort such a wife as you would be to a soldier! Why, onlyto have you to write letters home to, would be worth half a fellow'spay. Do you know sometimes when I see the fellows writing theirletters it gives me a knock here to think I have no one at all towrite to."Josephine sighed.
　　"So you see I am not so mighty disinterested. Now, mademoiselle,you speak so charmingly, I can't tell what you mean: can't tellwhether you say 'no' because you could never like me, or whether itis out of delicacy, and you only want pressing. So I say no more atpresent: it is a standing offer. Take a day to consider. Take twoif you like. I must go to the barracks; good-day.""Oh! this must be put an end to at once," said Rose.
　　"With all my heart," replied Josephine; "but how?""Come to our mother, and settle that," said the impetuous sister,and nearly dragged the languid one into the drawing-room.
　　To their surprise they found the baroness walking up and down theroom with unusual alacrity for a person of her years. She no soonercaught sight of Josephine than she threw her arms open to her withjoyful vivacity, and kissed her warmly. "My love, you have savedus. I am a happy old woman. If I had all France to pick from Icould not have found a man so worthy of my Josephine. He is brave,he is handsome, he is young, he is a rising man, he is a good son,and good sons make good husbands--and--I shall die at Beaurepaire,shall I not, Madame the Commandante?"Josephine held her mother round the neck, but never spoke. After asilence she held her tighter, and cried a little.
　　"What is it?" asked the baroness confidentially of Rose, but withoutshowing any very profound concern.
　　"Mamma! mamma! she does not love him.""Love him? She would be no daughter of mine if she loved a man atsight. A modest woman loves her husband only.""But she scarcely knows Monsieur Raynal.""She knows more of him than I knew of your father when I marriedhim. She knows his virtues and appreciates them. I have heard her,have I not, love? Esteem soon ripens into love when they are oncefairly married.""Mother, does her silence then tell you nothing? Her tears--arethey nothing to you?""Silly child! These are tears that do not scald. The sweet soulweeps because she now for the first time sees she will have to leaveher mother. Alas! my eldest, it is inevitable. Mothers are notimmortal. While they are here it is their duty to choose goodhusbands for their daughters. My youngest, I believe, has chosenfor herself--like the nation. But for my eldest I choose. We shallsee which chooses the best. Meantime we stay at Beaurepaire, thanksto my treasure here.""Josephine! Josephine! you don't say one word," cried Rose indismay.
　　"What CAN I say? I love my mother and I love you. You draw medifferent ways. I want you to be both happy.""Then if you will not speak out I must. Mother, do not deceiveyourself: it is duty alone that keeps her silent: this match isodious to her.""Then we are ruined. Josephine, is this match odious to you?""Not exactly odious: but I am very, very indifferent.""There!" cried Rose triumphantly.
　　"There!" cried the baroness in the same breath, triumphantly. "Sheesteems his character; but his person is indifferent to her: inother words, she is a modest girl, and my daughter; and let me tellyou, Rose, that but for the misfortunes of our house, both mydaughters would be married as I was, without knowing half as much oftheir husbands as Josephine knows of this brave, honest, generous,filial gentleman.""Well, then, since she will not speak out, I will. Pity me: I loveher so. If this stranger, whom she does not love, takes her awayfrom us, he will kill me. I shall die; oh!"Josephine left her mother and went to console Rose.
　　The baroness lost her temper at this last stroke of opposition.
　　"Now the truth comes out, Rose; this is selfishness. Do not deceiveYOURself--selfishness!""Mamma!""You are only waiting to leave me yourself. Yet your eldest sister,forsooth, must be kept here for you,--till then." She added moregently, "Let me advise you to retire to your own room, and examineyour heart fairly. You will find there is a strong dash of egoismin all this.""If I do"--"You will retract your opposition.""My heart won't let me; but I will despise myself, and be silent."And the young lady, who had dried her eyes the moment she wasaccused of selfishness, walked, head erect, from the room.
　　Josephine cast a deprecating glance at her mother. "Yes, my angel!"said the latter, "I was harsh. But we are no longer of one mind,and I suppose never shall be again.""Oh, yes, we shall. Be patient! Mother--you shall not leaveBeaurepaire."The baroness colored faintly at these four last words of herdaughter, and hung her head.
　　Josephine saw that, and darted to her and covered her with kisses.
　　That day the doctor scolded them both. "You have put your motherinto a high fever," said he; "here's a pulse; I do wish you would bemore considerate."The commandant did not come to dinner as usual. The evening passedheavily; their hearts were full of uncertainty.
　　"We miss our merry, spirited companion," said the baroness with agrim look at Rose. Both young ladies assented with ludicrouseagerness.
　　That night Rose came and slept with Josephine, and more than onceshe awoke with a start and seized Josephine convulsively and heldher tight.
　　Accused of egoism! at first her whole nature rose in arms againstthe charge: but, after a while, coming as it did from so revered aperson, it forced her to serious self-examination. The poor girlsaid to herself, "Mamma is a shrewd woman. Am I after all deceivingmyself? Would she be happy, and am I standing in the way?" In themorning she begged her sister to walk with her in the park, so thatthey might be safe from interruption.
　　There, she said sadly, she could not understand her own sister.
　　"Why are you so calm and cold, while am I in tortures of anxiety?
　　Have you made some resolve and not confided it to your Rose?""No, love," was the reply; "I am scarce capable of a resolution; Iam a mere thing that drifts.""Let me put it in other words, then. How will this end?""I hardly know.""Do you mean to marry Monsieur Raynal, then? answer me that.""No; but I should not wonder if he were to marry ME.""But you said 'no.'""Yes, I said 'no' once.""And don't you mean to say it again, and again, and again, tillkingdom come?""What is the use? you heard him say he would not desist any themore, and I care too little about the matter to go on persisting,and persisting, and persisting.""Why not, if he goes on pestering, and pestering, and pestering?""Ah, he is like you, all energy, at all hours; but I have so littlewhere my heart is unconcerned: he seems, too, to have a wish! Ihave none either way, and my conscience says 'marry him!'""Your conscience say marry one man when you love another?""Heaven forbid! Rose, I love no one: I HAVE loved; but now my heartis dead and silent; only my conscience says, 'You are the cause ofall your mother's trouble; you are the cause that Beaurepaire wassold. Now you can repair that mischief, and at the same time make abrave man happy, our benefactor happy.' It is a great temptation: Ihardly know why I said 'no' at all; surprise, perhaps--or to pleaseyou, pretty one."Rose groaned: "Are you then worth so little that you would throwyourself away on a man who does not love you, nor want you, and isquite as happy single?""No; not happy; he is only stout-hearted and good, and thereforecontent; and he is a character that it would be easy--in short, Ifeel my power here: I could make that man happy; he has nobody towrite to even, when he is away--poor fellow!""I shall lose all patience," cried Rose; "you are at your old trick,thinking of everybody but yourself: I let you do it in trifles, butI love you too well to permit it when the happiness of your wholelife is at stake. I must be satisfied on one point, or else thismarriage shall never take place: just answer me this; if CamilleDujardin stood on one side, and Monsieur Raynal on the other, andboth asked your hand, which would you take?""That will never be. Whose? Not his whom I despise. Esteem mightripen into love, but what must contempt end in?"This reply gave Rose great satisfaction. To exhaust all awkwardcontingencies, she said, "One question more, and I have done.
　　Suppose Camille should turn out--be not quite--what shall I say--inexcusable?"At this unlucky gush, Josephine turned pale, then red, then paleagain, and cried eagerly, "Then all the world should not part us.
　　Why torture me with such a question? Ah! you have heard something."And in a moment the lava of passion burst wildly through its thinsheet of ice. "I was blind. This is why you would save me fromthis unnatural marriage. You are breaking the good news to me bydegrees. There is no need. Quick--quick--let me have it. I havewaited three years; I am sick of waiting. Why don't you speak? Whydon't you tell me? Then I will tell YOU. He is alive--he is well--he is coming. It was not he those soldiers saw; they were so faroff. How could they tell? They saw a uniform but not a face.
　　Perhaps he has been a prisoner, and so could not write; could notcome: but he is coming now. Why do you groan? why do you turn pale?
　　ah! I see; I have once more deceived myself. I was mad. He I loveis still a traitor to France and me, and I am wretched forever. Oh!
　　that I were dead! oh! that I were dead! No; don't speak to me:
　　never mind me; this madness will pass as it has before, and leave mea dead thing among the living. Ah! sister, why did you wake me frommy dream? I was drifting so calmly, so peacefully, so dead, andpainless, drifting over the dead sea of the heart towards the livingwaters of gratitude and duty. I was going to make more than oneworthy soul happy; and seeing them happy, I should have been contentand useful--what am I now?--and comforted other hearts, and diedjoyful--and young. For God is good; he releases the meek andpatient from their burdens."With this came a flood of tears; and she leaned against a bough withher forehead on her arm, bowed like a wounded lily.
　　"Accursed be that man's name, and MY tongue if ever I utter it againin your hearing!" cried Rose, weeping bitterly. "You are wiser thanI, and every way better. O my darling, dry your tears! Here hecomes: look! riding across the park.""Rose," cried Josephine, hastily, "I leave all to you. ReceiveMonsieur Raynal, and decline his offer if you think proper. It isyou who love me best. My mother would give me up for a house; foran estate, poor dear.""I would not give you for all the world.""I know it. I trust all to you.""Well, but don't go; stay and hear what I shall say.""Oh, no; that poor man is intolerable to me NOW. Let me avoid hissight, and think of his virtues."Rose was left alone, mistress of her sister's fate. She put herhead into her hands and filled with anxiety and sudden doubt.
　　Like a good many more of us, she had been positive so long as thedecision did not rest with her. But with power comes responsibility,with responsibility comes doubt. Easy to be an advocate inre incerta; hard to be the judge. And she had but a few secondsto think in; for Raynal was at hand. The last thing in hermind before he joined her was the terrible power of that baseCamille over her sister. She despaired of curing Josephine, but ahusband might. There's such divinity doth hedge a husband ininnocent girls' minds.
　　"Well, little lady," began Raynal, "and how are you, and how is mymother-in-law that is to be--or is not to be, as your sisterpleases; and how is SHE? have I frightened her away? There were twopetticoats, and now there is but one.""She left me to answer you.""All the worse for me: I am not to your taste.""Do not say that," said Rose, almost hysterically.
　　"Oh! it is no sacrilege. Not one in fifty likes me.""But I
Chapter 6
　　At Bayonne, a garrison town on the south frontier of France, twosentinels walked lethargically, crossing and recrossing before thegovernor's house. Suddenly their official drowsiness burst intoenergy; for a pale, grisly man, in rusty, defaced, dirty, and tornregimentals, was walking into the courtyard as if it belonged tohim. The sentinels lowered their muskets, and crossed them with aclash before the gateway.
　　The scarecrow did not start back. He stopped and looked down with asmile at the steel barrier the soldiers had improvised for him, thendrew himself a little up, carried his hand carelessly to his cap,which was nearly in two, and gave the name of an officer in theFrench army.
　　If you or I, dressed like a beggar who years ago had stolenregimentals and worn them down to civil garments, had addressedthese soldiers with these very same words, the bayonets would havekissed closer, or perhaps the points been turned against our sacredand rusty person: but there is a freemasonry of the sword. Thelight, imperious hand that touched that battered cap, and the quietclear tone of command told. The sentinels slowly recovered theirpieces, but still looked uneasy and doubtful in their minds. Thebattered one saw this, and gave a sort of lofty smile; he turned uphis cuffs and showed his wrists, and drew himself still higher.
　　The sentinels shouldered their pieces sharp, then dropped themsimultaneously with a clatter and ring upon the pavement.
　　"Pass, captain."The rusty figure rang the governor's bell. A servant came and eyedhim with horror and contempt. He gave his name, and begged to seethe governor. The servant left him in the hall, and went up-stairsto tell his master. At the name the governor reflected, thenfrowned, then bade his servant reach him down a certain book. Heinspected it. "I thought so: any one with him?""No, your excellency.""Load my pistols, put them on the table, show him in, and then ordera guard to the door."The governor was a stern veteran with a powerful brow, a shaggyeyebrow, and a piercing eye. He never rose, but leaned his chin onhis hand, and his elbow on a table that stood between them, and eyedhis visitor very fixedly and strangely. "We did not expect to seeyou on this side the Pyrenees," said he gravely.
　　"Nor I myself, governor.""What do you come for?""A suit of regimentals, and money to take me to Paris.""And suppose, instead of that, I turn out a corporal's guard, andbid them shoot you in the courtyard?""It would be the drollest thing you ever did, all things considered,"said the other coolly, but bitterly.
　　The governor looked for the book he had lately consulted, found thepage, handed it to the rusty officer, and watched him keenly: theblood rushed all over his face, and his lip trembled; but his eyedwelt stern yet sorrowful on the governor.
　　"I have read your book, now read mine." He drew off his coat andshowed his wrists and arms, blue and waled. "Can you read that,sir?""No.""All the better for you: Spanish fetters, general." He showed awhite scar on his shoulder. "Can you read that? This is what I cutout of it," and he handed the governor a little round stone as bigand almost as regular as a musket-ball.
　　"Humph! that could hardly have been fired from a French musket.""Can you read this?" and he showed him a long cicatrix on his otherarm.
　　"Knife I think," said the governor.
　　"You are right, sir: Spanish knife. Can you read this?" and openinghis bosom he showed a raw wound on his breast.
　　"Oh, the devil!" cried the governor.
　　The wounded man put his rusty coat on again, and stood erect, andhaughty, and silent.
　　The general eyed him, and saw his great spirit shining through thisman. The more he looked the less could the scarecrow veil the herofrom his practised eye. He said there must be some mistake, or elsehe was in his dotage; after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Beseated, if you please, and tell me what you have been doing allthese years.""Suffering.""Not all the time, I suppose.""Without intermission.""But what? suffering what?""Cold, hunger, darkness, wounds, solitude, sickness, despair,prison, all that man can suffer.""Impossible! a man would be dead at that rate before this.""I should have died a dozen deaths but for one thing; I had promisedher to live."There was a pause. Then the old soldier said gravely, but morekindly, to the young one, "Tell me the facts, captain" (the firsttime he had acknowledged his visitor's military rank).
　　An hour had scarce elapsed since the rusty figure was stopped by thesentinels at the gate, when two glittering officers passed out underthe same archway, followed by a servant carrying a furred cloak.
　　The sentinels presented arms. The elder of these officers was thegovernor: the younger was the late scarecrow, in a brand-new uniformbelonging to the governor's son. He shone out now in his truelight; the beau ideal of a patrician soldier; one would have said hehad been born with a sword by his side and drilled by nature, sostraight and smart, yet easy he was in every movement. He was likea falcon, eye and all, only, as it were, down at the bottom of thehawk's eye lay a dove's eye. That compound and varying eye seemedto say, I can love, I can fight: I can fight, I can love, as few ofyou can do either.
　　The old man was trying to persuade him to stay at Bayonne, until hiswound should be cured.
　　"No, general, I have other wounds to cure of longer standing thanthis one.""Well, promise me to lay up at Paris.""General, I shall stay an hour at Paris.""An hour in Paris! Well, at least call at the War Office andpresent this letter."That same afternoon, wrapped in the governor's furred cloak, theyoung officer lay at his full length in the coupe of the diligence,the whole of which the governor had peremptorily demanded for him,and rolled day and night towards Paris.
　　He reached it worn with fatigue and fevered by his wound, but hisspirit as indomitable as ever. He went to the War Office with thegovernor's letter. It seemed to create some little sensation; onefunctionary came and said a polite word to him, then another. Atlast to his infinite surprise the minister himself sent down word hewished to see him; the minister put several questions to him, andseemed interested in him and touched by his relation.
　　"I think, captain, I shall have to send to you: where do you stay inParis?""Nowhere, monsieur; I leave Paris as soon as I can find an easy-going horse.""But General Bretaux tells me you are wounded.""Not dangerously.""Pardon me, captain, but is this prudent? is it just to yourself andyour friends?""Yes, I owe it to those who perhaps think me dead.""You can write to them.""I grudge so great, so sacred a joy to a letter. No! after all Ihave suffered I claim to be the one to tell her I have kept my word:
　　I promised to live, and I live.""HER? then I say no more, only tell me what road you take.""The road to Brittany."As the young officer was walking his horse by the roadside about aleague and a half from Paris, he heard a clatter behind him, and upgalloped an aide-de-camp and drew up alongside, bringing his horsenearly on his haunches.
　　He handed him a large packet sealed with the arms of France. Theother tore it open; and there was his brevet as colonel. His cheekflushed and his eye glittered with joy. The aide-de-camp next gavehim a parcel: "Your epaulets, colonel! We hear you are going intothe wilds where epaulets don't grow. You are to join the army ofthe Rhine as soon as your wound is well.""Wherever my country calls me.""Your address, then, colonel, that we may know where to put ourfinger on a tried soldier when we want one.""I am going to Beaurepaire.""Beaurepaire? I never heard of it.""You never heard of Beaurepaire? it is in Brittany, forty-fiveleagues from Paris, forty-three leagues and a half from here.""Good! Health and honor to you, colonel.""The same to you, lieutenant; or a soldier's death."The new colonel read the precious document across his horse's mane,and then he was going to put one of the epaulets on his rightshoulder, bare at present: but he reflected.
　　"No; she should make him a colonel with her own dear hand. He putthem in his pocket. He would not even look at them till she hadseen them. Oh, how happy he was not only to come back to her alive,but to come back to her honored."His wound smarted, his limbs ached, but no pain past or presentcould lay hold of his mind. In his great joy he remembered pastsuffering and felt present pain--yet smiled. Only every now andthen he pined for wings to shorten the weary road.
　　He was walking his horse quietly, drooping a little over his saddle,when another officer well mounted came after him and passed him at ahand gallop with one hasty glance at his uniform, and went tearingon like one riding for his life.
　　"Don't I know that face?" said Dujardin.
　　He cudgelled his memory, and at last he remembered it was the faceof an old comrade. At least it strongly reminded him of one JeanRaynal who had saved his life in the Arno, when they were lieutenantstogether.
　　Yes, it was certainly Raynal, only bronzed by service in some hotcountry.
　　"Ah!" thought Camille; "I suppose I am more changed than he is; forhe certainly did not recognize me at all. Now I wonder what thatfellow has been doing all this time. What a hurry he was in! amoment more and I should have hailed him. Perhaps I may fall inwith him at the next town."He touched his horse with the spur, and cantered gently on, fortrotting shook him more than he could bear. Even when he canteredhe had to press his hand against his bosom, and often with themotion a bitterer pang than usual came and forced the water from hiseyes; and then he smiled. His great love and his high courage madethis reply to the body's anguish. And still his eyes lookedstraight forward as at some object in the distant horizon, while hecame gently on, his hand pressed to his bosom, his head drooping nowand then, smiling patiently, upon the road to Beaurepaire.
　　Oh! if anybody had told him that in five days his Josephine was tobe married; and that the bronzed comrade, who had just galloped pasthim, was to marry her!
　　At Beaurepaire they were making and altering wedding-dresses. Rosewas excited, and even Josephine took a calm interest. Dress nevergoes for nothing with her sex. The chairs and tables were covered,and the floor was littered. The baroness was presiding over therites of vanity, and telling them what she wore at her wedding,under Louis XV., with strict accuracy, and what we men shouldconsider a wonderful effort of memory, when the Commandant Raynalcame in like a cannon-ball, without any warning, and stood amongthem in a stiff, military attitude. Exclamations from all theparty, and then a kind greeting, especially from the baroness.
　　"We have been so dull without you, Jean.""And I have missed you once or twice, mother-in-law, I can tell you.
　　Well, I have got bad news; but you must consider we live in a busytime. To-morrow I start for Egypt."Loud ejaculations from the baroness and Rose. Josephine put downher work quietly.
　　The baroness sighed deeply, and the tears came into her eyes. "Oh,you must not be down-hearted, old lady," shouted Raynal. "Why, I amas likely to come back from Egypt as not. It is an even chance, tosay the least."This piece of consolation completed the baroness's unhappiness. Shereally had conceived a great affection for Raynal, and her heart hadbeen set on the wedding.
　　"Take away all that finery, girls," said she bitterly; "we shall notwant it for years. I shall not be alive when he comes home fromEgypt. I never had a son--only daughters--the best any woman everhad; but a mother is not complete without a son, and I shall neverlive to have one now.""I hate General Bonaparte," said Rose viciously.
　　"Hate my general?" groaned Raynal, looking down with a sort ofsuperstitious awe and wonder at the lovely vixen. "Hate the bestsoldier the world ever saw?""What do I care for his soldiership? He has put off our wedding.
　　For how many years did you say?""No; he has put it on."In answer to the astonished looks this excited, he explained thatthe wedding was to have been in a week, but now it must be to-morrowat ten o'clock.
　　The three ladies set up their throats together. "Tomorrow?""To-morrow. Why, what do you suppose I left Paris for yesterday?
　　left my duties even.""What, monsieur?" asked Josephine, timidly, "did you ride all thatway, and leave your duties MERELY TO MARRY ME?" and she looked alittle pleased.
　　"You are worth a great deal more trouble than that," said Raynalsimply. "Besides, I had passed my word, and I always keep my word.""So do I," said Josephine, a little proudly. "I will not go from itnow, if you insist; but I confess to you, that such a proposalstaggers me; so sudden--no preliminaries--no time to reflect; inshort, there are so many difficulties that I must request you toreconsider the matter.""Difficulties," shouted Raynal with merry disdain; "there are none,unless you sit down and make them; we do more difficult things thanthis every day of our lives: we passed the bridge of Arcola inthirteen minutes; and we had not the consent of the enemy, as wehave yours--have we not?"Her only reply was a look at her mother, to which the baronessreplied by a nod; then turning to Raynal, "This empressement is veryflattering; but I see no possibility: there is an etiquette wecannot altogether defy: there are preliminaries before a daughter ofBeaurepaire can become a wife.""There used to be all that, madam," laughed Raynal, putting her downgood-humoredly; "but it was in the days when armies came out andtouched their caps to one another, and went back into winterquarters. Then the struggle was who could go slowest; now the fightis who can go fastest. Time and Bonaparte wait for nobody; andladies and other strong places are taken by storm, not undermined afoot a month as under Noah Quartorze: let me cut this short, as timeis short."He then drew a little plan of a wedding campaign. "The carriageswill be here at 9 A.M.," said he; "they will whisk us down to themayor's house by a quarter to ten: Picard, the notary, meets usthere with the marriage contract, to save time; the contract signed,the mayor will do the marriage at quick step out of respect for me--half an hour--quarter past ten; breakfast in the same house an hourand a quarter:--we mustn't hurry a wedding breakfast--then tenminutes or so for the old fogies to waste in making speeches aboutour virtues--my watch will come out--my charger will come round--Irise from the table--embrace my dear old mother--kiss my wife'shand--into the saddle--canter to Paris--roll to Toulon--sail toEgypt. But I shall leave a wife and a mother behind me: they willboth send me a kind word now and then; and I will write letters toyou all from Egypt, and when I come home, my wife and I will makeacquaintance, and we will all be happy together: and if I am killedout there, don't you go and fret your poor little hearts about it;it is a soldier's lot sooner or later. Besides, you will find Ihave taken care of you; nobody shall come and turn you out of yourquarters, even though Jean Raynal should be dead; I have got to meetPicard at Riviere's on that very business--I am off."He was gone as brusquely as he came.
　　"Mother! sister!" cried Josephine, "help me to love this man.""You need no help," cried the baroness, with enthusiasm, "not lovehim, we should all be monsters."Raynal came to supper looking bright and cheerful. "No more workto-day. I have nothing to do but talk; fancy that."This evening Josephine de Beaurepaire, who had been silent andthoughtful, took a quiet opportunity, and purred in his ear,"Monsieur!""Mademoiselle!" rang the trombone.
　　"Am I not to go to Egypt?""No."Josephine drew back at this brusque reply like a sensitive plant.
　　But she returned to the attack.
　　"But is it not a wife's duty to be by her husband's side to lookafter his comfort--to console him when others vex him--to soothe himwhen he is harassed?""Her first duty is to obey him.""Certainly.""Well, when I am your husband, I shall bid you stay with your motherand sister while I go to Egypt.""I shall obey you."He told her bluntly he thought none the worse of her for making theoffer; but should not accept it.
　　Camille Dujardin slept that night at a roadside inn about twelvemiles from Beaurepaire, and not more than six from the town wherethe wedding was to take place next day.
　　It was a close race.
　　And the racers all unconscious of each other, yet spurred impartiallyby events that were now hurrying to a climax.
Chapter 7
　　The next day at sharp nine two carriages were at the door.
　　But the ladies were not ready. Thus early in the campaign did theythrow all into disorder. For so nicely had Raynal timed the severalevents that this threw him all into confusion. He stamped backwardsand forwards, and twisted his mustaches, and swore. This enforcedunpunctuality was a new torture to him. Jacintha told them he wasangry, and that made them nervous and flurried, and their fingersstrayed wildly among hooks and eyes, and all sorts of fastenings;they were not ready till half-past nine. Conscious they deserved ascolding, they sent Josephine down first to mollify. She dawnedupon the honest soldier so radiant, so dazzling in her snowy dress,with her coronet of pearls (an heirloom), and her bridal veilparted, and the flush of conscious beauty on her cheek, that insteadof scolding her, he actually blurted out, "Well! by St. Denis it wasworth waiting half an hour for."He recovered a quarter of an hour by making the driver gallop. Thenoccasional shrieks issued from the carriage that held the baroness.
　　That ancient lady feared annihilation: she had not come down from agalloping age.
　　They drove into the town, drew up at the mayor's house, werereceived with great ceremony by that functionary and Picard, andentered the house.
　　When their carriages rattled into the street from the north side,Colonel Dujardin had already entered it from the south, and wasriding at a foot's pace along the principal street. The motion ofhis horse now shook him past endurance. He dismounted at an inn afew doors from the mayor's house, and determined to do the rest ofthe short journey on foot. The landlord bustled about himobsequiously. "You are faint, colonel; you have travelled too far.
　　Let me order you an excellent breakfast.""No. I want a carriage; have you one?""I have two; but, unluckily, they are both engaged for the day, andby people of distinction. Commandant Raynal is married to-day.""Ah! I wish him joy," said Camille, heartily. He then asked thelandlord to open the window, as he felt rather faint. The landlordinsisted on breakfast, and Camille sat down to an omelet and abottle of red wine. Then he lay awhile near the window, revived bythe air, and watched the dear little street he had not seen foryears. He felt languid, but happy, celestially happy.
　　She was a few doors from him, and neither knew it.
　　A pen was put into her white hand, and in another moment she hadsigned a marriage contract.
　　"Now to the church," cried the baroness, gayly. To get to thechurch, they must pass by the window Camille reclined at.
Chapter 8
　　"Oh! there's no time for that," said Raynal. And as the baronesslooked horrified and amazed, Picard explained: "The state marriesits citizens now, with reason: since marriage is a civil contract.""Marriage a civil contract!" repeated the baroness. "What, is itthen no longer one of the holy sacraments? What horrible impietyshall we come to next? Unhappy France! Such a contract would neverbe a marriage in my eyes: and what would become of an union theChurch had not blessed?""Madame," said Picard, "the Church can bless it still; but it isonly the mayor here that can DO it."All this time Josephine was blushing scarlet, and looking this wayand that, with a sort of instinctive desire to fly and hide, nomatter where, for a week or so.
　　"Haw! haw! haw!" roared Raynal; "here is a pretty mother. Wants herdaughter to be unlawfully married in a church, instead of lawfullyin a house. Give me the will!""Look here, mother-in-law: I have left Beaurepaire to my lawfulwife.""Otherwise," put in Picard, "in case of death, it would pass to hisheir-at-law.""And HE would turn you all out, and that does not suit me. Nowthere stands the only man who can make mademoiselle my LAWFUL wife.
　　So quick march, monsieur the mayor, for time and Bonaparte wait forno man.""Stay a minute, young people," said the mayor. "We should sootherespectable prejudices, not crush them. Madam, I am at least as oldas you, and have seen many changes. I perfectly understand yourfeelings.""Ah, monsieur! oh!""Calm yourself, dear madam; the case is not so bad as you think. Itis perfectly true that in republican France the civil magistratealone can bind French citizens in lawful wedlock. But this does notannihilate the religious ceremony. You can ask the Church'sblessing on my work; and be assured you are not the only one whoretains that natural prejudice. Out of every ten couples that Imarry, four or five go to church afterwards and perform the ancientceremonies. And they do well. For there before the altar thepriest tells them what it is not my business to dilate upon--thegrave moral and religious duties they have undertaken along withthis civil contract. The state binds, but the Church still blesses,and piously assents to that"--"From which she has no power to dissent.""Monsieur Picard, do you consider it polite to interrupt the chiefmagistrate of the place while he is explaining the law to acitizen?"(This closed Picard.)"I married a daughter last year," continued the worthy mayor.
　　"What, after this fashion?""I married her myself, as I will marry yours, if you will trust mewith her. And after I have made them one, there is nothing toprevent them adjourning to the church.""I beg your pardon," cried Raynal, "there are two things to preventit: a couple that wait for no man: Time and Bonaparte. Come, sir;marry us, and have done with it."The mayor assented. He invited Josephine to stand before him. Shetrembled and wept a little: Rose clung to her and wept, and the goodmayor married the parties off hand.
　　"Is that all?" asked the baroness; "it is terribly soon done.""It is done effectively, madam," said the mayor, with a smile.
　　"Permit me to tell you that his Holiness the Pope cannot undo mywork."Picard grinned slyly, and whispered something into Raynal's ear.
　　"Oh! indeed," said Raynal aloud and carelessly. "Come, MadameRaynal, to breakfast: follow us, the rest of you."They paired, and followed the bride and bridegroom into thebreakfast-room.
　　The light words Picard whispered were five in number.
　　Now if the mayor had not snubbed Picard just before, he would haveuttered those jocose but true words aloud. There was no particularreason why he should not. And if he had,--The threads of the web oflife, how subtle they are! The finest cotton of Manchester, thefiner meshes of the spider, seem three-inch cables by comparisonwith those moral gossamers which vulgar eyes cannot see at all, the"somethings, nothings," on which great fates have hung.
　　It was a cheerful breakfast, thanks to Raynal, who would be in highspirits, and would not allow a word of regret from any one. MadameRaynal sat by his side, looking up at him every now and then withinnocent admiration. A merry wedding breakfast.
　　But if men and women could see through the walls of houses!
　　Two doors off sat the wounded colonel alone, recruiting the smallremnant of his sore tried strength, that he might struggle on toBeaurepaire, and lose in one moment years of separation, pain,prison, anguish, martyrdom, in one great gush of joy withoutcompare.
　　The wedding breakfast was ended. The time was drawing near to part.
　　There was a silence. It was broken by Madame Raynal. She askedRaynal very timidly if he had reflected. "On what?" said he.
　　"About taking me to Egypt.""No: I have not given it a thought since I said 'no.'""Yet permit me to say that it is my duty to be by your side, myhusband." And she colored at this word, being the first time shehad ever used it. Raynal was silent. She murmured on, "I would notbe an encumbrance to you, sir: I should not be useless. Gentlemen,I could add more to his comfort than he gives me credit for."Warm assent of the mayor and notary to this hint.
　　"I give you credit for being an angel," said Raynal warmly.
　　He hesitated. Rose was trembling, her fork shaking in her poorlittle hand.
　　She cast a piteous glance at him. He saw it.
　　"You shall go with me next time," said he. "Let us speak of it nomore."Josephine bowed her head. "At least give me something to do for youwhile you are away. Tell me what I can do for my absent friend toshow my gratitude, my regard, my esteem.""Well, let me think. I saw a plain gray dress at Beaurepaire.""Yes, monsieur. My gray silk, Rose.""I like that dress.""Do you? Then the moment I reach home after losing you I shall putit on, and it shall be my constant wear. I see; you are right; graybecomes a wife whose husband is not dead, but is absent, and alas!
　　in hourly danger.""Now look at that!" cried Raynal to the company. "That is her allover: she can see six meanings where another would see but one. Inever thought of that, I swear. I like modest colors, that is all.
　　My mother used to be all for modest wives wearing modest colors.""I am of her mind, sir. Is there nothing more difficult you will beso good as give me to do?""No; there is only one order more, and that will be easier still tosuch a woman as you. I commit to your care the name of Raynal. Itis not so high a name as yours, but it is as honest. I am proud ofit: I am jealous of it. I shall guard it for you in Egypt: youguard it in France for me.""With my life," cried Josephine, lifting her eyes and her hand toheaven.
　　Soon after this Raynal ordered his charger.
　　The baroness began to cry. "The young people may hope to see youagain," said she; "but there are two chances against your poor oldmother.""Courage, mother!" cried the stout soldier. "No, no; you won't playme such a trick: once is enough for that game.""Brother!" cried Rose, "do not go without kissing your littlesister, who loves you and thanks you." He kissed her. "Bravo,generous soul!" she cried, with her arms round his neck. "Godprotect you, and send you back safe to us!""Amen!" cried all present by one impulse, even the cold notary.
　　Raynal's mustache quivered. He kissed Josephine hastily on thebrow, the baroness on both cheeks; shook the men's hands warmly buthastily, and strode out without looking behind him. He was movedfor once.
　　They all followed him to the door of the house. He was tighteninghis horse's girths. He flung himself with all the resolution of hissteel nature into the saddle, and, with one grand wave of his cockedhat to the tearful group, he spurred away for Egypt.
Chapter 9
　　The baroness took the doctor a-shopping; she must buy Rose a graysilk. In doing this she saw many other tempting things. I say nomore.
　　But the young ladies went up to Beaurepaire in the other carriage,for Josephine wished to avoid the gaze of the town, and get home andbe quiet. The driver went very fast. He had drunk the bride'shealth at the mayor's, item the bridegroom's, the bridesmaid's, themayor's, etc., and "a spur in the head is worth two in the heel,"says the proverb. The sisters leaned back on the soft cushions, andenjoyed the smooth and rapid motion once so familiar to them, sorare of late.
　　Then Rose took her sister gently to task for having offered to go toEgypt. She had forgotten her poor sister.
　　"No, love," replied Josephine, "did you not see I dared not looktowards you? I love you better than all the world; but this was myduty. I was his wife: I had no longer a feeble inclination and afeeble disinclination to decide between, but right on one side,wrong on the other.""Oh! I know where your ladyship's strength lies: my force is--in--myinclinations.""Yes, Rose," continued Josephine thoughtfully, "duty is a greatcomfort: it is so tangible; it is something to lay hold of for lifeor death; a strong tower for the weak but well disposed."Rose assented, and they were silent a minute; and when she spokeagain it was to own she loved a carriage. "How fast we glide! Nowlean back with me, and take my hand, and as we glide shut your eyesand think: whisper me all your feelings, every one of them.""Well, then," said Josephine, half closing her eyes, "in the firstplace I feel a great calm, a heavenly calm. My fate is decided. Nomore suspense. My duties are clear. I have a husband I am proudof. There is no perfidy with him, no deceit, no disingenuousness,no shade. He is a human sun. He will make me a better, truerwoman, and I him a happier man. Yes, is it not nice to think thatgreat and strong as he is I can teach him a happiness he knows notas yet?" And she smiled with the sense of her delicate power, butsaid no more; for she was not the one to talk much about herself.
　　But Rose pressed her. "Yes, go on, dear," she said, "I seem to seeyour pretty little thoughts rising out of your heart like a bubblingfountain: go on."Thus encouraged, Josephine thought on aloud, "And then, gratitude!"said she. "I have heard it said, or read it somewhere, thatgratitude is a burden: I cannot understand that sentiment; why, tome gratitude is a delight, gratitude is a passion. It is thewarmest of all the tender feelings I have for dear Monsieur Raynal.
　　I feel it glow here, in my bosom. I think I shall love him as Iought long before he comes back.""BEFORE?""Yes," murmured Josephine, her eyes still half closed. "His virtueswill always be present to me. His little faults of manner will notbe in sight. Good Raynal! The image of those great qualities Irevere so, perhaps because I fail in them myself, will be before mymind; and ere he comes home I shall love him dearly. I'll tell youone reason why I wished to go home at once was--no--you must guess.""Guess?" said Rose, contemptuously. "As if I did not see it was toput on your gray silk."Josephine smiled assent, and said almost with fervor, "Good Raynal!
　　I feel prouder of his honest name than of our noble one. And I amso calm, dear, thanks to you, so tranquil; so pleased that mymother's mind is at rest, so convinced all is for the best, socontented with my own lot; so hap--py."A gentle tear stole from beneath her long lashes. Rose looked ather wistfully: then laid her cheek to hers. They leaned back handin hand, placid and silent.
　　The carriage glided fast. Beaurepaire was almost in sight.
　　Suddenly Josephine's hand tightened on Rose's, and she sat up in thecarriage like a person awakened from a strange dream.
　　"What is it?" asked Rose.
　　"Some one in uniform.""Oh, is that all? Ah! you thought it was a message from Raynal.""Oh! no! on foot--walking very slowly. Coming this way, too.
　　Coming this way!" and she became singularly restless, and lookedround in the carriage. It was one of those old chariots with noside windows, but a peep hole at the back. This aperture, however,had a flap over it. Josephine undid the flap with nimble thoughagitated fingers; and saw--nothing. The road had taken a turn.
　　"Oh," said Rose, carelessly, "for that matter the roads are full ofsoldiers just now.""Ay, but not of officers on foot."Rose gave her such a look, and for the first time this many a dayspoke sternly to her, and asked her what on earth she had to do withuniforms or officers except one, the noblest in the world, herhusband.
　　A month ago that word was almost indifferent to Josephine, or rathershe uttered it with a sort of mild complacency. Now she started atit, and it struck chill upon her. She did not reply, however, andthe carriage rolled on.
　　"He seemed to be dragging himself along." This was the first wordJosephine had spoken for some time. "Oh, did he?" replied Rosecarelessly; "well, let him. Here we are, at home.""I am glad of it," said Josephine, "very glad."On reaching Beaurepaire she wanted to go up-stairs at once and puton her gray gown. But the day was so delightful that Rose beggedher to stroll in the Pleasaunce for half an hour and watch for theirmother's return. She consented in an absent way, and presentlybegan to walk very fast, unconscious of her companion. Rose laid ahand upon her playfully to moderate her, and found her skin burning.
　　"Why, what is the matter?" said she, anxiously.
　　"Nothing, nothing," was the sharp reply.
　　"There's a fretful tone; and how excited you look, and feel too.
　　Well, I thought you were unnaturally calm after such an event.""I only saw his back," said Josephine. "Did not you see him?""See who? Oh, that tiresome officer. Why, how much more are we tohear about him? I don't believe there WAS one."At this moment a cocked hat came in sight, bobbing up and down abovethe palings that divided the park from the road. Josephine pointedto it without a word.
　　Rose got a little cross at being practically confuted, and saidcoldly, "Come, let us go in; the only cocked hat we can see is onthe way to Paris."Josephine assented eagerly. But she had not taken two steps towardsthe house ere she altered her mind, and said she felt faint, shewanted air; no, she should stay out a little longer. "Look, Rose,"said she, in a strangely excited way, "what a shame! They put allmanner of rubbish into this dear old tree: I will have it all turnedout." And she looked with feigned interest into the tree: but hereyes seemed turned inward.
　　Rose gave a cry of surprise. "He is waving his hat to me! What onearth does that mean?""Perhaps he takes you for me," said Josephine.
　　"Who is it? What do you mean?""IT IS HE! I knew his figure at a glance." And she blushed andtrembled with joy; she darted behind the tree and peered round athim unseen: turning round a moment she found Rose at her back paleand stern. She looked at her, and said with terrible simplicity,"Ah, Rose, I forgot.""Are you mad, Josephine? Into the house this moment; if it IS he, Iwill receive him and send him about his business."But Josephine stood fascinated, and pale as ashes; for now thecocked hat stopped, and a pale face with eyes whose eager fire shoneeven at that distance, rose above the palings. Josephine crouchedbehind Rose, and gasped out, "Something terrible is coming,terrible! terrible!""Say something hateful," said Rose, trembling in her turn, but onlywith anger. "The heartless selfish traitor! He never notices youtill you are married to the noblest of mankind; and then he comeshere directly to ruin your peace. No; I have altered my mind. Heshall not see you, of course; but YOU shall hear HIM. I'll soonmake you know the wretch and loathe him as I do. There, now he hasturned the corner; hide in the oak while he is out of sight. Hide,quick, quick." Josephine obeyed mechanically; and presently,through that very aperture whence her sister had smiled on her lovershe hissed out, in a tone of which one would not have thought hercapable, "Be wise, be shrewd; find out who is the woman that hasseduced him from me, and has brought two wretches to this. I tellyou it is some wicked woman's doing. He loved me once.""Not so loud!--one word: you are a wife. Swear to me you will notlet him see you, come what may.""Oh! never! never!" cried Josephine with terror. "I would ratherdie. When you have heard what he has to say, then tell him I amdead. No, tell him I adore my husband, and went to Egypt this daywith him. Ah! would to God I had!""Sh! sh!""Sh!"Camille was at the little gate.
　　Rose stood still, and nerved herself in silence. Josephine pantedin her hiding-place.
　　Rose's only thought now was to expose the traitor to her sister, andrestore her peace. She pretended not to see Camille till he wasnear her. He came eagerly towards her, his pale face flushing withgreat joy, and his eyes like diamonds.
　　"Josephine! It is not Josephine, after all," said he. "Why, thismust be Rose, little Rose, grown up to a fine lady, a beautifullady.""What do you come here for, sir?" asked Rose in a tone of icyindifference.
　　"What do I come here for? is that the way to speak to me? but I amtoo happy to mind. Dear Beaurepaire! do I see you once again!""And madame?""What madame?""Madame Dujardin that is or was to be.""This is the first I have ever heard of her," said Camille, gayly.
　　"This is odd, for we have heard all about it.""Are you jesting?""No.""If I understand you right, you imply that I have broken faith withJosephine?""Certainly.""Then you lie, Mademoiselle Rose de Beaurepaire.""Insolent!""No. It is you who have insulted your sister as well as me. Shewas not made to be deserted for meaner women. Come, mademoiselle,affront me, and me alone, and you shall find me more patient. Oh!
　　who would have thought Beaurepaire would receive me thus?""It is your own fault. You never sent her a line for all theseyears.""Why, how could I?""Well, sir, the information you did not supply others did. We knowthat you were seen in a Spanish village drinking between twoguerillas.""That is true," said Camille.
　　"An honest French soldier fired at you. Why, he told us so himself.""He told you true," said Camille, sullenly. "The bullet grazed myhand; see, here is the mark. Look!" She did look, and gave alittle scream; but recovering herself, said she wished it had gonethrough his heart. "Why prolong this painful interview?" said she;"the soldier told us all.""I doubt that," said Camille. "Did he tell you that under the tableI was chained tight down to the chair I sat in? Did he tell youthat my hand was fastened to a drinking-horn, and my elbow to thetable, and two fellows sitting opposite me with pistols quietlycovering me, ready to draw the trigger if I should utter a cry? Didhe tell you that I would have uttered that cry and died at thattable but for one thing, I had promised her to live?""Not he; he told me nothing so incredible. Besides, what became ofyou all these years? You are a double traitor, to your country andto her."Camille literally gasped for breath. "You are a most cruel younglady to insult me so," said he, and scalding tears forced themselvesfrom his eyes.
　　Rose eyed him with merciless scorn.
　　He fought manfully against this weakness, with which his wound andhis fatigue had something to do, as well as Rose's bitter words; andafter a gallant struggle he returned her her haughty stare, andaddressed her thus: "Mademoiselle, I feel myself blush, but it isfor you I blush, not for myself. This is what BECAME of me. I wentout alone to explore; I fell into an ambuscade; I shot one of theenemy, and pinked another, but my arm being broken by a bullet, andmy horse killed under me, the rascals got me. They took me about,tried to make a decoy of me as I have told you, and ended bythrowing me into a dungeon. They loaded me with chains, too, thoughthe walls were ten feet thick, and the door iron, and bolted anddouble-bolted outside. And there for months and years, in spite ofwounds, hunger, thirst, and all the tortures those cowards made mesuffer, I lived, because, Rose, I had promised some one at that gatethere (and he turned suddenly and pointed to it) that I would comeback alive. At last, one night, my jailer came to my cell drunk. Iseized him by the throat and throttled him till he was insensible;his keys unlocked my fetters, and locked him in the cell, and I gotsafely outside. But there a sentinel saw me, and fired at me. Hemissed me but ran after me, and caught me. You see I was stiff,confined so long. He gave me a thrust of his bayonet; I flung myheavy keys fiercely in his face; he staggered; I wrested his piecefrom him, and disabled him.""Ah!""I crossed the frontier in the night, and got to Bayonne; andthence, day and night, to Paris. There I met a reward for all myanguish. They gave me the epaulets of a colonel. See, here theyare. France does not give these to traitors, young lady." He heldthem out to her in both hands. She eyed them half stupidly; all herthoughts were on the oak-tree hard by. She began to shudder.
　　Camille was telling the truth. She felt that; she saw it; andJosephine was hearing it. "Ay! look at them, you naughty girl,"said Camille, trying to be jocose over it all with his poortrembling lip. He went on to say that from the moment he had leftdark Spain, and entered fair France everybody was so kind, sosympathizing. "They felt for the poor worn soldier coming back tohis love. All but you, Rose. You told me I was a traitor to herand to France.""I was told so," said Rose, faintly. She was almost at her wits'
　　end what to say or do.
　　"Well, are you sorry or not sorry for saying such a cruel thing to apoor fellow?""Sorry, very sorry," whispered Rose. She could not persist ininjustice, yet she did not want Josephine to hear.
　　"Then say no more about it; there's my hand. You are not a soldier,and did not know what you were talking about.""I am very sorry I spoke so harshly to you. But you understand.
　　How you look; how you pant.""There, I will show you I forgive you. These epaulets, dear, I havenever put them on. I said, no; Josephine shall put them on for me.
　　I will take honor as well as happiness from her dear hand. But youare her sister, and what are epaulets compared with what she willgive me? You shall put them on, dear. Come, then you will be sureI bear no malice."Rose, faint at heart, consented in silence, and fastened on theepaulets. "Yes, Camille!" she cried, with sudden terror, "think ofglory, now; nothing but glory.""No one thinks of it more. But to-day how can I think of it, howcan I give her a rival? To-day I am all love. Rose, no man everloved a human creature as I love Josephine. Your mother is well,dear? All are well at Beaurepaire? Oh, where is she all this time?
　　in the house?" He was moving quickly towards the house; but Roseinstinctively put out her hand to stop him. He recoiled a littleand winced.
　　"What is the matter?" cried she.
　　"Nothing, dear girl; you put your hand on my wound, that is all.
　　What is that noise in the tree? Anybody listening to us?""I'll see," said Rose, with all a woman's wit, and whipped hastilyround to hinder Camille from going. She found Josephine white asdeath, apparently fainting, and clutching at the tree convulsivelywith her nails. Such was the intensity of the situation that sheleft her beloved sister in that piteous state, and even hoped shewould faint dead away, and so hear no more. She came back white,and told Camille it was only a bird got into the tree. "And tothink you should be wounded," said she, to divert his attention fromthe tree.
　　"Yes," said he, "and it is rather inflamed, and has worried me allthe way. You need not go telling Josephine, though. They wanted meto stop and lay up at Bayonne. How could I? And again at Paris.
　　How could I? They said, 'You will die.'--'Not before I get toBeaurepaire,' said I. I could bear the motion of a horse no longer,so at the nearest town I asked for a carriage. Would you believeit? both his carriages were OUT AT A WEDDING. I could not wait tillthey came back. I had waited an eternity. I came on foot. Idragged my self along; the body was weak, but the heart was strong.
　　A little way from here my wound seemed inclined to open. I pressedit together tight with my hand; you see I could not afford to loseany more blood, and so struggled on. 'Die?' said I, 'not beforeBeaurepaire.' And, O Rose! now I could be content to die--at herfeet; for I am happy. Oh! I am happy beyond words to utter. What Ihave gone through! But I kept my word, and this is Beaurepaire.
　　Hurrah!" and his pale cheek flushed, and his eye gleamed, and hewaved his hat feebly over his head, "hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!""Oh, don't!--don't!--don't!" cried Rose wild with pity and dismay.
　　"How can I help?--I am mad with joy--hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!""No! no! no! no! no!""What is the matter?""And must I stab you worse than all your enemies have stabbed you?"sighed Rose, and tears of womanly pity now streamed down her cheeks.
　　Camille's mind began to misgive him. What was become of Josephine?
　　she did not appear. He faltered out, "Your mother is well; all arewell I hope. Oh, where is she?" and receiving no reply, began totremble visibly with the fear of some terrible calamity.
　　Rose, with a sister fainting close by, and this poor lover tremblingbefore her, lost all self-command, and began to wring her hands andcry wildly. "Camille," she almost screamed, "there is but one thingfor you to do; leave Beaurepaire on the instant: fly from it; it isno place for you.""She is dead," said Camille, very quietly.
　　When he said that, with an unnatural and monotonous calm such asprecedes deliberate suicide, it flashed in one moment across Rosethat it was much best he should think so.
　　She did not reply; but she drooped her head and let him think it.
　　"She would have come to me ere this if she was alive," said he.
　　"You are all in white: they mourn in white for angels like her, thatgo to heaven, virgins. Oh! I was blind. You might have told me atonce; you see I can bear it. What does it matter to one who lovesas I love? It is only to give her one more proof I lived only forher. I would have died a hundred times but for my promise to her.
　　Yes, I am coming, love; I am coming."He fell on his knees and smiled, and whispered, "I am coming,Josephine, I am coming."A sob and a moan as of a creature dying in anguish answered him.
　　Rose screamed with terror when she heard it.
　　Camille rose to his feet, awestruck. "That was her voice, behindthis tree," he whispered.
　　"No, no," cried Rose; "it was me."But at that moment a rustle and a rush was heard of some one dartingout of the tree.
　　Camille darted furiously round it in the same direction. Rose triedto stop him, but was too late. The next moment Raynal's wife was inhis arms.
Chapter 10
　　Josephine wrestled long and terribly with nature in that old oak-tree. But who can so struggle forever? Anguish, remorse, horror,despair, and love wrenched her to and fro; and O mysterious humanheart! gleams of a mad fitful joy shot through her, coming quick aslightning, going as quickly, and leaving the despair darker. Andthen the fierce struggle of the soul to make itself heard! Morethan once she had to close her mouth with her hand: more than onceshe seized her throat not to cry out. But as the struggle endured,she got weaker and weaker, and nature mightier and mightier. Andwhen the wounded hero fell on his knees so close to her; when he whohad resisted death so bravely for her, prepared to give up lifecalmly for her, her bosom rose beyond all control: it seemed to fillto choking, then to split wide open and give the struggling soulpassage in one gasping sob and heart-stricken cry. Could she havepent this in she must have died.
　　It betrayed her. She felt it had: so then came the woman'sinstinct--flight: the coward's impulse--flight: the chaste wife'sinspiration--flight. She rushed from her hiding-place and madewildly for the house.
　　But, unluckily, Camille was at that moment darting round the tree:
　　she ran right into the danger she meant to flee. He caught her inhis arms. He held her irresistibly. "I have got her; I have gother," he shouted in wild triumph. "No! I will not let you go. Nonebut God shall ever take you from me, and he has spared you to me.
　　You are not dead: you have kept faith as I have: you have lived.
　　See! look at me. I am alive, I am well, I am happy. I told Rosethat I suffered. If I had suffered I should remember it. It is allgone at sight of you, my love! my love! Oh, my Josephine! my love!"His arm was firm round her waist. His glowing eyes poured love uponher. She felt his beating heart.
　　All that passed in her then, what mortal can say? She seemed twowomen: that part of her which could not get away from his strong armlost all strength to resist, it yielded and thrilled under hisembrace, her bosom heaving madly: all that was free writhed awayfrom him; her face was averted with a glare of terror, and both herhands put up between his eyes and it.
　　"You turn away your head. Rose, she turns away. Speak for me.
　　Scold her; for I don't know how to scold her. No answer fromeither; oh, what has turned your hearts against me so?""Camille," cried Rose--the tears streaming down her cheeks--"my poorCamille! leave Beaurepaire. Oh, leave it at once."Returned towards her with a look of inquiry.
　　At that Josephine, like some feeble but nimble wild creature on whoma grasp has relaxed, writhed away from him and got free: "Farewell!
　　Farewell!" she cried, in despair's own voice, and made swiftly forthe house.
　　Camille stood aghast, and did not follow her.
　　Now ere she had gone many steps who should meet her right in frontbut Jacintha.
　　"Madame Raynal, the baroness's carriage is just in sight. I thoughtyou'd like to know." Then she bawled proudly to Rose, "I was thefirst to call her madame;" and off went Jacintha convinced she haddone something very clever.
　　This blow turned those three to stone.
　　Josephine had no longer the power or the wish to fly. "Better so,"she thought, and she stood cowering.
　　The great passions that had spoken so loud were struck dumb, and adeep silence fell upon the place. Madame Raynal's quivering eyeturned slowly and askant towards Camille, but stopped in terror ereit could see him. For she knew by this fearful stillness that thetruth was creeping on Camille. And so did Rose.
　　At last Camille spoke one word in a low whisper.
　　"Madame?"Dead silence.
　　"White? both in white?"Rose came between him and Josephine, and sobbed out, "Camille, itwas our doing. We drove her to it. O sir, look how afraid of youshe is. Do not reproach her, if you are a man."He waved her out of his way as if she had been some idle feather,and almost staggered up to Josephine.
　　"It is for you to speak, my betrothed: are you married?"The poor creature, true to her nature, was thinking more of him thanherself. Even in her despair it flashed across her, "If he knewall, he too would be wretched for life. If I let him think ill ofme he may be happy one day." She cowered the picture of sorrow andtongue-tied guilt.
　　"Are you a wife?""Yes."He winced and quivered as if a bullet had pierced him.
　　"This is how I came to be suspected; she I loved was false.""Yes, Camille.""No, no!" cried Rose; "don't believe HER: she never suspected you.
　　We have brought her to this, we alone.""Be silent, Rose! oh, be silent!" gasped Josephine.
　　"I lived for you: I would have died for you; you could not even waitfor me."A low moan, but not a word of excuse.
　　"What can I do for you now?""Forget me, Camille," said she despairingly, doggedly.
　　"Forget you? never, never! there is but one thing I can do to showyou how I loved you: I will forgive you, and begone. Whither shallI go? whither shall I go now?""Camile, your words stab her.""Let none speak but I," said Camille; "none but I have the right tospeak. Poor weak angel that loved yet could not wait: I forgiveyou. Be happy, if you can; I bid you be hap-py."The quiet, despairing tones died away, and with them life seemed toend to her, and hope to go out. He turned his back quickly on her.
　　He cried hoarsely, "To the army! Back to the army, and a soldier'sgrave!" Then with a prodigious effort he drew himself haughtily upin marching attitude. He took three strides, erect and fiery andbold.
　　At the next something seemed to snap asunder in the great heart, andthe worn body that heart had held up so long, rolled like a dead logupon the ground with a tremendous fall.
Chapter 11
　　The baroness and Aubertin were just getting out of their carriage,when suddenly they heard shrieks of terror in the Pleasaunce. Theycame with quaking hearts as fast as their old limbs would carrythem. They found Rose and Josephine crouched over the body of aman, an officer.
　　Rose was just tearing open his collar and jacket. Dard and Jacinthahad run from the kitchen at the screams. Camille lay on his back,white and motionless.
　　The doctor was the first to come up. "Who! what is this? I seem toknow his face." Then shaking his head, "Whoever it is, it is a badcase. Stand away, ladies. Let me feel his pulse."Whilst the old man was going stiffly down on one knee, Jacinthauttered a cry of terror. "See, see! his shirt! that red streak!
　　Ah, ah! it is getting bigger and bigger:" and she turned faint in amoment, and would have fallen but for Dard.
　　The doctor looked. "All the better," said he firmly. "I thought hewas dead. His blood flows; then I will save him. Don't clutch meso, Josephine; don't cling to me like that. Now is the time to showyour breed: not turn sick at the sight of a little blood, like thatfoolish creature, but help me save him.""Take him in-doors," cried the baroness.
　　"Into our house, mamma?" gasped Rose; "no, no.""What," said the baroness, "a wounded soldier who has fought forFrance! leave him to lie and die outside my door: what would my sonsay to that? He is a soldier himself."Rose cast a hasty look at Josephine. Josephine's eyes were bent onthe ground, and her hands clenched and trembling.
　　"Now, Jacintha, you be off," said the doctor. "I can't have cowardsabout him to make the others as bad. Go and stew down a piece ofgood beef for him. Stew it in red wine and water.""That I will: poor thing!""Why, I know him," said the baroness suddenly; "it is an oldacquaintance, young Dujardin: you remember, Josephine. I used tosuspect him of a fancy for you, poor fellow! Why, he must have comehere to see us, poor soul.""No matter who it is; it is a man. Now, girls, have you courage,have you humanity? Then come one on each side of him and take handsbeneath his back, while I lift his head and Dard his legs.""And handle him gently whatever you do," said Dard. "I know what itis to be wounded."These four carried the lifeless burden very slowly and gently acrossthe Pleasaunce to the house, then with more difficulty and cautionup the stairs.
　　All the while the sisters' hands griped one another tight beneaththe lifeless burden, and spoke to one another. And Josephine's armupheld tenderly but not weakly the hero she had struck down. Sheavoided Rose's eye, her mother's, and even the doctor's: one gaspingsob escaped her as she walked with head half averted, and vacant,terror-stricken eyes, and her victim on her sustaining arm.
　　The doctor selected the tapestried chamber for him as being mostairy. Then he ordered the women out, and with Dard's help undressedthe still insensible patient.
　　Josephine sat down on the stairs in gloomy silence, her eyes on theground, like one waiting for her deathblow.
　　Rose, sick at heart, sat silent too at some distance. At last shesaid faintly, "Have we done well?""I don't know," said Josephine doggedly. Her eyes never left theground.
　　"We could not let him die for want of care.""He will not thank us. Better for him to die than live. Better forme."At this instant Dard came running down. "Good news, mesdemoiselles,good news! the wound runs all along; it is not deep, like mine was.
　　He has opened his eyes and shut them again. The dear good doctorstopped the blood in a twinkle. The doctor says he'll be bound tosave him. I must run and tell Jacintha. She is taking on in thekitchen."Josephine, who had risen eagerly from her despairing posture,clasped her hands together, then lifted up her voice and wept. "Hewill live! he will live!"When she had wept a long while, she said to Rose, "Come, sister,help your poor Josephine.""Yes, love, what shall we do?""My duty," faltered Josephine. "An hour ago it seemed so sweet,"and she fell to weeping patiently again. They went to Josephine'sroom. She crept slowly to a wardrobe, and took out a gray silkdress.
　　"Oh, never mind for to-day," cried Rose.
　　"Help me, Rose. It is for myself as well; to remind me every momentI am Madame Raynal."They put the gray gown on her, both weeping patiently. It will beknown at the last day, all that honest women have suffered weepingsilently in this noisy world.
　　Camille soon recovered his senses and a portion of his strength:
　　then the irritation of his wound brought on fever. This in turnretired before the doctor's remedies and a sound constitution, butit left behind it a great weakness and general prostration. And inthis state the fate of the body depends greatly on the mind.
　　The baroness and the doctor went constantly to see him, and soothehim: he smiled and thanked them, but his eager eyes watched the doorfor one who came not.
　　When he got well enough to leave his bed the largest couch was sentup to him from the saloon; a kind hand lined the baron's silkdressing-gown for him warm and soft and nice; and he would sit orlie on his couch, or take two turns in the room leaning upon Rose'sshoulder, and glad of the support; and he looked piteously in hereyes when she came and when she went. Rose looked down; she coulddo nothing, she could say nothing.
　　With his strength, Camille lost a portion of his pride: he pined fora sight of her he no longer respected; pined for her, as the thirstypine for water in Sahara.
　　At last one day he spoke out. "How kind you are to me, Rose! howkind you all are--but one."He waited in hopes she would say something, but she held her tongue.
　　"At least tell me why it is. Is she ashamed? Is she afraid?""Neither.""She hates me: it is true, then, that we hate those whom we havewounded. Cruel, cruel Josephine! Oh, heart of marble against whichmy heart has wrecked itself forever!""No, no! She is anything but cruel: but she is Madame Raynal.""Ah! I forgot. But have I no claim on her? Nearly four years shehas been my betrothed. What have I done? Was I ever false to her?
　　I could forgive her for what she has done to me, but she cannotforgive me. Does she mean never to see me again?""Ask yourself what good could come of it.""Very well," said Camille, with a malicious smile. "I am in herway. I see what she wants; she shall have it."Rose carried these words to Josephine. They went through her like asword.
　　Rose pitied her. Rose had a moment's weakness.
　　"Let us go to him," she said; "anything is better than this.""Rose, I dare not," was the wise reply.
　　But the next day early, Josephine took Rose to a door outside thehouse, a door that had long been disused. Nettles grew before it.
　　She produced a key and with great difficulty opened this door. Itled to the tapestried chamber, and years ago they used to steal upit and peep into the room.
　　Rose scarcely needed to be told that she was to watch Camille, andreport to her. In truth, it was a mysterious, vague protectionagainst a danger equally mysterious. Yet it made Josephine easier.
　　But so unflinching was her prudence that she never once could beprevailed on to mount those stairs, and peep at Camille herself. "Imust starve my heart, not feed it," said she. And she grew palerand more hollow-eyed day by day.
　　Yet this was the same woman who showed such feebleness andirresolution when Raynal pressed her to marry him. But then dwarfsfeebly drew her this way and that. Now giants fought for her.
　　Between a feeble inclination and a feeble disinclination her deadheart had drifted to and fro. Now honor, duty, gratitude,--whichlast with her was a passion,--dragged her one way: love, pity, andremorse another.
　　Not one of these giants would relax his grasp, and nothing yieldedexcept her vital powers. Yes; her temper, one of the loveliestHeaven ever gave a human creature, was soured at times.
　　Was it a wonder? There lay the man she loved pining for her;cursing her for her cruelty, and alternately praying Heaven toforgive him and to bless her: sighing, at intervals, all the daylong, so loud, so deep, so piteously, as if his heart broke witheach sigh; and sometimes, for he little knew, poor soul, that anyhuman eye was upon him, casting aside his manhood in his despair,and flinging himself on the very floor, and muffling his head, andsobbing; he a hero.
　　And here was she pining in secret for him who pined for her? "I amnot a woman at all," said she, who was all woman. "I am crueller tohim than a tiger or any savage creature is to the victim she tears.
　　I must cure him of his love for me; and then die; for what shall Ihave to live for? He weeps, he sighs, he cries for Josephine."Her enforced cruelty was more contrary to this woman's nature thanblack is to white, or heat to cold, and the heart rebelled furiouslyat times. As when a rock tries to stem a current, the water fightsits way on more sides than one, so insulted nature dealt withJosephine. Not only did her body pine, but her nerves wereexasperated. Sudden twitches came over her, that almost made herscream. Her permanent state was utter despondency, but across itcame fitful flashes of irritation; and then she was scarce mistressof herself.
　　Wherefore you, who find some holy woman cross and bitter, stop amoment before you sum her up vixen and her religion naught: inquirethe history of her heart: perhaps beneath the smooth cold surface ofduties well discharged, her life has been, or even is, a battleagainst some self-indulgence the insignificant saint's very bloodcries out for: and so the poor thing is cross, not because she isbad, but because she is better than the rest of us; yet only human.
　　Now though Josephine was more on her guard with the baroness thanwith Rose, or the doctor, or Jacintha, her state could notaltogether escape the vigilance of a mother's eye.
　　But the baroness had not the clew we have; and what a differencethat makes! How small an understanding, put by accident orinstruction on the right track, shall run the game down! How greata sagacity shall wander if it gets on a false scent!
　　"Doctor," said the baroness one day, "you are so taken up with yourpatient you neglect the rest of us. Do look at Josephine! She isill, or going to be ill. She is so pale, and so fretful, sopeevish, which is not in her nature. Would you believe it, doctor,she snaps?""Our Josephine snap? This is new.""And snarls.""Then look for the end of the world.""The other day I heard her snap Rose: and this morning she halfsnarled at me, just because I pressed her to go and console ourpatient. Hush! here she is. My child, I am accusing you to thedoctor. I tell him you neglect his patient: never go near him.""I will visit him one of these days," said Josephine, coldly.
　　"One of these days," said the baroness, shocked. "You used not tobe so hard-hearted. A soldier, an old comrade of your husband's,wounded and sick, and you alone never go to him, to console him witha word of sympathy or encouragement."Josephine looked at her mother with a sort of incredulous stare.
　　Then, after a struggle, she replied with a tone and manner sospiteful and icy that it would have deceived even us who know herhad we heard it. "He has plenty of nurses without me." She added,almost violently, "My husband, if he were wounded, would not have somany, perhaps not have one."With this she rose and went out, leaving them aghast. She sat downin the passage on a window-seat, and laughed hysterically. Roseheard her and ran to her. Josephine told her what her mother hadsaid to her. Rose soothed her. "Never mind, you have your sisterwho understands you: don't you go back till they have got some othertopic."Rose out of curiosity went in, and found a discussion going on. Thedoctor was fathoming Josephine, for the benefit of his companion.
　　"It is a female jealousy, and of a mighty innocent kind. We are sotaken up with this poor fellow, she thinks her soldier is forgotten.""Surely, doctor, our Josephine would not be so unreasonable, sounjust," suggested her mother.
　　"She belongs to a sex, be it said without offending you, madame,among whose numberless virtues justice does not fill a prominentplace."The baroness shook her head. "That is not it. It is a piece ofprudery. This young gentleman was a sort of admirer of hers, thoughshe did not admire him much, as far as I remember. But it was fouryears ago; and she is married to a man she loves, or is going tolove.""Well, but, mamma, a trifling excess of delicacy is surelyexcusable." This from Rose.
　　"No, no; it is not delicacy; it is prudery. And when people aresick and suffering, an honest woman should take up her charity andlay down her prudery, or her coquetry: two things that I suspect arethe same thing in different shapes."Here Jacintha came in. "Mademoiselle, here is the colonel's broth;Madame Raynal has flavored it for him, and you are to take it up tohim, and keep him company while he eats it.""Come," cried the baroness, "my lecture has not been lost."Rose followed Jacintha up-stairs.
　　Rose was heart and head on Raynal's side.
　　She had deceived him about Josephine's attachment, and felt all themore desirous to guard him against any ill consequences of it. Thenhe had been so generous to her: he had left her her sister, whowould have gone to Egypt, and escaped this misery, but for her.
　　But on the other hand,--Gentle pityTugged at her heartstrings with complaining cries.
　　This watching of Camille saddened even her. When she was with himhis pride bore him up: but when he was alone as he thought, hisanguish and despair were terrible, and broke out in so many waysthat often Rose shrank in terror from her peep hole.
　　She dared not tell Josephine the half of what she saw: what she didtell her agitated her so terribly: and often Rose had it on the tipof her tongue to say, "Do pray go and see if you can say nothingthat will do him good;" but she fought the impulse down. Thisbattle of feeling, though less severe than her sister's, wasconstant; it destroyed her gayety. She, whose merry laugh used toring like chimes through the house, never laughed now, seldomsmiled, and often sighed.
　　Dr. Aubertin was the last to succumb to the deep depression, but histime came: and he had been for a day or two as grave and as sad asthe rest, when one day that Rose was absent, spying on Camille, hetook the baroness and Josephine into his confidence; andcondescended finally to ask their advice.
　　"It is humiliating," said he, "after all my experience, to beobliged to consult unprofessional persons. Forty years ago I shouldhave been TOO WISE to do so. But since then I have often seenscience baffled and untrained intelligences throw light upon hardquestions: and your sex in particular has luminous instincts andreads things by flashes that we men miss with a microscope. Ourdear Madame Raynal suspected that plausible notary, and to this dayI believe she could not tell us why."Josephine admitted as much very frankly.
　　"There you see," said the doctor. "Well, then, you must help me inthis case. And this time I promise to treat your art with morerespect.""And pray who is it she is to read now?" asked the baroness.
　　"Who should it be but my poor patient? He puzzles me. I never knewa patient so faint-hearted.""A soldier faint-hearted!" exclaimed the baroness. "To be surethese men that storm cities, and fire cannon, and cut and hack oneanother with so much spirit, are poor creatures compared with uswhen they have to lie quiet and suffer."The doctor walked the room in great excitement. "It is not hiswound that is killing him, there's something on his mind. You,Josephine, with your instincts do help me: do pray, for pity's sake,throw off that sublime indifference you have manifested all along tothis man's fate.""She has not," cried the baroness, firing up. "Did I not see herlining his dressing-gown for him? and she inspects everything thathe eats: do you not?""Yes, mother." She then suggested in a faltering voice that timewould cure the patient, and time alone.
　　"Time! you speak as if time was a quality: time is only a measure ofevents, favorable or unfavorable; it kills as many as it cures.""Why, you surely would not imply his life is in any danger?" Thiswas the baroness.
　　"Madame, if the case was not grave, should I take this unusual step?
　　I tell you if some change does not take place soon, he will be adead man in another fortnight. That is all TIME will do for him."The baroness uttered an exclamation of pity and distress. Josephineput her hand to her bosom, and a creeping horror came over her, andthen a faintness. She sat working mechanically, and turning likeice within. After a few minutes of this, she rose with everyappearance of external composure and left the room. In the passageshe met Rose coming hastily towards the salon laughing: the firsttime she had laughed this many a day. Oh, what a contrast betweenthe two faces that met there--the one pale and horror stricken, theother rosy and laughing!
　　"Well, dear, at last I am paid for all my trouble, and yours, by adiscovery; he never drinks a drop of his medicine; he pours it intothe ashes under the grate; I caught him in the fact.""Then this is too much: I can resist no longer. Come with me," saidJosephine doggedly.
　　"Where?""To him."
Chapter 12
　　Josephine paused on the landing, and laid her hand on Rose'sshoulder. It was so cold it made Rose shudder, and exacted apromise from her not to contradict a word she should say to Camille.
　　"I do not go to him for my pleasure, but for his life," she said; "Imust deceive him and save him; and then let me lie down and die.""Oh, that the wretch had never been born!" cried Rose, in despair.
　　But she gave the required promise, and offered to go and tellCamille Josephine was coming to visit him.
　　But Josephine declined this. "No," said she; "give me everyadvantage; I must think beforehand every word I shall say; but takehim by surprise, coward and doubleface that I am."Rose knocked at the door. A faint voice said, "Come in." Thesisters entered the room very softly. Camille sat on the sofa, hishead bowed over his hands. A glance showed Josephine that he wasdoggedly and resolutely thrusting himself into the grave. Thinkingit was only Rose--for he had now lost all hope of seeing Josephinecome in at the door--he never moved. Some one glided gently butrapidly up to him. He looked up. Josephine was kneeling to him.
　　He lifted his head with a start, and trembled all over.
　　She whispered, "I am come to you to beg your pity; to appeal to yourgenerosity; to ask a favor; I who deserve so little of you.""You have waited a long time," said Camille, agitated greatly; "andso have I.""Camille, you are torturing one who loved you once, and who has beenvery weak and faithless, but not so wicked as she appears.""How am I torturing you?""With remorse; do I not suffer enough? Would you make me amurderess?""Why have you never been near me?" retorted Camille. "I couldforgive your weakness, but not your heartlessness.""It is my duty. I have no right to seek your society. If youreally want mine, you have only to get well, and so join us down-stairs a week or two before you leave us.""How am I to get well? My heart is broken.""Camille, be a man. Do not fling away a soldier's life because afickle, worthless woman could not wait for you. Forgive me like aman, or else revenge yourself like a man. If you cannot forgive me,kill me. See, I kneel at your feet. I will not resist you. Killme.""I wish I could. Oh! if I could kill you with a look and myselfwith a wish! No man should ever take you from me, then. We wouldbe together in the grave at this hour. Do not tempt me, I say;" andhe cast a terrible look of love, and hatred, and despair upon her.
　　Her purple eye never winced; it poured back tenderness and affectionin return. He saw and turned away with a groan, and held out hishand to her. She seized it and kissed it. "You are great, you aregenerous; you will not strike me as a woman strikes; you will notdie to drive me to despair.""I see," said he, more gently, "love is gone, but pity remains. Ithought that was gone, too.""Yes, Camille," said Josephine, in a whisper, "pity remains, andremorse and terror at what I have done to a man of whom I was neverworthy.""Well, madame, as you have come at last to me, and even do me thehonor to ask me a favor--I shall try--if only out of courtesy--to--ah, Josephine! Josephine! when did I ever refuse you anything?"At this Josephine sank into a chair, and burst out crying. Camille,at this, began to cry too; and the two poor things sat a long wayfrom one another, and sobbed bitterly.
　　The man, weakened as he was, recovered his quiet despair first.
　　"Don't cry so," said he. "But tell me what is your will, and Ishall obey you as I used before any one came between us.""Then, live, Camille. I implore you to live.""Well, Josephine, since you care about it, I will try and live. Whydid not you come before and ask me? I thought I was in your way. Ithought you wanted me dead."Josephine cast a look of wonder and anguish on Camille, but she saidnothing. She rang the bell, and, on Jacintha coming up, despatchedher to Dr. Aubertin for the patient's medicine.
　　"Tell the doctor," said she, "Colonel Dujardin has let fall theglass." While Jacintha was gone, she scolded Camille gently. "Howcould you be so unkind to the poor doctor who loves you so? Onlythink: to throw away his medicines! Look at the ashes; they arewet. Camille, are you, too, becoming disingenuous?"Jacintha came in with the tonic in a glass, and retired with anobeisance. Josephine took it to Camille.
　　"Drink with me, then," said he, "or I will not touch it." Josephinetook the glass. "I drink to your health, Camille, and to yourglory; laurels to your brow, and some faithful woman to your heart,who will make you forget this folly: it is for her I am saving you."She put the glass with well-acted spirit to her lips; but in thevery action a spasm seized her throat and almost choked her; shelowered her head that he might not see her face, and tried again;but the tears burst from her eyes and ran into the liquid, and herlips trembled over the brim, and were paralyzed.
　　"No, no! give it me!" he cried; "there is a tear of yours in it."He drank off the bitter remedy now as if it had been nectar.
　　Josephine blushed.
　　"If you wanted me to live, why did you not come here before?""I did not think you would be so foolish, so wicked, so cruel as todo what you have been doing.""Come and shine upon me every day, and you shall have no fresh causeof complaint; things flourish in the sunshine that die in the dark:
　　Rose, it is as if the sun had come into my prison; you are pale, butyou are beautiful as ever--more beautiful; what a sweet dress! soquiet, so modest, it sets off your beauty instead of vainly tryingto vie with it." With this he put out his hand and took her graysilk dress, and went to kiss it as a devotee kisses the altar steps.
　　She snatched it away with a shudder.
　　"Yes, you are right," said she; "thank you for noticing my dress; itis a beautiful dress--ha! ha! A dress I take a pride in wearing,and always shall, I hope. I mean to be buried in it. Come, Rose.
　　Thank you, Camille; you are very good, you have once more promisedme to live. Get well; come down-stairs; then you will see me everyday, you know--there is a temptation. Good-by, Camille!--are youcoming, Rose? What are you loitering for? God bless you, andcomfort you, and help you to forget what it is madness to remember!"With these wild words she literally fled; and in one moment the roomseemed to darken to Camille.
　　Outside the door Josephine caught hold of Rose. "Have I committedmyself?""Over and over again. Do not look so terrified; I mean to me, butnot to him. How blind he is! and how much better you must know himthan I do to venture on such a transparent deceit. He believeswhatever you tell him. He is all ears and no eyes. Yes, love, Iwatched him keenly all the time. He really thinks it is pity andremorse, nothing more. My poor sister, you have a hard life tolead, a hard game to play; but so far you have succeeded; yet couldlook poor Raynal in the face if he came home to-day.""Then God be thanked!" cried Josephine. "I am as happy to-day as Ican ever hope to be. Now let us go through the farce of dressing--it is near dinner-time--and then the farce of talking, and, hardestof all, the farce of living."From that hour Camille began to get better very slowly, yetperceptibly.
　　The doctor, afraid of being mistaken, said nothing for some days,but at last he announced the good news at the dinner-table. "He isto come down-stairs in three days," added the doctor.
　　But I am sorry to say that as Camille's body strengthened some ofthe worst passions in our nature attacked him. Fierce gusts of hateand love combined overpowered this man's high sentiments of honorand justice, and made him clench his teeth, and vow never to leaveBeaurepaire without Josephine. She had been his four years beforeshe ever saw this interloper, and she should be his forever. Herlove would soon revive when they should meet every day, and shewould end by eloping with him.
　　Then conscience pricked him, and reminded him how and why Raynal hadmarried her: for Rose had told him all. Should he undermine anabsent soldier, whose whole conduct in this had been so pure, sogenerous, so unselfish?
　　But this was not all. As I have already hinted, he was under agreat personal obligation to his quondam comrade Raynal. Wheneverthis was vividly present to his mind, a great terror fell on him,and he would cry out in anguish, "Oh! that some angel would come tome and tear me by force from this place!" And the next momentpassion swept over him like a flood, and carried away all hisvirtuous resolves. His soul was in deep waters; great waves droveit to and fro. Perilous condition, which seldom ends well. Camillewas a man of honor. In no other earthly circumstance could he havehesitated an instant between right and wrong. But such natures,proof against all other temptations, have often fallen, and willfall, where sin takes the angel form of her they love. Yet, of allmen, they should pray for help to stand; for when they fall theystill retain one thing that divides them from mean sinners.
　　Remorse, the giant that rends the great hearts which mock at fear.
　　The day came in which the doctor had promised his patient he shouldcome down-stairs. First his comfortable sofa was taken down intothe saloon for his use: then the patient himself came down leaningon the doctor's arm, and his heart palpitating at the thought of themeeting. He came into the room; the baroness was alone. Shegreeted him kindly, and welcomed him. Rose came in soon after anddid the same. But no Josephine. Camille felt sick at heart. Atlast dinner was announced; "She will surely join us at dinner,"thought he. He cast his eyes anxiously on the table; the napkinswere laid for four only. The baroness carelessly explained this tohim as they sat down. "Madame Raynal dines in her own room. I amsorry to say she is indisposed."Camille muttered polite regrets: the rage of disappointment droveits fangs into him, and then came the heart-sickness of hopedeferred. The next day he saw her, but could not get a word withher alone. The baroness tortured him another way. She was full ofRaynal. She loved him. She called him her son; was never weary ofdescanting on his virtues to Camille. Not a day passed that she didnot pester Camille to make a calculation as to the probable periodof his return, and he was obliged to answer her. She related to himbefore Josephine and Rose, how this honest soldier had come to themlike a guardian angel and saved the whole family. In vain hemuttered that Rose had told him.
　　"Let me have the pleasure of telling it you my way," cried she, andtold it diffusely, and kept him writhing.
　　The next thing was, Josephine had received no letter from him thismonth; the first month he had missed. In vain did Rose representthat he was only a few days over his time. The baroness becameanxious, communicated her anxieties to Camille among the rest; and,by a torturing interrogatory, compelled him to explain to her beforeJosephine and them all, that ships do not always sail to a day, andare sometimes delayed. But oh! he winced at the man's name; andRose observed that he never mentioned it, nor acknowledged theexistence of such a person as Josephine's husband, except whenothers compelled him. Yet they were acquainted; and Rose sometimeswondered that he did not detract or sneer.
　　"I should," said she; "I feel I should.""He is too noble," said Josephine, "and too wise. For, if he did, Ishould respect him less, and my husband more than I do--ifpossible."Certainly Camille was not the sort of nature that detracts, but thereason he avoided Raynal's name was simply that his whole internalbattle was to forget such a man existed. From this dream he wasrudely awakened every hour since he joined the family, and the woundhis self-deceiving heart would fain have skinned over, was tornopen. But worse than this was the torture of being tantalized. Hewas in company with Josephine, but never alone. Even if she leftthe room for an instant, Rose accompanied her and returned with her.
　　Camille at last began to comprehend that Josephine had decided thereshould be no private interviews between her and him. Thus, not onlythe shadow of the absent Raynal stood between them, but her motherand sister in person, and worst of all, her own will. He called hera cold-blooded fiend in his rage. Then the thought of all hertenderness and goodness came to rebuke him. But even in rebuking itmaddened him. "Yes, it is her very nature to love; but since shecan make her heart turn whichever way her honor bids, she will loveher husband; she does not now; but sooner or later she will. Thenshe will have children--(he writhed with anguish and fury at thisthought)--loving ties between him and her. He has everything on hisside. I, nothing but memories she will efface from her heart. Willefface? She must have effaced them, or she could not have marriedhim." I know no more pitiable state of mind than to love and hatethe same creature. But when the two feelings are both intense, andmeet in an ardent bosom, such a man would do well to spend a day ortwo upon his knees, praying for grace divine. For he who with allhis soul loves and hates one woman is next door to a maniac, and isscarcely safe an hour together from suicide or even from homicide;this truth the newspapers tell us, by examples, every month; but arewonderfully little heeded, because newspapers do not, nor is ittheir business to, analyze and dwell upon the internal feelings ofthe despairing lover, whose mad and bloody act they record. Withsuch a tempest in his heart did Camille one day wander into thepark. And soon an irresistible attraction drew him to the side ofthe stream that flowed along one side of it. He eyed it gloomily,and wherever the stagnant water indicated a deeper pool than usualhe stopped, and looked, and thought, "How calm and peaceful youare!"He sat down at last by the water-side, his eyes bent on a calm,green pool.
　　It looked very peaceful; and it could give peace. He thought, oh!
　　what a blessing; to be quit of rage, jealousy, despair, and life,all in a minute!
　　Yet that was a sordid death for a soldier to die, who had seen greatbattles. Could he not die more nobly than that? With this hesuddenly felt in his pocket; and there sure enough fate had placedhis pistols. He had put them into this coat; and he had not wornthis coat until to-day. He had armed himself unconsciously. "Ah!"said he; "it is to be; all these things are preordained." (Thisnotion of fate has strengthened many a fatal resolution.) Then hehad a cruel regret. To die without a word; a parting word. Then hethought to himself, it was best so; for perhaps he should have takenher with him.
　　"Sir! colonel!" uttered a solemn voice behind him.
　　Absorbed and strung up to desperation as he was, this voice seemedunnaturally loud, and discordant with Camille's mood; a suddentrumpet from the world of small things.
　　It was Picard, the notary.
　　"Can you tell me where Madame Raynal is?""No. At the chateau, I suppose.""She is not there; I inquired of the servant. She was out. Youhave not seen her, colonel?""Not I; I never see her.""Then perhaps I had better go back to the chateau and wait for her:
　　stay, are you a friend of the family? Colonel, suppose I were totell you, and ask you to break it to Madame Raynal, or, betterstill, to the baroness, or Mademoiselle Rose.""Monsieur," said Camille coldly, "charge me with no messages, for Icannot deliver them. I AM GOING ANOTHER WAY.""In that case, I will go to the chateau once more; for what I haveto say must be heard."Picard returned to the chateau wondering at the colonel's strangemanner.
　　Camille, for his part, wondered that any one could be so mad as totalk to him about trifles; to him, a man standing on the brink ofeternity. Poor soul, it was he who was mad and unlucky. He shouldhave heard what Picard had to say. The very gentleness andsolemnity of manner ought to have excited his curiosity.
　　He watched Picard's retiring form. When he was out of sight, thenhe turned round and resumed his thoughts as if Picard had been nomore than a fly that had buzzed and then gone.
　　"Yes, I should have taken her with me," he said. He sat gloomy anddogged like a dangerous maniac in his cell; never moved, scarcethought for more than half an hour; but his deadly purpose grew inhim. Suddenly he started. A lady was at the style, about a hundredyards distant. He trembled. It was Josephine.
　　She came towards him slowly, her eyes bent on the ground in a deepreverie. She stopped about a stone's throw from him, and looked atthe river long and thoughtfully; then casting her eye around, shecaught sight of Camille. He watched her grimly. He saw her give alittle start, and half turn round; but if this was an impulse toretreat, it was instantly suppressed; for the next moment shepursued her way.
　　Camille stood gloomy and bitter, awaiting her in silence. Heplanted himself in the middle of the path, and said not a word.
　　She looked him all over, and her color came and went.
　　"Out so far as this," she said kindly; "and without your cap."He put his hand to his head, and discovered that he was bareheaded.
　　"You will catch your death of cold. Come, let us go in and get yourcap."She made as if she would pass him. He planted himself right beforeher.
　　"No.""Camille!""Why do you shun me as if I was a viper?""I do not shun you. I but avoid conferences that can lead to nogood; it is my duty.""You are very wise; cold-hearted people can be wise.""Am I cold-hearted, Camille?""As marble."She looked him in the face; the water came into her eyes; afterawhile she whispered, sorrowfully, "Well, Camille, I am.""But with all your wisdom and all your coldness," he went on to say,"you have made a mistake; you have driven me to madness anddespair.""Heaven forbid!" said she.
　　"Your prayer comes too late; you have done it.""Camille, let me go to the oratory, and pray for you. You terrifyme.""It is no use. Heaven has no mercy for me. Take my advice; staywhere you are; don't hurry; for what remains of your life you gaveto pass with me, do you understand that?""Ah!" And she turned pale.
　　"Can you read my riddle?"She looked him in the face. "I can read your eyes, and I know youlove me. I think you mean to kill me. I have heard men kill thething they love.""Of course they do; sooner than another should have it, they killit--they kill it.""God has not made them patient like us women. Poor Camille!""Patience dies when hope dies. Come, Madame Raynal, say a prayer,for you are going to die.""God bless you, Camille!" said the poor girl, putting her handstogether in her last prayer. At this sweet touch of affection,Camille hung his head, and sobbed. Then suddenly lashing himselfinto fury, he cried,--"You are my betrothed! you talk of duty; but you forget your duty tome. Are you not my betrothed this four years? Answer me that.""Yes, Camille, I was.""Did I not suffer death a hundred times for you, to keep faith withyou, you cold-blooded traitress with an angel's face?""Ah, Camille! can you speak so bitterly to me? Have I denied yourright to kill me? You shall never dishonor me, but you shall killme, if it is your pleasure. I do not resist. Why, then, speak tome like that; must the last words I hear from your mouth be words ofanger, cruel Camille?""I was wrong. But it is so hard to kill her I love in cold blood.
　　I want anger as well as despair to keep me to it. Come, turn yourhead away from me, and all our troubles shall end.""No, Camille, let me look at you. Then you will be the last thing Ishall see on earth."At this he hesitated a moment; then, with a fierce stamp at what hethought was weakness, he levelled a pistol at her.
　　She put up her hands with a piteous cry, "Oh! not my face, Camille!
　　pray do not disfigure my face. Here--kill me here--in my bosom--myheart that loved you well, when it was no sin to love you.""I can't shoot you. I can't spill your blood. The river will endall, and not disfigure your beauty, that has driven me mad, and costyou, poor wretch, your life.""Thank you, dear Camille. The water does not frighten me as apistol does; it will not hurt me; it will only kill me.""No, it is but a plunge, and you will be at peace forever; and soshall I. Come, take my hand, Madame Raynal, Madame Raynal."She gave him her hand with a look of infinite love. She only said,"My poor mother!" That word did not fall to the ground. It flashedlike lightning at night across the demented lover, and lighted uphis egotism (suicide, like homicide, is generally a fit of maniacalegotism), even to his eyes blinded by fury.
　　"Wretch that I am," he shrieked. "Fly, Josephine, fly! escape thismoment, that my better angel whispers to me. Do you hear? begone,while it is time.""I will not leave you, Camille.""I say you shall. Go to your mother and Rose; go to those you love,and I can pity; go to the chapel and thank Heaven for your escape.""Yes, but not without you, Camille. I am afraid to leave you.""You have more to fear if you stay. Well, I can't wait any longer.
　　Stay, then, and live; and learn from me how to love Jean Raynal."He levelled the pistol at himself.
　　Josephine threw herself on him with a cry, and seized his arm. Withthe strength excitement lent her she got the better, and all butoverpowered him. But, as usual, the man's strength lasted longer,and with a sustained effort he threw her off; then, pale andpanting, raised the pistol to take his life. This time she movedneither hand nor foot; but she palsied his rash hand with a word.
　　"No; I LOVE YOU."
Chapter 13
　　There lie the dead corpses of those words on paper; but my art ispowerless to tell you how they were uttered, those words, potent asa king's, for they saved a life.
　　They were a cry of terror and a cry of reproach and a cry of loveunfathomable.
　　The weapon shook in his hand. He looked at her with growingastonishment and joy; she at him fixedly and anxiously, her handsclasped in supplication.
　　"As you used to love me?""More, far more. Give me the pistol. I love you, dearest. I loveyou."At these delicious words he lost all power of resistance, she saw;and her soft and supple hand stole in and closed upon his, andgently withdrew the weapon, and threw it into the water. "GoodCamille! now give me the other.""How do you know there is another?""I know you are not the man to kill a woman and spare yourself.
　　Come.""Josephine, have pity on me, do not deceive me; pray do not takethis, my only friend, from me, unless you really love me.""I love you; I adore you," was her reply.
　　She leaned her head on his shoulder, but with her hand she soughthis, and even as she uttered those loving words she coaxed theweapon from his now unresisting grasp.
　　"There, it is gone; you are saved from death--saved from crime."And with that, the danger was over, she trembled for the first time,and fell to sobbing hysterically.
　　He threw himself at her knees, and embraced them again and again,and begged her forgiveness in a transport of remorse and self-reproach.
　　She looked down with tender pity on him, and heard his cries ofpenitence and shame.
　　"Rise, Camille, and go home with me," said she faintly.
　　"Yes, Josephine."They went slowly and in silence. Camille was too ashamed andpenitent to speak; too full of terror too at the abyss of crime fromwhich he had been saved. The ancients feigned that a virgin couldsubdue a lion; perhaps they meant that a pure gentle nature cansubdue a nature fierce but generous. Lion-like Camille walked byJosephine's side with his eyes bent on the ground, the picture ofhumility and penitence.
　　"This is the last walk you and I shall take together," saidJosephine solemnly.
　　"I know it," said he humbly. "I have forfeited all right to be byyour side.""My poor, lost love," sighed Josephine, "will you never understandme? You never stood higher in my esteem than at this moment. It isthe avowal you have forced from ME that parts us. The man to whom Ihave said 'I'--must not remain beneath my husband's roof. Does notyour sense of honor agree with mine?""It does," faltered he.
　　"To-morrow you must leave the chateau.""I will obey you.""What, you do not resist, you do not break my heart by complaints,by reproaches?""No, Josephine, all is changed. I thought you unfeeling: I thoughtyou were going to be HAPPY with him; that was what maddened me.""I pray daily YOU may be happy, no matter how. But you and I arenot alike, dear as we are to one another. Well, do not fear: Ishall never be happy--will that soothe you, Camille?""Yes, Josephine, all is changed; the words you have spoken havedriven the fiends out of my heart. I have nothing to do now but toobey, you to command: it is your right. Since you love me a littlestill, dispose of me. Bid me live: bid me die: bid me stay: bid mego. I shall never disobey the angel who loves me, my only friendupon the earth."A single deep sob from Josephine was all the answer.
　　Then he could not help asking her why she had not trusted him?
　　"Why did you not say to me long ago, 'I love you, but I am a wife;my husband is an honest soldier, absent, and fighting for France: Iam the guardian of his honor and my own; be just, be generous, beself-denying; depart and love me only as angels love'? Perhaps thismight have helped me to show you that I too am a man of honor.""Perhaps I was wrong," sighed Josephine. "I think I should havetrusted more to you. But then, who would have thought you couldreally doubt my love? You were ill; I could not bear you to go tillyou were well, quite well. I saw no other way to keep you but this,to treat you with feigned coldness. You saw the coldness, but notwhat it cost me to maintain it. Yes, I was unjust; and inconsiderate,for I had many furtive joys to sustain me: I had you in my houseunder my care--that thought was always sweet--I had a hand ineverything that was for your good, for your comfort. I helpedJacintha make your soup and your chocolate every day. I had thedelight of lining the dressing-gown you were to wear. I had alwayssome little thing or other to do for you. These kept me up: I forgotin my selfishness that you had none of these supports, and that Iwas driving you to despair. I am a foolish, disingenuous woman:
　　I have been very culpable. Forgive me!""Forgive you, angel of purity and goodness? I alone am to blame.
　　What right had I to doubt your heart? I knew the whole story ofyour marriage; I saw your sweet pale face; but I was not pure enoughto comprehend angelic virtue and unselfishness. Well, I am broughtto my senses. There is but one thing for me to do--you bade meleave you to-morrow.""I was very cruel.""No! not cruel, wise. But I will be wiser. I shall go to-night.""To-night, Camille?" said Josephine, turning pale.
　　"Ay! for to-night I am strong; to-morrow I may be weak. To-nighteverything thrusts me on the right path. To-morrow everything willdraw me from it. Do not cry, beloved one; you and I have a hardfight. We must be true allies; whenever one is weak, then is thetime for the other to be strong. I have been weaker than you, to myshame be it said; but this is my hour of strength. A light fromheaven shows me my path. I am full of passion, but like you I havehonor. You are Raynal's wife, and--Raynal saved my life.""Ah! is it possible? When? where? may Heaven bless him for it!""Ask HIM; and say I told you of it--I have not strength to tell ityou, but I will go to-night."Then Josephine, who had resisted till all her strength was gone,whispered with a blush that it was too late to get a conveyance.
　　"I need none to carry my sword, my epaulets, and my love for you. Ishall go on foot."Josephine said nothing, but she began to walk slower and slower.
　　And so the unfortunate pair came along creeping slowly with droopingheads towards the gate of the Pleasaunce. There their last walk inthis world must end. Many a man and woman have gone to the scaffoldwith hearts less heavy and more hopeful than theirs.
　　"Dry your eyes, Josephine," said Camille with a deep sigh. "Theyare all out on the Pleasaunce.""No, I will not dry my eyes," cried Josephine, almost violently. "Icare for nothing now."The baroness, the doctor, and Rose, were all in the Pleasaunce: andas the pair came in, lo! every eye was bent on Josephine.
　　She felt this, and her eyes sought the ground: benumbed as she waswith despondency, she began now to dread some fresh stroke or other.
　　Camille felt doubly guilty and confused. How they all look at us,he thought. Do they know what a villain I have been? He determinedto slip away, and pack up, and begone. However, nobody took anynotice of him. The baroness drew Josephine apart. And Rosefollowed her mother and sister with eyes bent on the ground.
　　There was a strange solemnity about them all.
　　Aubertin remained behind. But even he took no notice of Camille,but walked up and down with his hands behind him, and a sad andtroubled face. Camille felt his utter desolation. He was nothingto any of them. He resolved to go at once, and charge Aubertin withhis last adieus to the family. It was a wise and manly resolve. Hestopped Aubertin in the middle of his walk, and said in a faintvoice of the deepest dejection,--"Doctor, the time is come that I must once more thank you for allyour goodness to me, and bid you all farewell.""What, going before your strength is re-established?" said thedoctor politely, but not warmly.
　　"I am out of all danger, thanks to your skill.""Colonel, at another time I should insist upon your staying a day ortwo longer; but now I think it would be unadvisable to press you tostay. Ah, colonel, you came to a happy house, but you leave a sadone. Poor Madame Raynal!""Sir!""You saw the baroness draw her aside.""Y-yes.""By this time she knows it.""In Heaven's name what do you mean?" asked Camille.
　　"I forgot; you are not aware of the calamity that has fallen uponour beloved Josephine; on the darling of the house."Camille turned cold with vague apprehension. But he contrived tostammer out, "No; tell me! for Heaven's sake tell me."The doctor thus pressed revealed all in a very few words. "My poorfriend," said he solemnly, "her husband--is dead."
Chapter 14
　　The baroness, as I have said, drew Josephine aside, and tried tobreak to her the sad news: but her own grief overcame her, andbursting into tears she bewailed the loss of her son. Josephine wasgreatly shocked. Death!--Raynal dead--her true, kind friend dead--her benefactor dead. She clung to her mother's neck, and sobbedwith her. Presently she withdrew her face and suddenly hid it inboth her hands.
　　She rose and kissed her mother once more: and went to her own room:
　　and then, though there was none to see her, she hid her wet, butburning, cheeks in her hands.
　　Josephine confined herself for some days to her own room, leaving itonly to go to the chapel in the park, where she spent hours inprayers for the dead and in self-humiliation. Her "tenderconscience" accused herself bitterly for not having loved thisgallant spirit more than she had.
　　Camille realized nothing at first; he looked all confused in thedoctor's face, and was silent. Then after awhile he said, "Dead?
　　Raynal dead?""Killed in action."A red flush came to Camille's face, and his eyes went down to theground at his very feet, nor did he once raise them while the doctortold him how the sad news had come. "Picard the notary brought usthe Moniteur, and there was Commandant Raynal among the killed in acavalry skirmish." With this, he took the journal from his pocket,and Camille read it, with awe-struck, and other feelings he wouldhave been sorry to see analyzed. He said not a word; and loweredhis eyes to the ground.
　　"And now," said Aubertin, "you will excuse me. I must go to my poorfriend the baroness. She had a mother's love for him who is nomore: well she might."Aubertin went away, and left Dujardin standing there like a statue,his eyes still glued to the ground at his feet.
　　The doctor was no sooner out of sight, than Camille raised his eyesfurtively, like a guilty person, and looked irresolutely this wayand that: at last he turned and went back to the place where he hadmeditated suicide and murder; looked down at it a long while, thenlooked up to heaven--then fell suddenly on his knees: and soremained till night-fall. Then he came back to the chateau.
　　He whispered to himself, "And I am afraid it is too late to go awayto-night." He went softly into the saloon. Nobody was there butRose and Aubertin. At sight of him Rose got up and left the room.
　　But I suppose she went to Josephine; for she returned in a fewminutes, and rang the bell, and ordered some supper to be brought upfor Colonel Dujardin.
　　"You have not dined, I hear," said she, very coldly.
　　"I was afraid you were gone altogether," said the doctor: thenturning to Rose, "He told me he was going this evening. You hadbetter stay quiet another day or two," added he, kindly.
　　"Do you think so?" said Camille, timidly.
　　He stayed upon these terms. And now he began to examine himself.
　　"Did I wish him dead? I hope I never formed such a thought! Idon't remember ever wishing him dead." And he went twice a day tothat place by the stream, and thought very solemnly what a terriblething ungoverned passion is; and repented--not eloquently, butsilently, sincerely.
　　But soon his impatient spirit began to torment itself again. Whydid Josephine shun him now? Ah! she loved Raynal now that he wasdead. Women love the thing they have lost; so he had heard say. Inthat case, the very sight of him would of course be odious to her:
　　he could understand that. The absolute, unreasoning faith he oncehad in her had been so rudely shaken by her marriage with Raynal,that now he could only believe just so much as he saw, and he sawthat she shunned him.
　　He became moody, sad, and disconsolate: and as Josephine shunnedhim, so he avoided all the others, and wandered for hours byhimself, perplexed and miserable. After awhile, he became consciousthat he was under a sort of surveillance. Rose de Beaurepaire, whohad been so kind to him when he was confined to his own room, buthad taken little notice of him since he came down, now resumed hercare of him, and evidently made it her business to keep up hisheart. She used to meet him out walking in a mysterious way, and inshort, be always falling in with him and trying to cheer him up:
　　with tolerable success.
　　Such was the state of affairs when the party was swelled and matterscomplicated by the arrival of one we have lost sight of.
　　Edouard Riviere retarded his cure by an impatient spirit: but he gotwell at last, and his uncle drove him in the cabriolet to his ownquarters. The news of the house had been told him by letter, but,of course, in so vague and general a way that, thinking he knew all,in reality he knew nothing.
　　Josephine had married Raynal. The marriage was sudden, but no doubtthere was an attachment: he had some reason to believe in suddenattachments. Colonel Dujardin, an old acquaintance, had come backto France wounded, and the good doctor had undertaken his cure: thisincident appeared neither strange nor any way important. Whataffected him most deeply was the death of Raynal, his personalfriend and patron. But when his tyrants, as he called the surgeonand his uncle, gave him leave to go home, all feelings wereoverpowered by his great joy at the prospect of seeing Rose. Hewalked over to Beaurepaire, his arm in a sling, his heart beating.
　　He was coming to receive the reward of all he had done, and all hehad attempted. "I will surprise them," thought he. "I will see herface when I come in at the door: oh, happy hour! this pays for all."He entered the house without announcing himself; he went softly upto the saloon; to his great disappointment he found no one but thebaroness: she received him kindly, but not with the warmth heexpected. She was absorbed in her new grief. He asked timidlyafter her daughters. "Madame Raynal bears up, for the sake ofothers. You will not, however, see her: she keeps her room. Mydaughter Rose is taking a walk, I believe." After some politeinquiries, and sympathy with his accident, the baroness retired toindulge her grief, and Edouard thus liberated ran in search of hisbeloved.
　　He met her at the gate of the Pleasaunce, but not alone. She waswalking with an officer, a handsome, commanding, haughty, brilliantofficer. She was walking by his side, talking earnestly to him.
　　An arrow of ice shot through young Riviere; and then came a feelingof death at his heart, a new symptom in his young life.
　　The next moment Rose caught sight of him. She flushed all over anduttered a little exclamation, and she bounded towards him like alittle antelope, and put out both her hands at once. He could onlygive her one.
　　"Ah!" she cried with an accent of heavenly pity, and took his handwith both hers.
　　This was like the meridian sun coming suddenly on a cold place. Hewas all happiness.
　　When Josephine heard he was come her eye flashed, and she saidquickly, "I will come down to welcome him--dear Edouard!"The sisters looked at one another. Josephine blushed. Rose smiledand kissed her. She colored higher still, and said, "No, she wasashamed to go down.""Why?""Look at my face.""I see nothing wrong with it, except that it eclipses otherpeople's, and I have long forgiven you that.""Oh, yes, dear Rose: look what a color it has, and a fortnight agoit was pale as ashes.""Never mind; do you expect me to regret that?""Rose, I am a very bad woman.""Are you, dear? then hook this for me.""Yes, love. But I sometimes think you would forgive me if you knewhow hard I pray to be better. Rose, I do try so to be as unhappy asI ought; but I can't, I can't. My cold heart seems as dead tounhappiness as once it was to happiness. Am I a heartless womanafter all?""Not altogether," said Rose dryly. "Fasten my collar, dear, anddon't torment yourself. You have suffered much and nobly. It wasHeaven's will: you bowed to it. It was not Heaven's will that youshould be blighted altogether. Bow in this, too, to Heaven's will:
　　take things as they come, and do cease to try and reconcile feelingsthat are too opposite to live together.""Ah! these are such comfortable words, Rose; but mamma will see thisdreadful color in my cheek, and what can I say to her?""Ten to one it will not be observed; and if it should, I will say itis the excitement of seeing Edouard. Leave all to me."Josephine greeted Edouard most affectionately, drew from him hiswhole history, and petted him and sympathized with him deliciously,and made him the hero of the evening. Camille, who was notnaturally of a jealous temper, bore this very well at first, but atlast he looked so bitter at her neglect of him, that Rose took himaside to soothe him. Edouard, missing the auditor he most valued,and seeing her in secret conference with the brilliant colonel, felta return of the jealous pangs that had seized him at first sight ofthe man; and so they played at cross purposes.
　　At another period of the evening the conversation became moregeneral; and Edouard took a dislike to Colonel Dujardin. A youngman of twenty-eight nearly always looks on a boy of twenty-one withthe air of a superior, and this assumption, not being an ill-naturedone, is apt to be so easy and so undefined that the younger hardlyknows how to resent or to resist it. But Edouard was a little vainas we know; and the Colonel jarred him terribly. His quick haughtyeye jarred him. His regimentals jarred him: they fitted like aglove. His mustache and his manner jarred him, and, worst of all,his cool familiarity with Rose, who seemed to court him rather thanbe courted by him. He put this act of Rose's to the colonel'saccount, according to the custom of lovers, and revenged himself ina small way by telling Josephine in her ear "that the colonelproduced on his mind the effect of an intolerable puppy."Josephine colored up and looked at him with a momentary surprise.
　　She said quietly, "Military men do give themselves some airs, but heis very amiable at bottom. You must make a better acquaintance withhim, and then he will reveal to you his nobler qualities."--"Oh! Ihave no particular desire," sneered unlucky Edouard. Sweet asJosephine was, this was too much for her: she said nothing; but shequietly turned Edouard over to Aubertin, and joined Rose, and undercover of her had a sweet timid chat with her falsely accused.
　　This occupied the two so entirely that Edouard was neglected. Thishurt his foible, and seemed to be so unkind on the very first day ofhis return that he made his adieus to the baroness, and marched offin dudgeon unobserved.
　　Rose missed him first, but said nothing.
　　When Josephine saw he was gone, she uttered a little exclamation,and looked at Rose. Rose put on a mien of haughty indifference, butthe water was in her eyes.
　　Josephine looked sorrowful.
　　When they talked over everything together at night, she reproachedherself. "We behaved ill to poor Edouard: we neglected him.""He is a little cross, ill-tempered fellow," said Rose pettishly.
　　"Oh, no! no!""And as vain as a peacock.""Has he not some right to be vain in this house?""Yes,--no. I am very angry with him. I won't hear a word in hisfavor," said Rose pouting: then she gave his defender a kiss. "Yes,dear," said Josephine, answering the kiss, and ignoring the words,"he is a dear; and he is not cross, nor so very vain, poor boy! nowdon't you see what it was?""No.""Yes, you do, you little cunning thing: you are too shrewd not tosee everything.""No, indeed, Josephine; do tell me, don't keep me waiting: I can'tbear that.""Well, then--jealous! A little.""Jealous? Oh, what fun! Of Camille? Ha! ha! Little goose!""And," said Josephine very seriously, "I almost think he would bejealous of any one that occupied your attention. I watched him moreor less all the evening.""All the better. I'll torment my lord.""Heaven forbid you should be so cruel.""Oh! I will not make him unhappy, but I'll tease him a little; it isnot in nature to abstain."This foible detected in her lover, Rose was very gay at the prospectof amusement it afforded her.
　　And I think I have many readers who at this moment are awaitingunmixed enjoyment and hilarity from the same source.
　　I wish them joy of their prospect.
　　Edouard called the next day: he wore a gloomy air. Rose met thiswith a particularly cheerful one; on this, Edouard's face clearedup, and he was himself again; agreeable as this was, Rose felt alittle disappointed. "I am afraid he is not very jealous afterall," thought she.
　　Josephine left her room this day and mingled once more with thefamily. The bare sight of her was enough for Camille at first, butafter awhile he wanted more. He wanted to be often alone with her;but several causes co-operated to make her shy of giving him manysuch opportunities: first, her natural delicacy, coupled with herhabit of self-denial; then her fear of shocking her mother, andlastly her fear of her own heart, and of Camille, whose power overher she knew. For Camille, when he did get a sweet word alone withher, seemed to forget everything except that she was his betrothed,and that he had come back alive to marry her. He spoke to her ofhis love with an ardor and an urgency that made her thrill withhappiness, but at the same time shrink with a certain fear and self-reproach. Possessed with a feeling no stronger than hers, butsingle, he did not comprehend the tumult, the trouble, the dailycontest in her heart. The wind seemed to him to be always changing,and hot and cold the same hour. Since he did not even see that shewas acting in hourly fear of her mother's eye, he was little likelyto penetrate her more hidden sentiments; and then he had not touchedher key-note,--self-denial.
　　Women are self-denying and uncandid. Men are self-indulgent andoutspoken.
　　And this is the key to a thousand double misunderstandings; forbelieve me, good women are just as stupid in misunderstanding men ashonest men are in misunderstanding women.
　　To Camille, Josephine's fluctuations, joys, tremors, love, terror,modesty, seemed one grand total, caprice. The component parts of ithe saw not; and her caprice tortured him almost to madness. Toopenitent to give way again to violent passion, he gently fretted.
　　His health retrograded and his temper began to sour. The eye oftimid love that watched him with maternal anxiety from under itslong lashes saw this with dismay, and Rose, who looked into hersister's bosom, devoted herself once more to soothe him withoutcompromising Josephine's delicacy. Matters were not so bad but whata fine sprightly girl like Rose could cheer up a dejected but manlycolonel; and Rose was generally successful.
　　But then, unfortunately, this led to a fresh mystification.
　　Riviere's natural jealousy revived, and found constant food in theattention Rose paid Camille, a brilliant colonel living in the housewhile he, poor wretch, lived in lodgings. The false position of allthe parties brought about some singular turns. I give from theirnumber one that forms a link, though a small one, in my narrative.
　　One day Edouard came to tell Rose she was making him unhappy; he hadher alone in the Pleasaunce; she received him with a radiant smile,and they had a charming talk,--a talk all about HIM: what the familyowed him, etc.
　　On this, his late jealousy and sense of injury seemed a thing ofthree years ago, and never to return. So hard it is for the lovingheart to resist its sun.
　　Jacintha came with a message from the colonel: "Would it beagreeable to Mademoiselle Rose to walk with him at the usual hour?""Certainly," said Rose.
　　As Jacintha was retiring Edouard called to her to stop a minute.
　　Then, turning to Rose, he begged her very ceremoniously toreconsider that determination.
　　"What determination?""To sacrifice me to this Colonel Dujardin." Still politely, only alittle grimly.
　　Rose opened her eyes. "Are you mad?" inquired she with quiethauteur.
　　"Neither mad nor a fool," was the reply. "I love you too well toshare your regard with any one, upon any terms; least of all uponthese, that there is to be a man in the world at whose beck and callyou are to be, and at whose orders you are to break off an interviewwith me. Perdition!""Dear Edouard, what folly! Can you suspect me of discourtesy, aswell as of--I know not what. Colonel Dujardin will join us, that isall, and we shall take a little walk with him.""Not I. I decline the intrusion; you are engaged with me, and Ihave things to say to you that are not fit for that puppy to hear.
　　So choose between me and him, and choose forever."Rose colored. "I should be very sorry to choose either of youforever; but for this afternoon I choose you.""Oh, thank you--my whole life shall prove my gratitude for thispreference."Rose beckoned Jacintha, and sent her with an excuse to ColonelDujardin. She then turned with an air of mock submission toEdouard. "I am at monsieur's ORDERS."Then this unhappy novice, being naturally good-natured, thanked heragain and again for her condescension in setting his heart at rest.
　　He proposed a walk, since his interference had lost her one. Sheyielded a cold assent. This vexed him, but he took it for grantedit would wear off before the end of the walk. Edouard's heartbounded, but he loved her too sincerely to be happy unless he couldsee her happy too; the malicious thing saw this, or perhaps knew itby instinct, and by means of this good feeling of his she revengedherself for his tyranny. She tortured him as only a woman cantorture, and as even she can torture only a worthy man, and one wholoves her. In the course of that short walk this inexperiencedgirl, strong in the instincts and inborn arts of her sex, drove pinsand needles, needles and pins, of all sorts and sizes, through herlover's heart.
　　She was everything by turns, except kind, and nothing for longtogether. She was peevish, she was ostentatiously patient andsubmissive, she was inattentive to her companion and seeminglywrapped up in contemplation of absent things and persons, thecolonel to wit; she was dogged, repulsive, and cold; and she neverwas herself a single moment. They returned to the gate of thePleasaunce. "Well, mademoiselle," said Riviere very sadly, "thatinterloper might as well have been with us.""Of course he might, and you would have lost nothing by permittingme to be courteous to a guest and an invalid. If you had not playedthe tyrant, and taken the matter into your own hands, I should havefound means to soothe your jeal--I mean your vanity; but youpreferred to have your own way. Well, you have had it.""Yes, mademoiselle, you have given me a lesson; you have shown mehow idle it is to attempt to force a young lady's inclinations inanything."He bade her good-day, and went away sorrowful.
　　She cut Camille dead for the rest of the day.
　　Next morning, early, Edouard called expressly to see her.
　　"Mademoiselle Rose," said he, humbly, "I called to apologize for theungentlemanly tone of my remonstrances yesterday.""Fiddle-dee," said Rose. "Don't do it again; that is the bestapology.""I am not likely to offend so again," said he sadly. "I am goingaway. I am sorry to say I am promoted; my new post is ten leagues.
　　HE WILL HAVE IT ALL HIS OWN WAY NOW. But perhaps it is best. WereI to stay here, I foresee you would soon lose whatever friendlyfeeling you have for me.""Am I so changeable? I am not considered so," remonstrated Rose,gently.
　　Riviere explained; "I am not vain," said he, with that self-knowledge which is so general an attribute of human beings; "no manless so, nor am I jealous; but I respect myself, and I could neverbe content to share your time and your regard with Colonel Dujardin,nor with a much better man. See now; he has made me arrogant. WasI ever so before?""No! no! no! and I forgive you now, my poor Edouard.""He has made you cold as ice to me.""No! that was my own wickedness and spitefulness.""Wickedness, spitefulness! they are not in your nature. It is allthat wretch's doing."Rose sighed, but she said nothing; for she saw that to excuseCamille would only make the jealous one more bitter against him.
　　"Will you deign to write to me at my new post? once a month? inanswer to my letters?""Yes, dear. But you will ride over sometimes to see us.""Oh, yes; but for some little time I shall not be able. The dutiesof a new post.""Perhaps in a month--a fortnight?""Sooner perhaps; the moment I hear that man is out of the house."Edouard went away, dogged and sad; Rose shut herself up in herroom and had a good cry. In the afternoon Josephine came andremonstrated with her. "You have not walked with him at all to-day.""No; you must pet him yourself for once. I hate the sight of him;it has made mischief between Edouard and me, my being so attentiveto him. Edouard is jealous, and I cannot wonder. After all, whatright have I to mystify him who honors me with his affection?"Then, being pressed with questions by Josephine, she related to herall that had passed between Edouard and her, word for word.
　　"Poor Camille!" sighed Josephine the just.
　　"Oh, dear, yes! poor Camille! who has the power to make us allmiserable, and who does it, and will go on doing it until he ishappy himself.""Ah! would to Heaven I could make him as happy as he deserves tobe.""You could easily make him much happier than that. And why not doit?""O Rose," said Josephine, shocked, "how can you advise me so?"She then asked her if she thought it possible that Camille could beignorant of her heart.
　　"Josephine," replied Rose, angrily, "these men are absurd: theybelieve only what they see. I have done what I can for you andCamille, but it is useless. Would you have him believe you lovehim, you must yourself be kind to him; and it would be a charitableaction: you would make four unhappy people happy, or, at least, putthem on the road; NOW they are off the road, and, by what I haveseen to-day, I think, if we go on so much longer, it will be toolate to try to return. Come, Josephine, for my sake! Let me go andtell him you will consent--to all our happinesses. There, the crimeis mine." And she ran off in spite of Josephine's faint andhypocritical entreaties. She returns the next minute looking allaghast. "It is too late," said she. "He is going away. I am surehe is, for he is packing up his things to go. I spied through theold place and saw him. He was sighing like a furnace as he strappedhis portmanteau. I hate him, of course, but I was sorry for him. Icould not help being. He sighed so all the time, piteously."Josephine turned pale, and lifted her hands in surprise and dismay.
　　"Depend on it, Josephine, we are wrong," said Rose, firmly: "thesewretches will not stand our nonsense above a certain time: they arenot such fools. We are mismanaging: one gone, the other going; bothlosing faith in us."Josephine's color returned to her cheek, and then mounted high.
　　Presently she smiled, a smile full of conscious power and furtivecomplacency, and said quietly, "He will not go."Rose was pleased, but not surprised, to hear her sister speak soconfidently, for she knew her power over Camille. "That is right,"said she, "go to him, and say two honest words: 'I bid you stay.'""O Rose! no!""Poltroon! You know he would go down on his knees, and staydirectly.""No: I should blush all my life before you and him. I COULD not. Ishould let him go sooner, almost. Oh, no! I will never ask a manto stay who wishes to leave me. But just you go to him, and sayMadame Raynal is going to take a little walk: will he do her thehonor to be her companion? Not a word more, if you love me.""I'll go. Hypocrite!"Josephine received Camille with a bright smile. She seemed inunusually good spirits, and overflowing with kindness and innocentaffection. On this his high gloomy brow relaxed, and all hisprospects brightened as by magic. Then she communicated to him anumber of little plans for next week and the week after. Among therest he was to go with her and Rose to Frejus. "Such a sweet place:
　　I want to show it you. You will come?"He hesitated a single moment: a moment of intense anxiety to thesmiling Josephine.
　　"Yes! he would come: it was a great temptation, he saw so little ofher.""Well, you will see more of me now.""Shall I see you every day--alone, I mean?""Oh, yes, if you wish it," replied Josephine, in an off-hand,indifferent way.
　　He seized her hand and devoured it with kisses. "Foolish thing!"murmured she, looking down on him with ineffable tenderness.
　　"Should I not be always with you if I consulted my inclination?--letme go.""No! consult your inclination a little longer.""Must I?""Yes; that shall be your punishment.""For what? What have I done?" asked she with an air of greatinnocence.
　　"You have made me happy, me who adore you," was the evasive reply.
　　Josephine came in from her walk with a high color and beaming eyes,and screamed, "Run, Rose!"On this concise, and to us not very clear instruction, Rose slippedup the secret stair. She saw Camille come in and gravely unpack hislittle portmanteau, and dispose his things in the drawers withsoldier-like neatness, and hum an agreeable march. She came andtold Josephine.
　　"Ah!" said Josephine with a little sigh of pleasure, and a gentletriumph in her eyes.
　　She had not only got her desire, but had arrived at it her way,--woman's way, round about.
　　This adroit benevolence led to more than she bargained for. She andCamille were now together every day: and their hearts, being underrestraint in public, melted together all the more in their stoleninterviews.
　　At the third delicious interview the modest Camille begged Josephineto be his wife directly.
　　Have you noticed those half tame deer that come up to you in a parkso lovingly, with great tender eyes, and, being now almost withinreach, stop short, and with bodies fixed like statues on pedestals,crane out their graceful necks for sugar, or bread, or a chestnut,or a pocket-handkerchief? Do but offer to put your hand upon them,away they bound that moment twenty yards, and then stand quitestill, and look at your hand and you, with great inquiring,suspicious, tender eyes.
　　So Josephine started at Camille's audacious proposal. "Nevermention such a thing to me again: or--or, I will not walk with youany more:" then she thrilled with pleasure at the obnoxious idea,"she Camille's wife!" and colored all over--with rage, Camillethought. He promised submissively not to renew the topic: no morehe did till next day. Josephine had spent nearly the whole intervalin thinking of it; so she was prepared to put him down by calmreasons. She proceeded to do so, gently, but firmly.
　　Lo and behold! what does he do, but meets her with just as manyreasons, and just as calm ones: and urges them gently, but firmly.
　　Heaven had been very kind to them: why should they be unkind tothemselves? They had had a great escape: why not accept thehappiness, as, being persons of honor, they had accepted the misery?
　　with many other arguments, differing in other things, but agreeingin this, that they were all sober, grave, and full of common-sense.
　　Finding him not defenceless on the score of reason, she shifted herground and appealed to his delicacy. On this he appealed to herlove, and then calm reason was jostled off the field, and passionand sentiment battled in her place.
　　In these contests day by day renewed, Camille had many advantages.
　　Rose, though she did not like him, had now declared on his side.
　　She refused to show him the least attention. This threw him onJosephine: and when Josephine begged her to help reduce Camille toreason, her answer would be,--"Hypocrite!" with a kiss: or else she would say, with a half comicpetulance, "No! no! I am on his side. Give him his own way, or hewill make us all four miserable."Thus Josephine's ally went over to the enemy.
　　And then this coy young lady's very power of resistance began togive way. She had now battled for months against her own heart:
　　first for her mother; then, in a far more terrible conflict forRaynal, for honor and purity; and of late she had been battling,still against her own heart, for delicacy, for etiquette, thingsvery dear to her, but not so great, holy, and sustaining as honorand charity that were her very household gods: and so, just when themotives of resistance were lowered, the length of the resistancebegan to wear her out.
　　For nothing is so hard to her sex as a long steady struggle. Inmatters physical, this is the thing the muscles of the fair cannotstand; in matters intellectual and moral, the long strain it is thatbeats them dead.
　　Do not look for a Bacona, a Newtona, a Handella, a Victoria Huga.
　　Some American ladies tell us education has stopped the growth ofthese.
　　No! mesdames. These are not in nature.
　　They can bubble letters in ten minutes that you could no moredeliver to order in ten days than a river can play like a fountain.
　　They can sparkle gems of stories: they can flash little diamonds ofpoems. The entire sex has never produced one opera nor one epicthat mankind could tolerate: and why? these come by long, high-strung labor. But, weak as they are in the long run of everythingbut the affections (and there giants), they are all overpoweringwhile their gallop lasts. Fragilla shall dance any two of you flaton the floor before four o'clock, and then dance on till the peep ofday.
　　Only you trundle off to your business as usual, and could danceagain the next night, and so on through countless ages.
　　She who danced you into nothing is in bed, a human jelly tipped withheadache.
　　What did Josephine say to Rose one day? "I am tired of saying 'No!
　　no! no! no! no!' forever and ever to him I love."But this was not all. She was not free from self-reproach.
　　Camille's faith in her had stood firm. Hers in him had not. Shehad wronged him, first by believing him false, then by marryinganother. One day she asked his pardon for this. He replied that hehad forgiven that; but would she be good enough to make him forgetit?
　　"I wish I could.""You can. Marry me: then your relation to that man will seem but ahideous dream. I shall be able to say, looking at you, my wife, 'Iwas faithful: I suffered something for her; I came home: she lovedme still; the proof is, she was my wife within three months of myreturn.'"When he said that to her in the Pleasaunce, if there had been apriest at hand--. In a word, Josephine longed to show him her love,yet wished not to shock her mother, nor offend her own sense ofdelicacy; but Camille cared for nothing but his love. To sacrificelove and happiness, even for a time, to etiquette, seemed to him tobe trifling with the substance of great things for the shadow ofpetty things; and he said so: sometimes sadly, sometimes almostbitterly.
　　So Josephine was a beleagured fortress, attacked with one will, anddefended by troops, one-third of which were hot on the side of thebesiegers.
　　When singleness attacks division, you know the result beforehand.
　　Why then should I spin words? I will not trace so ill-matched acontest step by step, sentence by sentence: let me rather hasten torelate the one peculiarity that arose out of this trite contest,where, under the names of Camille and Josephine, the two great sexesmay be seen acting the whole world-wide distich,--"It's a man's part to try,And a woman's to deny [for a while?]."Finding her own resolutions oozing away, Josephine caught at anotherperson.
　　She said to Camille before Rose,--"Even if I could bring myself to snatch at happiness in thisindelicate way--scarce a month after, oh!" And there ended thelady's sentence. In the absence of a legitimate full stop, she putone hand before her lovely face to hide it, and so no more. Butsome two minutes after she delivered the rest in the form and withthe tone of a distinct remark, "No: my mother would never consent.""Yes, she would if you could be brought to implore her as earnestlyas I implore you.""Now would she?" asked Josephine, turning quickly to her sister.
　　"No, never. Our mother would look with horror on such a proposal.
　　A daughter of hers to marry within a twelvemonth of her widowhood!""There, you see, Camille.""And, besides, she loved Raynal so; she has not forgotten him as wehave, almost.""Ungrateful creature that I am!" sighed Josephine!
　　"She mourns for him every day. Often I see her eyes suddenly fill;that is for him. Josephine's influence with mamma is very great: itis double mine: but if we all went on our knees to her, the doctorand all, she would never consent.""There you see, Camille: and I could not defy my mother, even foryou."Camille sighed.
　　"I see everything is against me, even my love: for that love is toomuch akin to veneration to propose to you a clandestine marriage.""Oh, thank you! bless you for respecting as well as loving me, dearCamille," said Josephine.
　　These words, uttered with gentle warmth, were some consolation toCamille, and confirmed him, as they were intended to do, in theabove good resolution. He smiled.
　　"Maladroit!" muttered Rose.
　　"Why maladroit?" asked Camille, opening his eyes.
　　"Let us talk of something else," replied Rose, coolly.
　　Camille turned red. He understood that he had done something verystupid, but he could not conceive what. He looked from one sisterto the other alternately. Rose was smiling ironically, Josephinehad her eyes bent demurely on a handkerchief she was embroidering.
　　That evening Camille drew Rose aside, and asked for an explanationof her "maladroit.""So it was," replied Rose, sharply.
　　But as this did not make the matter quite clear, Camille begged alittle further explanation.
　　"Was it your part to make difficulties?""No, indeed.""Was it for you to tell her a secret marriage would not be delicate?
　　Do you think she will be behind you in delicacy? or that a lovewithout respect will satisfy her? yet you must go and tell her yourespected her too much to ask her to marry you secretly. In otherwords, situated as she is, you asked her not to marry you at all:
　　she consented to that directly; what else could you expect?""Maladroit! indeed," said Camille, "but I would not have said it,only I thought"--"You thought nothing would induce her to marry secretly, so you saidto yourself, 'I will assume a virtue: I will do a bit of cheap self-denial: decline to the sound of trumpets what another will be sureto deny me if I don't--ha! ha!'--well, for your comfort, I am by nomeans so sure she might not have been brought to do ANYTHING foryou, except openly defy mamma: but now of course"--And here this young lady's sentence ended: for the sisters, unlikein most things, were one in grammar.
　　Camille was so disconcerted and sad at what he had done, that Rosebegan to pity him: so she rallied him a little longer in spite ofher pity: and then all of a sudden gave him her hand, and said shewould try and repair the mischief.
　　He began to smother her hand with kisses.
　　"Oh!" said she, "I don't deserve all that: I have a motive of myown; let me alone, child, do. Your unlucky speech will be quoted tome a dozen times. Never mind."Rose went and bribed Josephine to consent.
　　"Come, mamma shall not know, and as for you, you shall scarcely movein the matter; only do not oppose me very violently, and all will bewell.""Ah, Rose!" said Josephine; "it is delightful--terrible, I mean--tohave a little creature about one that reads one like this. Whatshall I do? What shall I do?""Why, do the best you can under all the circumstances. His wound ishealed, you know; he must go back to the army; you have bothsuffered to the limits of mortal endurance. Is he to go awayunhappy, in any doubt of your affection? and you to remain behindwith the misery of self-reproach added to the desolation ofabsence?--think.""It is cruel. But to deceive my mother!""Do not say deceive our mother; that is such a shocking phrase."Rose then reminded Josephine that their confessor had told them awise reticence was not the same thing as a moral deceit. Shereminded her, too, how often they had acted on his advice and alwayswith good effect; how many anxieties and worries they had savedtheir mother by reticence. Josephine assented warmly to this.
　　Was there not some reason to think they had saved their mother'svery life by these reticences? Josephine assented. "And,Josephine, you are of age; you are your own mistress; you have aright to marry whom you please: and, sooner or later, you willcertainly marry Camille. I doubt whether even our mother couldprevail on you to refuse him altogether. So it is but a question oftime, and of giving our mother pain, or sparing her pain. Dearmamma is old; she is prejudiced. Why shock her prejudices? Shecould not be brought to understand the case: these things neverhappened in her day. Everything seems to have gone by rule then.
　　Let us do nothing to worry her for the short time she has to live.
　　Let us take a course between pain to her and cruelty to you andCamille."These arguments went far to convince Josephine: for her own heartsupported them. She went from her solid objections to untenableones--a great point gained. She urged the difficulty, theimpossibility of a secret marriage.
　　Camille burst in here: he undertook at once to overcome theseimaginary difficulties. "They could be married at a distance.""You will find no priest who will consent to do such a wicked thingas marry us without my mother's knowledge," objected Josephine.
　　"Oh! as to that," said Rose, "you know the mayor marries peoplenowadays.""I will not be married again without a priest," said Josephine,sharply.
　　"Nor I," said Camille. "I know a mayor who will do the civil formsfor me, and a priest who will marry me in the sight of Heaven, andboth will keep it secret for love of me till it shall pleaseJosephine to throw off this disguise.""Who is the priest?" inquired Josephine, keenly.
　　"An old cure: he lives near Frejus: he was my tutor, and the mayoris the mayor of Frejus, also an old friend of mine.""But what on earth will you say to them?""That is my affair: I must give them some reasons which compel me tokeep my marriage secret. Oh! I shall have to tell them some fibs,of course.""There, I thought so! I will not have you telling fibs; it lowersyou.""Of course it does; but you can't have secrecy without a fib ortwo.""Fibs that will injure no one," said Rose, majestically.
　　From this day Camille began to act as well as to talk. He bought alight caleche and a powerful horse, and elected factotum Dard hisgroom. Camille rode over to Frejus and told a made-up story to theold cure and the mayor, and these his old friends believed everyword he said, and readily promised their services and strictsecrecy.
　　He told the young ladies what he had done.
　　Rose approved. Josephine shook her head, and seeing matters goingas her heart desired and her conscience did not quite approve, shesuddenly affected to be next to nobody in the business--to beresigned, passive, and disposed of to her surprise by Queen Rose andKing Camille, without herself taking any actual part in theirproceedings.
　　At last the great day arrived on which Camille and Josephine were tobe married at Frejus.
　　The mayor awaited them at eleven o'clock. The cure at twelve. Thefamily had been duly prepared for this excursion by several smallerones.
　　Rose announced their intention over night; a part of it.
　　"Mamma," said she, blushing a little, "Colonel Dujardin is goodenough to take us to Frejus tomorrow. It is a long way, and we mustbreakfast early or we shall not be back to dinner.""Do so, my child. I hope you will have a fine day: and mind youtake plenty of wraps with you in case of a shower."At seven o'clock the next morning Camille and the two ladies took ahasty cup of coffee together instead of breakfast, and then Dardbrought the caleche round.
　　The ladies got in, and Camille had just taken the reins in his hand,when Jacintha screamed to him from the hall, "Wait a moment,colonel, wait a moment! The doctor! don't go without the doctor!"And the next moment Dr. Aubertin appeared with his cloak on his arm,and, saluting the ladies politely, seated himself quietly in thevehicle before the party had recovered their surprise.
　　The ladies managed to keep their countenances, but Dujardin'sdiscomfiture was evident.
　　He looked piteously at Josephine, and then asked Aubertin if theywere to set him down anywhere in particular.
　　"Oh, no; I am going with you to Frejus," was the quiet reply.
　　Josephine quaked. Camille was devoured with secret rage: he lashedthe horse and away they went.
　　It was a silent party. The doctor seemed in a reverie. The othersdid not know what to think, much less to say. Aubertin sat byCamille's side; so the latter could hold no secret communicationwith either lady.
　　Now it was not the doctor's habit to rise at this time of themorning: yet there he was, going with them to Frejus uninvited.
　　Josephine was in agony; had their intention transpired through someimprudence of Camille?
　　Camille was terribly uneasy. He concluded the secret had transpiredthrough female indiscretion. Then they all tortured themselves asto the old man's intention. But what seemed most likely was, thathe was with them to prevent a clandestine marriage by his barepresence, without making a scene and shocking Josephine's pride: andif so, was he there by his own impulse? No, it was rather to befeared that all this was done by order of the baroness. There was afinesse about it that smacked of a feminine origin, and the baronesswas very capable of adopting such a means as this, to spare her ownpride and her favorite daughter's. "The clandestine" is not allsugar. A more miserable party never went along, even to a wedding.
　　After waiting a long time for the doctor to declare himself, theyturned desperate, and began to chatter all manner of trifles. Thishad a good effect: it roused Aubertin from his reverie, andpresently he gave them the following piece of information: "I toldyou the other day that a nephew of mine was just dead; a nephew Ihad not seen for many years. Well, my friends, I received lastnight a hasty summons to his funeral.""At Frejus?""No, at Paris. The invitation was so pressing, that I was obligedto go. The letter informed me, however, that a diligence passesthrough Frejus, at eleven o'clock, for Paris. I heard you say youwere going to Frejus; so I packed up a few changes of linen, and myMS., my work on entomology, which at my last visit to the capitalall the publishers were mad enough to refuse: here it is. Apropos,has Jacintha put my bag into the carriage?"On this a fierce foot-search, and the bag was found. Meantime,Josephine leaned back in her seat with a sigh of thankfulness. Shewas more intent on not being found out than on being married. ButCamille, who was more intent on being married than on not beingfound out, was asking himself, with fury, how on earth they shouldget rid of Aubertin in time.
　　Well, of course, under such circumstances as these the diligence didnot come to its time, nor till long after; and all the while, theywere waiting for it they were failing their rendezvous with themayor, and making their rendezvous with the curate impossible. But,above all, there was the risk of one or other of those friendscoming up and blurting all out, taking for granted that the doctormust be in their confidence, or why bring him.
　　At last, at half-past eleven o'clock, to their great relief, up camethe diligence. The doctor prepared to take his place in theinterior, when the conductor politely informed him that the vehiclestopped there a quarter of an hour.
　　"In that case I will not abandon my friends," said the doctor,affectionately.
　　One of his friends gnashed his teeth at this mark of affection. ButJosephine smiled sweetly.
　　At last he was gone; but it wanted ten minutes only to twelve.
　　Josephine inquired amiably, whether it would not be as well topostpone matters to another day--meaning forever. "My ARDOR ischilled," said she, and showed symptoms of crying at what she hadgone through.
　　Camille replied by half dragging them to the mayor. That worthyreceived them with profound, though somewhat demure respect, andinvited them to a table sumptuously served. The ladies, out ofpoliteness, were about to assent, but Camille begged permission topostpone that part until after the ceremony.
　　At last, to their astonishment, they were married. Then, with apromise to return and dine with the mayor, they went to the cure.
　　Lo and behold! he was gone to visit a sick person. "He had waited along time for them," said the servant.
　　Josephine was much disconcerted, and showed a disposition to cryagain. The servant, a good-natured girl, nosed a wedding, andoffered to run and bring his reverence in a minute.
　　Presently there came an old silvery-haired man, who addressed themall as his children. He took them to the church, and blessed theirunion; and for the first time Josephine felt as if Heaven consented.
　　They took a gentle farewell of him, and went back to the mayor's todine; and at this stage of the business Rose and Josephine at lasteffected a downright simultaneous cry, apropos of nothing that wasthen occurring.
　　This refreshed them mightily, and they glowed at the mayor's tablelike roses washed with dew.
　　But oh! how glad at heart they all were to find themselves in thecarriage once more going home to Beaurepaire.
　　Rose and Josephine sat intertwined on the back seat; Camille, thereins in his right hand, nearly turned his back on the horse, andleaned back over to them and purred to Rose and his wife withineffable triumph and tenderness.
　　The lovers were in Elysium, and Rose was not a little proud of hergood management in ending all their troubles. Their mother receivedthem back with great, and as they fancied, with singular, affection.
　　She was beginning to be anxious about them, she said. Then herkindness gave these happy souls a pang it never gave them before.
　　Since the above events scarce a fortnight had elapsed; but such achange! Camille sunburnt and healthy, and full of animation andconfidence; Josephine beaming with suppressed happiness, and morebeautiful than Rose could ever remember to have seen her. For asoft halo of love and happiness shone around her head; a new andindefinable attraction bloomed on her face. She was a wife. Hereye, that used to glance furtively on Camille, now dwelt demurely onhim; dwelt with a sort of gentle wonder and admiration as well asaffection, and, when he came or passed very near her, a keenobserver might have seen her thrill.
　　She kept a good deal out of her mother's way; for she felt withinthat her face must be too happy. She feared to shock her mother'sgrief with her radiance. She was ashamed of feeling unmixed heaven.
　　But the flood of secret bliss she floated in bore all misgivingsaway. The pair were forever stealing away together for hours, andon these occasions Rose used to keep out of her mother's sight,until they should return. So then the new-married couple couldwander hand in hand through the thick woods of Beaurepaire, whosefresh green leaves were now just out, and hear the distant cuckoo,and sit on mossy banks, and pour love into one another's eyes, andplan ages of happiness, and murmur their deep passion and theirbliss almost more than mortal; could do all this and more, withoutshocking propriety. These sweet duets passed for trios: for ontheir return Rose would be out looking for them, or would go andmeet them at some distance, and all three would go up together tothe baroness, as from a joint excursion. And when they went up totheir bedrooms, Josephine would throw her arms round her sister'sneck, and sigh, "It is not happiness, it is beatitude!"Meantime, the baroness mourned for Raynal. Her grief showed nodecrease. Rose even fancied at times she wore a gloomy anddiscontented look as well; but on reflection she attributed that toher own fancy, or to the contrast that had now sprung up in hersister's beaming complacency.
　　Rose, when she found herself left day after day alone for hours, wassad and thought of Edouard. And this feeling gained on her day byday.
　　At last, one afternoon, she locked herself in her own room, and,after a long contest with her pride, which, if not indomitable, wasnext door to it, she sat down to write him a little letter. Now, inthis letter, in the place devoted by men to their after-thoughts, bywomen to their pretended after-thoughts; i. e., to what they havebeen thinking of all through the letter, she dropped a careless hintthat all the party missed him very much, "even the obnoxiouscolonel, who, by-the-by, has transferred his services elsewhere. Ihave forgiven him that, because he has said civil things about you."Rose was reading her letter over again, to make sure that all theprincipal expressions were indistinct, and that the compositiongenerally, except the postscript, resembled a Delphic oracle, whenthere was a hasty footstep, and a tap at her door, and in cameJacintha, excited.
　　"He is come, mademoiselle," cried she, and nodded her head like amandarin, only more knowingly; then she added, "So you may burnthat." For her quick eye had glanced at the table.
　　"Who is come?" inquired Rose, eagerly.
　　"Why, your one?""My one?" asked the young lady, reddening, "my what?""The little one--Edouard--Monsieur Riviere.""Oh, Monsieur Riviere," said Rose, acting nonchalance. "Why couldyou not say so? you use such phrases, who can conjecture what youmean? I will come to Monsieur Riviere directly; mamma will be soglad."Jacintha gone, Rose tore up the letter and locked up the pieces,then ran to the glass. Etc.
　　Edouard had been so profoundly miserable he could stand it nolonger; in spite of his determination not to visit Beaurepaire whileit contained a rival, he rode over to see whether he had nottormented himself idly: above all, to see the beloved face.
　　Jacintha put him into the salle a manger. "By that you will see heralone," said the knowing Jacintha. He sat down, hat and whip inhand, and wondered how he should be received--if at all.
　　In glides Rose all sprightliness and good-humor, and puts out herhand to him; the which he kisses.
　　"How could I keep away so long?" asked he vaguely, and self-astonished.
　　"How indeed, and we missing you so all the time!""Have YOU missed me?" was the eager inquiry.
　　"Oh, no!" was the cheerful reply; "but all the rest have."Presently the malicious thing gave a sudden start.
　　"Oh! such a piece of news; you remember Colonel Dujardin, theobnoxious colonel?"No answer.
　　"Transferred his attentions. Fancy!""Who to?""To Josephine and mamma. But such are the military. He only wantedto get rid of you: this done (through your want of spirit), hescorns the rich prize; so now I scorn HIM. Will you come for awalk?""Oh, yes!""We will go and look for my deserter. I say, tell me now; cannot Iwrite to the commander-in-chief about this? a soldier has no rightto be a deserter, has he? tell me, you are a public man, and knoweverything except my heart.""Is it not too bad to tease me to-day?""Yes! but please! I have had few amusements of late. I find it sodull without you to tease."Formal permission to tease being conceded, she went that instant onthe opposite tack, and began to tell him how she had missed him, andhow sorry she had been anything should have occurred to vex theirkind good friend. In short, Edouard spent a delightful day, forRose took him one way to meet Josephine, who, she knew, was cominganother. At night the last embers of jealousy got quenched, forJosephine was a wife now, and had already begun to tell Camille allher little innocent secrets; and she told him all about Edouard andRose, and gave him his orders; so he treated Rose with great respectbefore Edouard; but paid her no marked attention; also he wasaffable to Riviere, who, having ceased to suspect, began to likehim.
　　In the course of the evening, the colonel also informed the baronessthat he expected every day an order to join the army of the Rhine.
　　Edouard pricked his ears.
　　The baroness said no more than politeness dictated. She did notpress him to stay, but treated his departure as a matter of course.
　　Riviere rode home late in the evening in high spirits.
　　The next day Rose varied her late deportment; she sang snatches ofmelody, going about the house; it was for all the world like a birdchirping. In the middle of one chirp Jacintha interfered. "Hush,mademoiselle, your mamma! she is at the bottom of the corridor.""What was I thinking of?" said Rose.
　　"Oh! I dare say you know, mademoiselle," replied the privilegeddomestic.
　　A letter of good news came from Aubertin. That summons to hisnephew's funeral was an era in his harmless life.
　　The said nephew was a rich man and an oddity; one of those who loveto surprise folk. Moreover, he had no children, and detected hisnephews and nieces being unnaturally civil to him. "Waiting to cutme up," was his generous reading of them. So with this he made awill, and there defied, as far as in him lay, the laws of nature;for he set his wealth a-flowing backwards instead of forwards; hehanded his property up to an ancestor, instead of down to posterity.
　　All this the doctor's pen set down with some humor, and in the calmspirit with which a genuine philosopher receives prosperity as wellas adversity. Yet one natural regret escaped him; that all thiswealth, since it was to come, had not come a year or two sooner.
　　All at Beaurepaire knew what their dear old friend meant.
　　His other news to them was that they might expect him any moment.
　　So here was another cause of rejoicing.
　　"I am so glad," said Josephine. "Now, perhaps, he will be able topublish his poor dear entomology, that the booksellers were all sounkind, so unfeeling about."I linger on the brink of painful scenes to observe that a sweet andloving friendship, such as this was between the good doctor andthree persons of another sex, is one of the best treasures of thehuman heart. Poverty had strengthened it; yet now wealth could notweaken it. With no tie of blood it yet was filial, sisterly,brotherly, national, chivalrous; happy, unalloyed sentiment, freefrom ups and downs, from heats and chills, from rivalry, fromcaprice; and, indeed, from all mortal accidents but one--and why sayone? methinks death itself does but suspend these gentle, rare,unselfish amities a moment, then waft them upward to their abidinghome.
Chapter 15
　　It was a fair morning in June: the sky was a bright, deep, lovely,speckless blue: the flowers and bushes poured perfume, and sprinkledsong upon the balmy air. On such a day, so calm, so warm, sobright, so scented, so tuneful, to live and to be young is to behappy. With gentle hand it wipes all other days out of the memory;it smiles, it smells, it sings, and clouds and rain and biting windseem as far off and impossible as grief and trouble.
　　Camille and Josephine had stolen out, and strolled lazily up anddown close under the house, drinking the sweet air, fragrant withperfume and melody; the blue sky, and love.
　　Rose was in the house. She had missed them; but she thought theymust be near; for they seldom took long walks early in the day.
　　Meeting Jacintha on the landing of the great staircase, she askedher where her sister was.
　　"Madame Raynal is gone for a walk. She has taken the colonel withher. You know she always takes the colonel out with her now.""That will do. You can finish your work."Jacintha went into Camille's room.
　　Rose, who had looked as grave as a judge while Jacintha was present,bubbled into laughter. She even repeated Jacintha's words aloud,and chuckled over them. "You know she always takes the colonel outwith her now--ha, ha, ha!""Rose!" sighed a distant voice.
　　She looked round, and saw the baroness at some distance in thecorridor, coming slowly towards her, with eyes bent gloomily on theground. Rose composed her features into a settled gravity, and wentto meet her.
　　"I wish to speak with you," said the baroness; "let us sit down; itis cool here."Rose ran and brought a seat without a back, but well stuffed, andset it against the wall. The old lady sat down and leaned back, andlooked at Rose in silence a good while; then she said,--"There is room for you; sit down, for I want to speak seriously toyou.""Yes, mamma; what is it?""Turn a little round, and let me see your face."Rose complied; and began to feel a little uneasy.
　　"Perhaps you can guess what I am going to say to you?""I have no idea.""Well, I am going to put a question to you.""With all my heart, dear mamma.""I invite you to explain to me the most singular, the mostunaccountable thing that ever fell under my notice. Will you dothis for your mother?""O mamma! of course I will do anything to please you that I can;but, indeed, I don't know what you mean.""I am going to tell you."The old lady paused. The young one, naturally enough, felt a chillof vague anxiety strike across her frame.
　　"Rose," said the old lady, speaking very gently but firmly, andleaning in a peculiar way on her words, while her eye worked like anice gimlet on her daughter's face, "a little while ago, when my poorRaynal--our benefactor--was alive--and I was happy--you all chilledmy happiness by your gloom: the whole house seemed a house ofmourning--tell me now why was this.""Mamma!" said Rose, after a moment's hesitation, "we could hardly begay. Sickness in the house! And if Colonel Raynal was alive, stillhe was absent, and in danger.""Oh! then it was out of regard for him we were all dispirited?""Why, I suppose so," said Rose, stoutly; but then colored high ather own want of candor. However, she congratulated herself that hermother's suspicion was confined to past events.
　　Her self-congratulation on that score was short; for the baroness,after eying her grimly for a second or two in silence, put her thisawkward question plump.
　　"If so, tell me why is it that ever since that black day when thenews of his DEATH reached us, the whole house has gone into black,and has gone out of mourning?""Mamma," stammered Rose, "what DO you mean?""Even poor Camille, who was so pale and wan, has recovered likemagic.""O mamma! is not that fancy?" said Rose, piteously. "Of what do yoususpect me? Can you think I am unfeeling--ungrateful? I should notbe YOUR daughter.""No, no," said the baroness, "to do you justice, you attempt sorrow;as you put on black. But, my poor child, you do it with so littleskill that one sees a horrible gayety breaking through that thindisguise: you are no true mourners: you are like the mutes or theundertakers at a funeral, forced grief on the surface of your faces,and frightful complacency below.""Tra la! lal! la! la! Tra la! la! Tra la! la!" carolled Jacintha,in the colonel's room hard by.
　　The ladies looked at one another: Rose in great confusion.
　　"Tra la! la! la! Tra lal! lal! la! la! la!""Jacintha!" screamed Rose angrily.
　　"Hush! not a word," said the baroness. "Why remonstrate with HER?
　　Servants are but chameleons: they take the color of those theyserve. Do not cry. I wanted your confidence, not your tears, love.
　　There, I will not twice in one day ask you for your heart: it wouldbe to lower the mother, and give the daughter the pain of refusingit, and the regret, sure to come one day, of having refused it. Iwill discover the meaning of it all by myself." She went away witha gentle sigh; and Rose was cut to the heart by her words; sheresolved, whatever it might cost her and Josephine, to make a cleanbreast this very day. As she was one of those who act promptly, shewent instantly in search of her sister, to gain her consent, ifpossible.
　　Now, the said Josephine was in the garden walking with Camille, anduttering a wife's tender solicitudes.
　　"And must you leave me? must you risk your life again so soon; thelife on which mine depends?""My dear, that letter I received from headquarters two days ago,that inquiry whether my wound was cured. A hint, Josephine--a hinttoo broad for any soldier not to take.""Camille, you are very proud," said Josephine, with an accent ofreproach, and a look of approval.
　　"I am obliged to be. I am the husband of the proudest woman inFrance.""Hush! not so loud: there is Dard on the grass.""Dard!" muttered the soldier with a word of meaning. "Josephine,"said he after a pause, and a little peevishly, "how much longer arewe to lower our voices, and turn away our eyes from each other, andbe ashamed of our happiness?""Five months longer, is it not?" answered Josephine quietly.
　　"Five months longer!"Josephine was hurt at this, and for once was betrayed into a seriousand merited remonstrance.
　　"Is this just?" said she. "Think of two months ago: yes, but twomonths ago, you were dying. You doubted my love, because it couldnot overcome my virtue and my gratitude: yet you might have seen itwas destroying my life. Poor Raynal, my husband, my benefactor,died. Then I could do more for you, if not with delicacy, at leastwith honor; but no! words, and looks, and tender offices of lovewere not enough, I must give stronger proof. Dear Camille, I havebeen reared in a strict school: and perhaps none of your sex canknow what it cost me to go to Frejus that day with him I love.""My own Josephine!""I made but one condition: that you would not rob me of my mother'srespect: to her our hasty marriage would appear monstrous,heartless. You consented to be secretly happy for six months. Onefortnight has passed, and you are discontented again.""Oh, no! do not think so. It is every word true. I am anungrateful villain.""How dare you say so? and to me! No! but you are a man.""So I have been told; but my conduct to you, sweet one, has not beenthat of a man from first to last. Yet I could die for you, with asmile on my lips. But when I think that once I lifted thissacrilegious hand against your life--oh!""Do not be silly, Camille. I love you all the better for loving mewell enough to kill me. What woman would not? I tell you, youfoolish thing, you are a man: monseigneur is one of the lordly sex,that is accustomed to have everything its own way. My love, in aworld that is full of misery, here are two that are condemned to besecretly happy a few months longer: a hard fate for one of your sex,it seems: but it is so much sweeter than the usual lot of mine, thatreally I cannot share your misery," and she smiled joyously.
　　"Then share my happiness, my dear wife.""I do; only mine is deep, not loud.""Why, Dard is gone, and we are out of doors; will the little birdsbetray us?""The lower windows are open, and I saw Jacintha in one of therooms.""Jacintha? we are in awe of the very servants. Well, if I must notsay it loud I will say it often," and putting his mouth to her ear,he poured a burning whisper of love into it--"My love! my angel! mywife! my wife! my wife!"She turned her swimming eyes on him.
　　"My husband!" she whispered in return.
　　Rose came out, and found them billing and cooing. "You MUST not beso happy, you two," said she authoritatively.
　　"How can we help it?" asked Camille.
　　"You must and shall help it, somehow," retorted this little tyrant.
　　"Mamma suspects. She has given me such a cross-examination, myblood runs cold. No, on second thoughts, kiss her again, and youmay both be as happy as you like; for I am going to tell mamma all,and no power on earth shall hinder me.""Rose," said Camille, "you are a sensible girl; and I always saidso."But Josephine was horrified. "What! tell my mother that within amonth of my husband's death?"--"Don't say your husband," put in Camille wincing; "the priest neverconfirmed that union; words spoken before a magistrate do not make amarriage in the sight of Heaven."Josephine cut him short. "Amongst honorable men and women all oathsare alike sacred: and Heaven's eye is in a magistrate's room as in achurch. A daughter of Beaurepaire gave her hand to him, and calledherself his wife. Therefore, she was his wife: and is his widow.
　　She owes him everything; the house you are all living in among therest. She ought to be proud of her brief connection with that pure,heroic spirit, and, when she is so little noble as to disown him,then say that gratitude and justice have no longer a place amongmankind.""Come into the chapel," said Camille, with a voice that showed hewas hurt.
　　They entered the chapel, and there they saw something thatthoroughly surprised them: a marble monument to the memory ofRaynal. It leaned at present against the wall below the placeprepared to receive it. The inscription, short, but emphatic, andfull of feeling, told of the battles he had fought in, including thelast fatal skirmish, and his marriage with the heiress ofBeaurepaire; and, in a few soldier-like words, the uprightness,simplicity, and generosity of his character.
　　They were so touched by this unexpected trait in Camille that theyboth threw their arms round his neck by one impulse. "Am I wrong tobe proud of him?" said Josephine, triumphantly.
　　"Well, don't say too much to me," said Camille, looking downconfused. "One tries to be good; but it is very hard--to some ofus--not to you, Josephine; and, after all, it is only the truth thatwe have written on that stone. Poor Raynal! he was my old comrade;he saved me from death, and not a soldier's death--drowning; and hewas a better man than I am, or ever shall be. Now he is dead, I cansay these things. If I had said them when he was alive, it wouldhave been more to my credit."They all three went back towards the house; and on the way Rose toldthem all that had passed between the baroness and her. When shecame to the actual details of that conversation, to the words, andlooks, and tones, Josephine's uneasiness rose to an overpoweringheight; she even admitted that further concealment would be verydifficult.
　　"Better tell her than let her find out," said Rose. "We must tellher some day."At last, after a long and agitated discussion, Josephine consented;but Rose must be the one to tell. "So then, you at least will makeyour peace with mamma," argued Josephine, "and let us go in and dothis before our courage fails; besides, it is going to rain, and ithas turned cold. Where have all these clouds come from? An hourago there was not one in the sky."They went, with hesitating steps and guilty looks, to the saloon.
　　Their mother was not there. Here was a reprieve.
　　Rose had an idea. She would take her to the chapel, and show herthe monument, and that would please her with poor Camille. "Afterthat," said Rose, "I will begin by telling her all the misery youhave both gone through; and, when she pities you, then I will showher it was all my fault your misery ended in a secret marriage."The confederates sat there in a chilly state, waiting for thebaroness. At last, as she did not come, Rose got up to go to her.
　　"When the mind is made up, it is no use being cowardly, and puttingoff," said she, firmly. For all that, her cheek had but littlecolor left in it, when she left her chair with this resolve.
　　Now as Rose went down the long saloon to carry out their unitedresolve, Jacintha looked in; and, after a hasty glance to see whowas present, she waited till Rose came up to her, and then whipped aletter from under her apron and gave it her.
　　"For my mistress," said she, with an air of mystery.
　　"Why not take it to her, then?" inquired Rose.
　　"I thought you might like to see it first, mademoiselle," saidJacintha, with quiet meaning.
　　"Is it from the dear doctor?" asked Josephine.
　　"La, no, mademoiselle, don't you know the doctor is come home? Why,he has been in the house near an hour. He is with my lady."The doctor proved Jacintha correct by entering the room in personsoon after; on this Rose threw down the letter, and she and thewhole party were instantly occupied in greeting him.
　　When the ladies had embraced him and Camille shaken hands with him,they plied him with a thousand questions. Indeed, he had not halfsatisfied their curiosity, when Rose happened to catch sight of theletter again, and took it up to carry to the baroness. She now, forthe first time, eyed it attentively, and the consequence was sheuttered an exclamation, and took the first opportunity to beckonAubertin.
　　He came to her; and she put the letter into his hand.
　　He put up his glasses, and eyed it. "Yes!" whispered he, "it isfrom HIM."Josephine and Camille saw something was going on; they joined theother two, with curiosity in their faces.
　　Rose put her hand on a small table near her, and leaned a moment.
　　She turned half sick at a letter coming from the dead. Josephinenow came towards her with a face of concern, and asked what was thematter.
　　The reply came from Aubertin. "My poor friends," said he, solemnly,"this is one of those fearful things that you have not seen in yourshort lives, but it has been more than once my lot to witness it.
　　The ships that carry letters from distant countries vary greatly inspeed, and are subject to detaining accidents. Yes, this is thethird time I have seen a letter come written by a hand known to becold. The baroness is a little excited to-day, I don't know fromwhat cause. With your approbation, Madame Raynal, I will read thisletter before I let her see it.""Read it, if you please.""Shall I read it out?""Certainly. There may be some wish expressed in it; oh, I hopethere is!"Camille, from delicacy, retired to some little distance, and thedoctor read the letter in a low and solemn voice.
　　"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I hope all are well at Beaurepaire, as I am, or Ihope soon to be. I received a wound in our last skirmish; not avery severe one; but it put an end to my writing for some time.""Poor fellow! it was his death wound. Why, when was this written?--why," and the doctor paused, and seemed stupefied: "why, my dears,has my memory gone, or"--and again he looked eagerly at the letter--"what was the date of the battle in which he was killed? for thisletter is dated the 15th of May. Is it a dream? no! this waswritten since the date of his death.""No, doctor," said Rose, "you deceive yourself.""Why, what was the date of the Moniteur, then?" asked Aubertin, ingreat agitation.
　　"Considerably later than this," said Camille.
　　"I don't think so; the journal! where is it?""My mother has it locked up. I'll run.""No, Rose; no one but me. Now, Josephine, do not you go and giveway to hopes that may be delusive. I must see that journaldirectly. I will go to the baroness. I shall excuse her less thanyou would."He was scarcely gone when a cry of horror filled the room, a cry asof madness falling like a thunderbolt on a human mind. It wasJosephine, who up to this had not uttered one word. But now shestood, white as a corpse, in the middle of the room, and wrung herhands. "What have I done? What shall I do? It was the 3d of May.
　　I see it before me in letters of fire; the 3d of May! the 3d ofMay!--and he writes the 15th.""No! no!" cried Camille wildly. "It was long, long after time 3d.""It was the 3d of May," repeated Josephine in a hoarse voice thatnone would have known for hers.
　　Camille ran to her with words of comfort and hope; he did not shareher fears. He remembered about when the Moniteur came, though notthe very day. He threw his arm lovingly round her as if to protecther against these shadowy terrors. Her dilating eyes seemed fixedon something distant in space or time, at some horrible thing comingslowly towards her. She did not see Camille approach her, but themoment she felt him she turned upon him swiftly.
　　"Do you love me?" still in the hoarse voice that had so little in itof Josephine. "I mean, does one grain of respect or virtue minglein your love for me?""What words are these, my wife?""Then leave Raynal's house upon the instant. You wonder I can be socruel? I wonder too; and that I can see my duty so clear in oneshort moment. But I have lived twenty years since that letter came.
　　Oh! my brain has whirled through a thousand agonies. And I havecome back a thousand times to the same thing; you and I must seeeach other's face no more.""Oh!" cried Rose, "is there no way but this?""Take care," she screamed, wildly, to her and Camille, "I am on theverge of madness; is it for you two to thrust me over the precipice?
　　Come, now, if you are a man of honor, if you have a spark ofgratitude towards the poor woman who has given you all except herfair name--that she will take to the grave in spite of you all--promise that you will leave Raynal's house this minute if he isalive, and let me die in honor as I have lived.""No, no!" cried Camille, terror-stricken; "it cannot be. Heaven ismerciful, and Heaven sees how happy we are. Be calm! these are idlefears; be calm! I say. For if it is so I will obey you. I willstay; I will go; I will die; I will live; I will obey you.""Swear this to me by the thing you hold most sacred," she almostshrieked.
　　"I swear by my love for you," was his touching reply.
　　Ere they had recovered a miserable composure after this passionateoutburst, all the more terrible as coming from a creature so tenderas Josephine, agitated voices were heard at the door, and thebaroness tottered in, followed by the doctor, who was trying in vainto put some bounds to her emotion and her hopes.
　　"Oh, my children! my children!" cried she, trembling violently.
　　"Here, Rose, my hands shake so; take this key, open the cabinet,there is the Moniteur. What is the date?"The journal was found, and rapidly examined. The date was the 20thof May.
　　"There!" cried Camille. "I told you!"The baroness uttered a feeble moan. Her hopes died as suddenly asthey had been born, and she sank drooping into a chair, with abitter sigh.
　　Camille stole a joyful look at Josephine. She was in the sameattitude looking straight before her as at a coming horror.
　　Presently Rose uttered a faint cry, "The battle was BEFORE.""To be sure," cried the doctor. "You forget, it is not the date ofthe paper we want, but of the battle it records. For Heaven's sake,when was the battle?""The 3d of May," said Josephine, in a voice that seemed to come fromthe tomb.
　　Rose's hands that held the journal fell like a dead weight upon herknees, journal and all. She whispered, "It was the 3d of May.""Ah!" cried the baroness, starting up, "he may yet be alive. Hemust be alive. Heaven is merciful! Heaven would not take my sonfrom me, a poor old woman who has not long to live. There was aletter; where is the letter?""Are we mad, not to read the letter?" said the doctor. "I had it;it has dropped from my old fingers when I went for the journal."A short examination of the room showed the letter lying crumpled upnear the door. Camille gave it to the baroness. She tried to readit, but could not.
　　"I am old," said she; "my hand shakes and my eyes are troubled.
　　This young gentleman will read it to us. His eyes are not dim andtroubled. Something tells me that when I hear this letter, I shallfind out whether my son lives. Why do you not read it to me,Camille?" cried she, almost fiercely.
　　Camille, thus pressed, obeyed mechanically, and began to readRaynal's letter aloud, scarce knowing what he did, but urged anddriven by the baroness.
　　"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I hope all are well at Beaurepaire, as I am, or Ihope soon to be. I received a wound in our last skirmish; not avery severe one, but it put an end to my writing for some time.""Go on, dear Camille! go on.""The page ends there, madame,"The paper was thin, and Camille, whose hand trembled, had somedifficulty in detaching the leaves from one another. He succeeded,however, at last, and went on reading and writhing.
　　"By the way, you must address your next letter to me as ColonelRaynal. I was promoted just before this last affair, but had nottime to tell you; and my wound stopped my writing till now.""There, there!" cried the baroness. "He was Colonel Raynal, andColonel Raynal was not killed."The doctor implored her not to interrupt.
　　"Go on, Camille. Why do you hesitate? what is the matter? Do forpity's sake go on, sir."Camille cast a look of agony around, and put his hand to his brow,on which large drops of cold perspiration, like a death dew, weregathering; but driven to the stake on all sides, he gasped on ratherthan read, for his eye had gone down the page.
　　"A namesake of mine, Commandant Raynal,"--"Ah!""has not been--so fortunate. He"--"Go on! go on!"The wretched man could now scarcely utter Raynal's words; they camefrom him in a choking groan.
　　"he was killed, poor fellow! while heading a gallant charge upon theenemy's flank."He ground the letter convulsively in his hand, then it fell allcrumpled on the floor.
　　"Bless you, Camille!" cried the baroness, "bless you! bless you! Ihave a son still."She stooped with difficulty, took up the letter, and, kissing itagain and again, fell on her knees, and thanked Heaven aloud beforethem all. Then she rose and went hastily out, and her voice washeard crying very loud, "Jacintha! Jacintha!"The doctor followed in considerable anxiety for the effects of thisviolent joy on so aged a person. Three remained behind, panting andpale like those to whom dead Lazarus burst the tomb, and came forthin a moment, at a word. Then Camille half kneeled, half fell, atJosephine's feet, and, in a voice choked with sobs, bade her disposeof him.
　　She turned her head away. "Do not speak to me; do not look at me;if we look at one another, we are lost. Go! die at your post, and Iat mine."He bowed his head, and kissed her dress, then rose calm as despair,and white as death, and, with his knees knocking under him, totteredaway like a corpse set moving.
　　He disappeared from the house.
　　The baroness soon came back, triumphant and gay.
　　"I have sent her to bid them ring the bells in the village. Thepoor shall be feasted; all shall share our joy: my son was dead, andlives. Oh, joy! joy! joy!""Mother!" shrieked Josephine.
　　"Mad woman that I am, I am too boisterous. Help me, Rose! she isgoing to faint; her lips are white."Dr. Aubertin and Rose brought a chair. They forced Josephine intoit. She was not the least faint; yet her body obeyed their handsjust like a dead body. The baroness melted into tears; tearsstreamed from Rose's eyes. Josephine's were dry and stony, andfixed on coming horror. The baroness looked at her with anxiety.
　　"Thoughtless old woman! It was too sudden; it is too much for mydear child; too much for me," and she kneeled, and laid her agedhead on her daughter's bosom, saying feebly through her tears, "toomuch joy, too much joy!"Josephine took no notice of her. She sat like one turned to stonelooking far away over her mother's head with rigid eyes fixed on theair and on coming horrors.
　　Rose felt her arm seized. It was Aubertin. He too was pale now,though not before. He spoke in a terrible whisper to Rose, his eyefixed on the woman of stone that sat there.
　　"IS THIS JOY?"Rose, by a mighty effort, raised her eyes and confronted his full.
　　"What else should it be?" said she.
　　And with these words this Spartan girl was her sister's championonce more against all comers, friend or foe.
Chapter 16
　　Dr. Aubertin received one day a note from a publishing bookseller,to inquire whether he still thought of giving the world his valuablework on insects. The doctor was amazed. "My valuable work! Why,Rose, they all refused it, and this person in particular recoiledfrom it as if my insects could sting on paper."The above led to a correspondence, in which the convert to insectsexplained that the work must be published at the author's expense,the publisher contenting himself with the profits. The author,thirsting for the public, consented. Then the publisher wrote againto say that the immortal treatise must be spiced; a little politicsflung in: "Nothing goes down, else." The author answered in someheat that he would not dilute things everlasting with the fleetingtopics of the day, nor defile science with politics. On this hisMentor smoothed him down, despising him secretly for not seeing thata book is a matter of trade and nothing else. It ended in Aubertingoing to Paris to hatch his Phoenix. He had not been there a week,when a small deputation called on him, and informed him he had beenelected honorary member of a certain scientific society. Thecompliment was followed by others, till at last certain ladies, withthe pliancy of their sex, find out they had always secretly caredfor butterflies. Then the naturalist smelt a rat, or, in otherwords, began to scent that entomology, a form of idiocy in a poorman, is a graceful decoration of the intellect in a rich one.
　　Philosopher without bile, he saw through this, and let it amuse, notshock him. His own species, a singularly interesting one in myopinion, had another trait in reserve for him.
　　He took a world of trouble to find out the circumstances of hisnephew's nephews and nieces: then he made arrangements fordistributing a large part of his legacy among them. His intentionsand the proportions of his generosity transpired.
　　Hitherto they had been silent, but now they all fell-to and abusedhim: each looking only to the amount of his individual share, not atthe sum total the doctor was giving way to an ungrateful lot.
　　The donor was greatly amused, and noted down the incident and someof the remarks in his commonplace book, under the general head of"Bestiarium;" and the particular head of "Homo."Paris with its seductions netted the good doctor, and held him twoor three months; would have detained him longer, but for alarmingaccounts the baroness sent of Josephine's health. These determinedhim to return to Beaurepaire; and, must I own it, the announcementwas no longer hailed at Beaurepaire with universal joy asheretofore.
　　Josephine Raynal, late Dujardin, is by this time no stranger to myintelligent reader. I wish him to bring his knowledge of hercharacter and her sensibility to my aid. Imagine, as the wearyhours and days and weeks roll over her head, what this loving womanfeels for her lover whom she has dismissed; what this grateful wifefeels for the benefactor she has unwittingly wronged; but will neverwrong with her eyes open; what this lady pure as snow, and proud asfire, feels at the seeming frailty into which a cruel combination ofcircumstances has entrapped her.
　　Put down the book a moment: shut your eyes: and imagine this strangeand complicated form of human suffering.
　　Her mental sufferings were terrible; and for some time Rose fearedfor her reason. At last her agonies subsided into a listlessnessand apathy little less alarming. She seemed a creature descendinginch by inch into the tomb. Indeed, I fully believe she would havedied of despair: but one of nature's greatest forces stepped intothe arena and fought on the side of life. She was affected withcertain bilious symptoms that added to Rose's uneasiness, butJacintha assured her it was nothing, and would retire and leave thesufferer better. Jacintha, indeed, seemed now to take a particularinterest in Josephine, and was always about her with looks of pityand interest.
　　"Good creature!" thought Rose, "she sees my sister is unhappy: andthat makes her more attentive and devoted to her than ever."One day these three were together in Josephine's room. Josephinewas mechanically combing her long hair, when all of a sudden shestretched out her hand and cried, "Rose!"Rose ran to her, and coming behind her saw in the glass that herlips were colorless. She screamed to Jacintha, and between themthey supported Josephine to the bed. She had hardly touched it whenshe fainted dead away. "Mamma! mamma!" cried Rose in her terror.
　　"Hush!" cried Jacintha roughly, "hold your tongue: it is only afaint. Help me loosen her: don't make any noise, whatever." Theyloosened her stays, and applied the usual remedies, but it was sometime before she came-to. At last the color came back to her lips,then to her cheek, and the light to her eye. She smiled feebly onJacintha and Rose, and asked if she had not been insensible.
　　"Yes, love, and frightened us--a little--not much--oh, dear! oh,dear!""Don't be alarmed, sweet one, I am better. And I will never do itagain, since it frightens you." Then Josephine said to her sisterin a low voice, and in the Italian language, "I hoped it was death,my sister; but he comes not to the wretched.""If you hoped that," replied Rose in the same language, "you do notlove your poor sister who so loves you."While the Italian was going on, Jacintha's dark eyes glancedsuspiciously on each speaker in turn. But her suspicions were allwide of the mark.
　　"Now may I go and tell mamma?" asked Rose.
　　"No, mademoiselle, you shall not," said Jacintha. "Madame Raynal,do take my side, and forbid her.""Why, what is it to you?" said Rose, haughtily.
　　"If it was not something to me, should I thwart my dear young lady?""No. And you shall have your own way, if you will but condescend togive me a reason."This to some of us might appear reasonable, but not to Jacintha: iteven hurt her feelings.
　　"Mademoiselle Rose," she said, "when you were little and used to askme for anything, did I ever say to you, 'Give me a REASON first'?""There! she is right," said Josephine. "We should not make termswith tried friends. Come, we will pay her devotion this compliment.
　　It is such a small favor. For my part I feel obliged to her forasking it."Josephine's health improved steadily from that day. Her hollowcheeks recovered their plump smoothness, and her beauty its bloom,and her person grew more noble and statue-like than ever, and withinshe felt a sense of indomitable vitality. Her appetite had for sometime been excessively feeble and uncertain, and her food tasteless;but of late, by what she conceived to be a reaction such as iscommon after youth has shaken off a long sickness, her appetite hadbeen not only healthy but eager. The baroness observed this, and itrelieved her of a large portion of her anxiety. One day at dinnerher maternal heart was so pleased with Josephine's performance thatshe took it as a personal favor, "Well done, Josephine," said she;"that gives your mother pleasure to see you eat again. Soup andbouillon: and now twice you have been to Rose for some of that pate,which does you so much credit, Jacintha."Josephine colored high at this compliment.
　　"It is true," said she, "I eat like a pig;" and, with a furtiveglance at the said pate, she laid down her knife and fork, and ateno more of anything. The baroness had now a droll misgiving.
　　"The doctor will be angry with me," said she: "he will find her aswell as ever.""Madame," said Jacintha hastily, "when does the doctor come, if Imay make so bold, that I may get his room ready, you know?""Well thought of, Jacintha. He comes the day after to-morrow, inthe afternoon."At night when the young ladies went up to bed, what did they findbut a little cloth laid on a little table in Josephine's room, andthe remains of the pate she had liked. Rose burst out laughing.
　　"Look at that dear duck of a goose, Jacintha! Our mother's flatterysank deep: she thinks we can eat her pates at all hours of the dayand night. Shall I send it away?""No," said Josephine, "that would hurt her culinary pride, andperhaps her affection: only cover it up, dear, for just now I am notin the humor: it rather turns me."It was covered up. The sisters retired to rest. In the morningRose lifted the cover and found the plate cleared, polished. Shewas astounded.
　　The large tapestried chamber, once occupied by Camille Dujardin, wasnow turned into a sitting-room, and it was a favorite on account ofthe beautiful view from the windows.
　　One day Josephine sat there alone with some work in her hand; butthe needle often stopped, and the fair head drooped. She heaved adeep sigh. To her surprise it was echoed by a sigh that, like herown, seemed to come from a heart full of sighs.
　　She turned hastily round and saw Jacintha.
　　Now Josephine had all a woman's eye for reading faces, and she wasinstantly struck by a certain gravity in Jacintha's gaze, and aflutter which the young woman was suppressing with tolerable but notcomplete success.
　　Disguising the uneasiness this discovery gave her, she looked hervisitor full in the face, and said mildly, but a little coldly,"Well, Jacintha?"Jacintha lowered her eyes and muttered slowly,--"The doctor--comes--to-day," then raised her eyes all in a moment totake Josephine off her guard; but the calm face was impenetrable.
　　So then Jacintha added, "to our misfortune," throwing in still moremeaning.
　　"To our misfortune? A dear old friend--like him?"Jacintha explained. "That old man makes me shake. You are neversafe with him. So long as his head is in the clouds, you might takehis shoes off, and on he'd walk and never know it; but every now andthen he comes out of the clouds all in one moment, without a word ofwarning, and when he does his eye is on everything, like a bird's.
　　Then he is so old: he has seen a heap. Take my word for it, the oldare more knowing than the young, let them be as sharp as you like:
　　the old have seen everything. WE have only heard talk of the mostpart, with here and there a glimpse. To know life to the bottom youmust live it out, from the soup to the dessert; and that is what thedoctor has done, and now he is coming here. And Mademoiselle Rosewill go telling him everything; and if she tells him half what shehas seen, your secret will be no secret to that old man.""My secret!" gasped Josephine, turning pale.
　　"Don't look so, madame: don't be frightened at poor Jacintha.
　　Sooner or later you MUST trust somebody besides Mademoiselle Rose."Josephine looked at her with inquiring, frightened eyes.
　　Jacintha drew nearer to her.
　　"Mademoiselle,--I beg pardon, madame,--I carried you in my arms whenI was a child. When I was a girl you toddled at my side, and heldmy gown, and lisped my name, and used to put your little arms roundmy neck, and kissed me, you would; and if ever I had the least painor sickness your dear little face would turn as sorrowful, and allthe pretty color leave it for Jacintha; and now you are in trouble,in sore trouble, yet you turn away from me, you dare not trust me,that would be cut in pieces ere I would betray you. Ah,mademoiselle, you are wrong. The poor can feel: they have all seentrouble, and a servant is the best of friends where she has theheart to love her mistress; and do not I love you? Pray do not turnfrom her who has carried you in her arms, and laid you to sleep uponher bosom, many's and many's the time."Josephine panted audibly. She held out her hand eloquently toJacintha, but she turned her head away and trembled.
　　Jacintha cast a hasty glance round the room. Then she trembled tooat what she was going to say, and the effect it might have on theyoung lady. As for Josephine, terrible as the conversation hadbecome, she made no attempt to evade it: she remained perfectlypassive. It was the best way to learn how far Jacintha hadpenetrated her secret, if at all.
　　Jacintha looked fearfully round and whispered in Josephine's ear,"When the news of Colonel Raynal's death came, you wept, but thecolor came back to your cheek. When the news of his life came, youturned to stone. Ah! my poor young lady, there has been morebetween you and THAT MAN than should be. Ever since one day you allwent to Frejus together, you were a changed woman. I have seen youlook at him as--as a wife looks at her man. I have seen HIM"--"Hush, Jacintha! Do not tell me what you have seen: oh! do notremind me of joys I pray God to help me forget. He was my husband,then!--oh, cruel Jacintha, to remind me of what I have been, of whatI am! Ah me! ah me! ah me!""Your husband!" cried Jacintha in utter amazement.
　　Then Josephine drooped her head on this faithful creature'sshoulder, and told her with many sobs the story I have told you.
　　She told it very briefly, for it was to a woman who, though littleeducated, was full of feeling and shrewdness, and needed but thebare facts: she could add the rest from her own heart andexperience: could tell the storm of feelings through which these twounhappy lovers must have passed. Her frequent sighs of pity andsympathy drew Josephine on to pour out all her griefs. When thetale was ended she gave a sigh of relief.
　　"It might have been worse: I thought it was worse the more fool I.
　　I deserve to have my head cut off." This was Jacintha's onlycomment at that time.
　　It was Josephine's turn to be amazed. "It could have been worse?"said she. "How? tell me," added she bitterly. "It would be aconsolation to me, could I see that."Jacintha colored and evaded this question, and begged her to go on,to keep nothing back from her. Josephine assured her she hadrevealed all. Jacintha looked at her a moment in silence.
　　"It is then as I half suspected. You do not know all that is beforeyou. You do not see why I am afraid of that old man.""No, not of him in particular.""Nor why I want to keep Mademoiselle Rose from prattling to him?""No. I assure you Rose is to be trusted; she is wise--wiser than Iam.""You are neither of you wise. You neither of you know anything. Mypoor young mistress, you are but a child still. You have a deepwater to wade through," said Jacintha, so solemnly that Josephinetrembled. "A deep water, and do not see it even. You have told mewhat is past, now I must tell you what is coming. Heaven help me!
　　But is it possible you have no misgiving? Tell the truth, now.""Alas! I am full of them; at your words, at your manner, they flyaround me in crowds.""Have you no ONE?""No.""Then turn your head from me a bit, my sweet young lady; I am anhonest woman, though I am not so innocent as you, and I am forcedagainst my will to speak my mind plainer than I am used to."Then followed a conversation, to detail which might anticipate ourstory; suffice it to say, that Rose, coming into the room rathersuddenly, found her sister weeping on Jacintha's bosom, and Jacinthacrying and sobbing over her.
　　She stood and stared in utter amazement.
　　Dr. Aubertin, on his arrival, was agreeably surprised at MadameRaynal's appearance. He inquired after her appetite.
　　"Oh, as to her appetite," cried the baroness, "that is immense.""Indeed!""It was," explained Josephine, "just when I began to get better, butnow it is as much as usual." This answer had been arrangedbeforehand by Jacintha. She added, "The fact is, we wanted to seeyou, doctor, and my ridiculous ailments were a good excuse fortearing you from Paris."--"And now we have succeeded," said Rose,"let us throw off the mask, and talk of other things; above all, ofParis, and your eclat.""For all that," persisted the baroness, "she was ill, when I firstwrote, and very ill too.""Madame Raynal," said the doctor solemnly, "your conduct has beenirregular; once ill, and your illness announced to your medicaladviser, etiquette forbade you to get well but by his prescriptions.
　　Since, then, you have shown yourself unfit to conduct a malady, itbecomes my painful duty to forbid you henceforth ever to be ill atall, without my permission first obtained in writing."This badinage was greatly relished by Rose, but not at all by thebaroness, who was as humorless as a swan.
　　He stayed a month at Beaurepaire, then off to Paris again: and beingnow a rich man, and not too old to enjoy innocent pleasures, he gota habit of running backwards and forwards between the two places,spending a month or so at each alternately. So the days rolled on.
　　Josephine fell into a state that almost defies description; herheart was full of deadly wounds, yet it seemed, by some mysterious,half-healing balm, to throb and ache, but bleed no more. Beams ofstrange, unreasonable complacency would shoot across her; the nextmoment reflection would come, she would droop her head, and sighpiteously. Then all would merge in a wild terror of detection. Sheseemed on the borders of a river of bliss, new, divine, andinexhaustible: and on the other bank mocking malignant fiends daredher to enter that heavenly stream. The past to her was full ofregrets; the future full of terrors, and empty of hope. Yet she didnot, could not succumb. Instead of the listlessness and languor ofa few months back, she had now more energy than ever; at times itmounted to irritation. An activity possessed her: it broke out inmany feminine ways. Among the rest she was seized with what we mencall a cacoethes of the needle: "a raging desire" for work. Herfingers itched for work. She was at it all day. As devotees retireto pray, so she to stitch. On a wet day she would often slip intothe kitchen, and ply the needle beside Jacintha: on a dry day shewould hide in the old oak-tree, and sit like a mouse, and ply thetools of her craft, and make things of no mortal use to man orwoman; and she tried little fringes of muslin upon her white hand,and held it up in front of her, and smiled, and then moaned. It waswinter, and Rose used sometimes to bring her out a thick shawl, asshe sat in the old oak-tree stitching, but Josephine nearly alwaysdeclined it. SHE WAS NEARLY IMPERVIOUS TO COLD.
　　Then, her purse being better filled than formerly, she visited thepoor more than ever, and above all the young couples; and took awarm interest in their household matters, and gave them muslinarticles of her own making, and sometimes sniffed the soup in ayoung housewife's pot, and took a fancy to it, and, if invited totaste it, paid her the compliment of eating a good plateful of it,and said it was much better soup than the chateau produced, and,what is stranger, thought so: and, whenever some peevish little bratset up a yell in its cradle and the father naturally enough shookhis fist at the destroyer of his peace, Madame Raynal's lovely facefilled with concern not for the sufferer but the pest, and she flewto it and rocked it and coaxed it and consoled it, till the younghousewife smiled and stopped its mouth by other means. And, besidesthe five-franc pieces she gave the infants to hold, these visits ofMadame Raynal were always followed by one from Jacintha with abasket of provisions on her stalwart arm, and honest Sir JohnBurgoyne peeping out at the corner. Kind and beneficent as she was,her temper deteriorated considerably, for it came down from angelicto human. Rose and Jacintha were struck with the change, assentedto everything she said, and encouraged her in everything it pleasedher caprice to do. Meantime the baroness lived on her son Raynal'sletters (they came regularly twice a month). Rose too had acorrespondence, a constant source of delight to her. EdouardRiviere was posted at a distance, and could not visit her; but theirlove advanced rapidly. Every day he wrote down for his Rose theacts of the day, and twice a week sent the budget to his sweetheart,and told her at the same time every feeling of his heart. She wasless fortunate than he; she had to carry a heavy secret; but stillshe found plenty to tell him, and tender feelings too to vent on himin her own arch, shy, fitful way. Letters can enchain hearts; itwas by letters that these two found themselves imperceptiblybetrothed. Their union was looked forward to as certain, and notvery distant. Rose was fairly in love.
　　One day, Dr. Aubertin, coming back from Paris to Beaurepaire rathersuddenly, found nobody at home but the baroness. Josephine and Rosewere gone to Frejus; had been there more than a week. She wasailing again; so as Frejus had agreed with her once, Rose thought itmight again. "She would send for them back directly.""No," said the doctor, "why do that? I will go over there and seethem." Accordingly, a day or two after this, he hired a carriage,and went off early in the morning to Frejus. In so small a place heexpected to find the young ladies at once; but, to his surprise, noone knew them nor had heard of them. He was at a nonplus, and justabout to return home and laugh at himself and the baroness for thiswild-goose chase, when he fell in with a face he knew, one Mivart, asurgeon, a young man of some talent, who had made his acquaintancein Paris. Mivart accosted him with great respect; and, after thefirst compliments, informed him that he had been settled some monthsin this little town, and was doing a fair stroke of business.
　　"Killing some, and letting nature cure others, eh?" said the doctor;then, having had his joke, he told Mivart what had brought him toFrejus.
　　"Are they pretty women, your friends? I think I know all the prettywomen about," said Mivart with levity. "They are not pretty,"replied Aubertin. Mivart's interest in them faded visibly out ofhis countenance. "But they are beautiful. The elder might pass forVenus, and the younger for Hebe.""I know them then!" cried he; "they are patients of mine."The doctor colored. "Ah, indeed!""In the absence of your greater skill," said Mivart, politely; "itis Madame Aubertin and her sister you are looking for, is it not?"Aubertin groaned. "I am rather too old to be looking for a MadameAubertin," said he; "no; it is Madame Raynal, and Mademoiselle deBeaurepaire."Mivart became confidential. "Madame Aubertin and her sister," saidhe, "are so lovely they make me ill to look at them: the deepestblue eyes you ever saw, both of them; high foreheads; teeth likeivory mixed with pearl; such aristocratic feet and hands; and theirarms--oh!" and by way of general summary the young surgeon kissedthe tips of his fingers, and was silent; language succumbed underthe theme. The doctor smiled coldly.
　　Mivart added, "If you had come an hour sooner, you might have seenMademoiselle Rose; she was in the town.""Mademoiselle Rose? who is that?""Why, Madame Aubertin's sister."At this Dr. Aubertin looked first very puzzled, then very grave.
　　"Hum!" said he, after a little reflection, "where do these paragonslive?""They lodge at a small farm; it belongs to a widow; her name isRoth." They parted. Dr. Aubertin walked slowly towards hiscarriage, his hands behind him, his eyes on the ground. He bade thedriver inquire where the Widow Roth lived, and learned it was abouthalf a league out of the town. He drove to the farmhouse; when thecarriage drove up, a young lady looked out of the window on thefirst floor. It was Rose de Beaurepaire. She caught the doctor'seye, and he hers. She came down and welcomed him with a greatappearance of cordiality, and asked him, with a smile, how he foundthem out.
　　"From your medical attendant," said the doctor, dryly.
　　Rose looked keenly in his face.
　　"He said he was in attendance on two paragons of beauty, blue eyes,white teeth and arms.""And you found us out by that?" inquired Rose, looking still morekeenly at him.
　　"Hardly; but it was my last chance of finding you, so I came. Whereis Madame Raynal?""Come into this room, dear friend. I will go and find her."Full twenty minutes was the doctor kept waiting, and then in cameRose, gayly crying, "I have hunted her high and low, and where doyou think my lady was? sitting out in the garden--come."Sure enough, they found Josephine in the garden, seated on a lowchair. She smiled when the doctor came up to her, and asked afterher mother. There was an air of languor about her; her color wasclear, delicate, and beautiful.
　　"You have been unwell, my child.""A little, dear friend; you know me; always ailing, and tormentingthose I love.""Well! but, Josephine, you know this place and this sweet air alwaysset you up. Look at her now, doctor; did you ever see her lookbetter? See what a color. I never saw her look more lovely.""I never saw her look SO lovely; but I have seen her look better.
　　Your pulse. A little languid?""Yes, I am a little.""Do you stay at Beaurepaire?" inquired Rose; "if so, we will comehome.""On the contrary, you will stay here another fortnight," said thedoctor, authoritatively.
　　"Prescribe some of your nice tonics for me, doctor," said Josephine,coaxingly.
　　"No! I can't do that; you are in the hands of another practitioner.""What does that matter? You were at Paris.""It is not the etiquette in our profession to interfere with anotherman's patients.""Oh, dear! I am so sorry," began Josephine.
　　"I see nothing here that my good friend Mivart is not competent todeal with," said the doctor, coldly.
　　Then followed some general conversation, at the end of which thedoctor once more laid his commands on them to stay another fortnightwhere they were, and bade them good-by.
　　He was no sooner gone than Rose went to the door of the kitchen, andcalled out, "Madame Jouvenel! Madame Jouvenel! you may come intothe garden again."The doctor drove away; but, instead of going straight to Beaurepaire,he ordered the driver to return to the town. He then walked toMivart's house.
　　In about a quarter of an hour he came out of it, looking singularlygrave, sad, and stern.
Chapter 17
　　Edouard Riviere contrived one Saturday to work off all arrears ofbusiness, and start for Beaurepaire. He had received a very kindletter from Rose, and his longing to see her overpowered him. Onthe road his eyes often glittered, and his cheek flushed withexpectation. At last he got there. His heart beat: for four monthshe had not seen her. He ran up into the drawing-room, and therefound the baroness alone; she welcomed him cordially, but soon lethim know Rose and her sister were at Frejus. His heart sank.
　　Frejus was a long way off. But this was not all. Rose's lastletter was dated from Beaurepaire, yet it must have been written atFrejus. He went to Jacintha, and demanded an explanation of this.
　　The ready Jacintha said it looked as if she meant to be homedirectly; and added, with cool cunning, "That is a hint for me toget their rooms ready.""This letter must have come here enclosed in another," said Edouard,sternly.
　　"Like enough," replied Jacintha, with an appearance of sovereignindifference.
　　Edouard looked at her, and said, grimly, "I will go to Frejus.""So I would," said Jacintha, faltering a little, but notperceptibly; "you might meet them on the road, if so be they comethe same road; there are two roads, you know."Edouard hesitated; but he ended by sending Dard to the town on hisown horse, with orders to leave him at the inn, and borrow a freshhorse. "I shall just have time," said he. He rode to Frejus, andinquired at the inns and post-office for Mademoiselle deBeaurepaire. They did not know her; then he inquired for MadameRaynal. No such name known. He rode by the seaside upon the chanceof their seeing him. He paraded on horseback throughout the place,in hopes every moment that a window would open, and a fair faceshine at it, and call him. At last his time was up, and he wasobliged to ride back, sick at heart, to Beaurepaire. He told thebaroness, with some natural irritation, what had happened. She wasas much surprised as he was.
　　"I write to Madame Raynal at the post-office, Frejus," said she.
　　"And Madame Raynal gets your letters?""Of course she does, since she answers them; you cannot haveinquired at the post.""Why, it was the first place I inquired at, and neither Mademoisellede Beaurepaire nor Madame Raynal were known there."Jacintha, who could have given the clew, seemed so puzzled herself,that they did not even apply to her. Edouard took a sorrowful leaveof the baroness, and set out on his journey home.
　　Oh! how sad and weary that ride seemed now by what it had beencoming. His disappointment was deep and irritating; and ere he hadridden half way a torturer fastened on his heart. That torture issuspicion; a vague and shadowy, but gigantic phantom that oppressesand rends the mind more terribly than certainty. In this state ofvague, sickening suspicion, he remained some days: then came anaffectionate letter from Rose, who had actually returned home. Inthis she expressed her regret and disappointment at having missedhim; blamed herself for misleading him, but explained that theirstay at Frejus had been prolonged from day to day far beyond herexpectation. "The stupidity of the post-office was more than shecould account for," said she. But, what went farthest to consoleEdouard, was, that after this contretemps she never ceased to invitehim to come to Beaurepaire. Now, before this, though she said manykind and pretty things in her letters, she had never invited him tovisit the chateau; he had noticed this. "Sweet soul," thought he,"she really is vexed. I must be a brute to think any more about it.
　　Still"--So this wound was skinned over.
　　At last, what he called his lucky star ordained that he should betransferred to the very post his Commandant Raynal had onceoccupied. He sought and obtained permission to fix his quarters inthe little village near Beaurepaire, and though this plan could notbe carried out for three months, yet the prospect of it was joyfulall that time--joyful to both lovers. Rose needed this consolation,for she was very unhappy: her beloved sister, since their returnfrom Frejus, had gone back. The flush of health was faded, and sowas her late energy. She fell into deep depression and languor,broken occasionally by fits of nervous irritation.
　　She would sit for hours together at one window languishing andfretting. Can the female reader guess which way that window looked?
　　Now, Edouard was a favorite of Josephine's; so Rose hoped he wouldhelp to distract her attention from those sorrows which a lapse ofyears alone could cure.
　　On every account, then, his visit was looked forward to with hopeand joy.
　　He came. He was received with open arms. He took up his quartersat his old lodgings, but spent his evenings and every leisure hourat the chateau.
　　He was very much in love, and showed it. He adhered to Rose like aleech, and followed her about like a little dog.
　　This would have made her very happy if there had been nothing greatto distract her attention and her heart; but she had Josephine,whose deep depression and fits of irritation and terror filled herwith anxiety; and so Edouard was in the way now and then. On theseoccasions he was too vain to see what she was too polite to show himoffensively.
　　But on this she became vexed at his obtuseness.
　　"Does he think I can be always at his beck and call?" thought she.
　　"She is always after her sister," said he.
　　He was just beginning to be jealous of Josephine when the followingincident occurred:--Rose and the doctor were discussing Josephine. Edouard pretended tobe reading a book, but he listened to every word.
　　Dr. Aubertin gave it as his opinion that Madame Raynal did not makeenough blood.
　　"Oh! if I thought that!" cried Rose.
　　"Well, then, it is so, I assure you.""Doctor," said Rose, "do you remember, one day you said healthyblood could be drawn from robust veins and poured into a sickperson's?""It is a well-known fact," said Aubertin.
　　"I don't believe it," said Rose, dryly.
　　"Then you place a very narrow limit to science," said the doctor,coldly.
　　"Did you ever see it done?" asked Rose, slyly.
　　"I have not only seen it done, but have done it myself.""Then do it for us. There's my arm; take blood from that for dearJosephine!" and she thrust a white arm out under his eye with such abold movement and such a look of fire and love as never beamed fromcommon eyes.
　　A keen, cold pang shot through the human heart of Edouard Riviere.
　　The doctor started and gazed at her with admiration: then he hunghis head. "I could not do it. I love you both too well to draineither of life's current."Rose veiled her fire, and began to coax. "Once a week; just once aweek, dear, dear doctor; you know I should never miss it. I am sofull of that health, which Heaven denies to her I love.""Let us try milder measures first," said the doctor. "I have mostfaith in time.""What if I were to take her to Frejus? hitherto, the sea has alwaysdone wonders for her.""Frejus, by all means," said Edouard, mingling suddenly in theconversation; "and this time I will go with you, and then I shallfind out where you lodged before, and how the boobies came to saythey did not know you."Rose bit her lip. She could not help seeing then how much dearEdouard was in her way and Josephine's. Their best friends are inthe way of all who have secrets. Presently the doctor went to hisstudy. Then Edouard let fall a mock soliloquy. "I wonder," saidhe, dropping out his words one by one, "whether any one will everlove me well enough to give a drop of their blood for me.""If you were in sickness and sorrow, who knows?" said Rose, coloringup.
　　"I would soon be in sickness and sorrow if I thought that.""Don't jest with such matters, monsieur.""I am serious. I wish I was as ill as Madame Raynal is, to be lovedas she is.""You must resemble her in some other things to be loved as she is.
　　"You have often made me feel that of late, dear Rose."This touched her. But she fought down the kindly feeling. "I amglad of it," said she, out of perverseness. She added after awhile, "Edouard, you are naturally jealous.""Not the least in the world, Rose, I assure you. I have manyfaults, but jealous I am not.""Oh, yes, you are, and suspicious, too; there is something in yourcharacter that alarms me for our happiness.""Well, if you come to that, there are things in YOUR conduct I couldwish explained.""There! I said so. You have not confidence in me.""Pray don't say that, dear Rose. I have every confidence in you;only please don't ask me to divest myself of my senses and myreason.""I don't ask you to do that or anything else for me; good-by, forthe present.""Where are you going now? tic! tic! I never can get a word in peacewith you.""I am not going to commit murder. I'm only going up-stairs to mysister.""Poor Madame Raynal, she makes it very hard for me not to dislikeher.""Dislike my Josephine?" and Rose bristled visibly.
　　"She is an angel, but I should hate an angel if it came foreverbetween you and me.""Excuse me, she was here long before you. It is you that camebetween her and me.""I came because I was told I should be welcome," said Edouardbitterly, and equivocating a little; he added, "and I dare say Ishall go when I am told I am one too many.""Bad heart! who says you are one too many in the house? But you aretoo exigent, monsieur; you assume the husband, and you tease me. Itis selfish; can you not see I am anxious and worried? you ought tobe kind to me, and soothe me; that is what I look for from you, and,instead of that, I declare you are getting to be quite a worry.""I should not be if you loved me as I love you. I give YOU norival. Shall I tell you the cause of all this? you have secrets.""What secrets?""Is it me you ask? am I trusted with them? Secrets are a bond thatnot even love can overcome. It is to talk secrets you run away fromme to Madame Raynal. Where did you lodge at Frejus, Mademoisellethe Reticent?""In a grotto, dry at low water, Monsieur the Inquisitive.""That is enough: since you will not tell me, I will find it outbefore I am a week older."This alarmed Rose terribly, and drove her to extremities. Shedecided to quarrel.
　　"Sir," said she, "I thank you for playing the tyrant a littleprematurely; it has put me on my guard. Let us part; you and I arenot suited to each other, Edouard Riviere."He took this more humbly than she expected. "Part!" said he, inconsternation; "that is a terrible word to pass between you and me.
　　Forgive me! I suppose I am jealous.""You are; you are actually jealous of my sister. Well, I tell youplainly I love you, but I love my sister better. I never could loveany man as I do her; it is ridiculous to expect such a thing.""And do you think I could bear to play second fiddle to her all mylife?""I don't ask you. Go and play first trumpet to some other lady.""You speak your wishes so plainly now, I have nothing to do but toobey."He kissed her hand and went away disconsolately.
　　Rose, instead of going to Josephine, her determination to do whichhad mainly caused the quarrel, sat sadly down, and leaned her headon her hand. "I am cruel. I am ungrateful. He has gone awaybroken-hearted. And what shall I do without him?--little fool! Ilove him better than he loves me. He will never forgive me. I havewounded his vanity; and they are vainer than we are. If we meet atdinner I will be so kind to him, he will forget it all. No! Edouardwill not come to dinner. He is not a spaniel that you can beat, andthen whistle back again. Something tells me I have lost him, and ifI have, what shall I do? I will write him a note. I will ask himto forgive me."She sat down at the table, and took a sheet of notepaper and beganto write a few conciliatory words. She was so occupied in makingthese kind enough, and not too kind, that a light step approachedher unobserved. She looked up and there was Edouard. She whippedthe paper off the table.
　　A look of suspicion and misery crossed Edouard's face.
　　Rose caught it, and said, "Well, am I to be affronted any more?""No, Rose. I came back to beg you to forget what passed just now,"said he.
　　Rose's eye flashed; his return showed her her power. She abused itdirectly.
　　"How can I forget it if you come reminding me?""Dear Rose, now don't be so unkind, so cruel--I have not come backto tease you, sweet one. I come to know what I can do to pleaseyou; to make you love me again?" and he was about to kneelgraciously on one knee.
　　"I'll tell you. Don't come near me for a month."Edouard started up, white as ashes with mortification and woundedlove.
　　"This is how you treat me for humbling myself, when it is you thatought to ask forgiveness.""Why should I ask what I don't care about?""What DO you care about?--except that sister of yours? You have noheart. And on this cold-blooded creature I have wasted a love anempress might have been proud of inspiring. I pray Heaven some manmay sport with your affections, you heartless creature, as you haveplayed with mine, and make you suffer what I suffer now!"And with a burst of inarticulate grief and rage he flung out of theroom.
　　Rose sank trembling on the sofa a little while: then with a mightyeffort rose and went to comfort her sister.
　　Edouard came no more to Beaurepaire.
　　There is an old French proverb, and a wise one, "Rien n'est certainque l'imprevu;" it means you can make sure of nothing but this, thatmatters will not turn as you feel sure they will. And, even forthis reason, you, who are thinking of suicide because trade isdeclining, speculation failing, bankruptcy impending, or your lifegoing to be blighted forever by unrequited love--DON'T DO IT.
　　Whether you are English, American, French, or German, listen to aman that knows what is what, and DON'T DO IT. I tell you none ofthose horrors, when they really come, will affect you as you fancythey will. The joys we expect are not a quarter so bright, nor thetroubles half so dark as we think they will be. Bankruptcy comingis one thing, come is quite another: and no heart or life was everreally blighted at twenty years of age. The love-sick girls thatare picked out of the canal alive, all, without exception, marryanother man, have brats, and get to screech with laughter when theythink of sweetheart No. 1, generally a blockhead, or else ablackguard, whom they were fools enough to wet their clothes for,let alone kill their souls. This happens INVARIABLY. The love-sickgirls that are picked out of the canal dead have fled from a year'smisery to eternal pain, from grief that time never failed to cure,to anguish incurable. In this world "Rien n'est certain quel'imprevu."Edouard and Rose were tender lovers, at a distance. How muchhappier and more loving they thought they should be beneath the sameroof. They came together: their prominent faults of characterrubbed: the secret that was in the house did its work: andaltogether, they quarrelled. L'imprevu.
　　Dard had been saying to Jacintha for ever so long, "When grannydies, I will marry you."Granny died. Dard took possession of her little property. Up camea glittering official, and turned him out; he was not her heir.
　　Perrin, the notary, was. He had bought the inheritance of her twosons, long since dead.
　　Dard had not only looked on the cottage and cow, as his, but hadspoken of them as such for years. The disappointment and the ironyof comrades ate into him.
　　"I will leave this cursed place," said he.
　　Josephine instantly sent for him to Beaurepaire. He came, and wasfactotum with the novelty of a fixed salary. Jacintha accommodatedhim with a new little odd job or two. She set him to dance on theoak floors with a brush fastened to his right foot; and, after arehearsal or two, she made him wait at table. Didn't he bang thethings about: and when he brought a lady a dish, and she did notinstantly attend, he gave her elbow a poke to attract attention:
　　then she squeaked; and he grinned at her double absurdity in mindinga touch, and not minding the real business of the table.
　　But his wrongs rankled in him. He vented antique phrases such as,"I want a change;" "This village is the last place the Almightymade," etc.
　　Then he was attacked with a moral disease: affected the company ofsoldiers. He spent his weekly salary carousing with the military, aclass of men so brilliant that they are not expected to pay fortheir share of the drink; they contribute the anecdotes and thefamiliar appeals to Heaven: and is not that enough?
　　Present at many recitals, the heroes of which lost nothing by beingtheir own historians, Dard imbibed a taste for military adventure.
　　His very talk, which used to be so homely, began now to be tinselledwith big swelling words of vanity imported from the army. I needhardly say these bombastical phrases did not elevate his generaldialect: they lay fearfully distinct upon the surface, "like lumpsof marl upon a barren soil, encumbering the ground they could notfertilize."Jacintha took leave to remind him of an incident connected withwarfare--wounds.
　　"Do you remember how you were down upon your luck when you did butcut your foot? Why, that is nothing in the army. They never go outto fight but some come back with arms off, and some with legs offand some with heads; and the rest don't come back at all: and howwould you like that?"This intrusion of statistics into warfare at first cooled Dard'simpatience for the field. But presently the fighting half of hisheart received an ally in one Sergeant La Croix (not a bad name fora military aspirant). This sergeant was at the village waiting tomarch with the new recruits to the Rhine. Sergeant La Croix was aman who, by force of eloquence, could make soldiering appear themost delightful as well as glorious of human pursuits. His tonguefired the inexperienced soul with a love of arms, as do the drumsand trumpets and tramp of soldiers, and their bayonets glittering inthe sun. He would have been worth his weight in fustian here, wherewe recruit by that and jargon; he was superfluous in France, wherethey recruited by force: but he was ornamental: and he set Dard andone or two more on fire. Indeed, so absorbing was his sense ofmilitary glory, that there was no room left in him for that mereverbal honor civilians call veracity.
　　To speak plainly, the sergeant was a fluent, fertile, interesting,sonorous, prompt, audacious liar: and such was his success, thatDard and one or two more became mere human fiction pipes--ofcomparatively small diameter--irrigating a rural district with falseviews of military life, derived from that inexhaustible reservoir,La Croix.
　　At last the long-threatened conscription was levied: every personfit to bear arms, and not coming under the allowed exceptions, drewa number: and at a certain hour the numbers corresponding to thesewere deposited in an urn, and one-third of them were drawn inpresence of the authorities. Those men whose numbers were drawn hadto go for soldiers. Jacintha awaited the result in great anxiety.
　　She could not sit at home for it; so she went down the road to meetDard, who had promised to come and tell her the result as soon asknown. At last she saw him approaching in a disconsolate way. "ODard! speak! are we undone? are you a dead man?" cried she. "Havethey made a soldier of you?""No such luck: I shall die a man of all work," grunted Dard.
　　"And you are sorry? you unnatural little monster! you have nofeeling for me, then.""Oh, yes, I have; but glory is No. 1 with me now.""How loud the bantams crow! You leave glory to fools that be sixfeet high.""General Bonaparte isn't much higher than I am, and glory sits uponhis brow. Why shouldn't glory sit upon my brow?""Because it would weigh you down, and smother you, you little fool."She added, "And think of me, that couldn't bear you to be killed atany price, glory or no glory."Then, to appease her fears, Dard showed her his number, 99; andassured her he had seen the last number in the functionary's handbefore he came away, and it was sixty something.
　　This ocular demonstration satisfied Jacintha; and she ordered Dardto help her draw the water.
　　"All right," said he, "there is no immortal glory to be picked upto-day, so I'll go in for odd jobs."While they were at this job a voice was heard hallooing. Dardlooked up, and there was a rigid military figure, with a tremendousmustache, peering about. Dard was overjoyed. It was his friend,his boon-companion. "Come here, old fellow," cried he, "ain't Iglad to see you, that is all?" La Croix marched towards the pair.
　　"What are you skulking here for, recruit ninety-nine?" said he,sternly, dropping the boon-companion in the sergeant; "the rest areon the road.""The rest, old fellow! what do you mean? why, I was not drawn.""Yes, you were.""No, I wasn't.""Thunder of war, but I say you were. Yours was the last number.""That is an unlucky guess of yours, for I saw the last number. Lookhere," and he fumbled in his pocket, and produced his number.
　　La Croix instantly fished out a corresponding number.
　　"Well, and here you are; this was the last number drawn."Dard burst out laughing.
　　"You goose!" said he, "that is sixty-six--look at it.""Sixty-six!" roared the sergeant; "no more than yours is--they areboth sixty-sixes when you play tricks with them, and turn them uplike that; but they are both ninety-nines when you look at themfair."Dard scratched his head.
　　"Come," said the corporal, briskly, "make up his bundle, girl, andlet us be off; we have got our marching orders; going to the Rhine.""And do you think that I will let him go?" screamed Jacintha. "No!
　　I will say one word to Madame Raynal, and she will buy him asubstitute directly."Dard stopped her sullenly. "No! I have told all in the village thatI would go the first chance: it is come, and I'll go. I won't stayto be laughed at about this too. If I was sure to be cut in pieces,I'd go. Give over blubbering, girl, and get us a bottle of the bestwine, and while we are drinking it, the sergeant and I, you make upmy bundle. I shall never do any good here."Jacintha knew the obstinate toad. She did as she was bid, and soonthe little bundle was ready, and the two men faced the wine; LaCroix, radiant and bellicose; Dard, crestfallen but dogged (forthere was a little bit of good stuff at the bottom of the creature);and Jacintha rocking herself, with her apron over her head.
　　"I'll give you a toast," said La Croix. "Here's gunpowder."Jacintha promptly honored the toast with a flood of tears.
　　"Drop that, Jacintha," said Dard, angrily; "do you think that isencouraging? Sergeant, I told this poor girl all about glory beforeyou came, but she was not ripe for it: say something to cheer herup, for I can't.""I can," cried this trumpet of battle, emptying its glass.
　　"Attention, young woman.""Oh, dear! oh, dear! yes, sir.""A French soldier is a man who carries France in his heart"--"But if the cruel foreign soldiers kill him? Oh!""Why, in that case, he does not care a straw. Every man must die;horses likewise, and dogs, and donkeys, when they come to the end oftheir troubles; but dogs and donkeys and chaps in blouses can't diegloriously; as Dard may, if he has any luck at all: so, from thishour, if there was twice as little of him, be proud of him, for fromthis time he is a part of France and her renown. Come, recruitninety-nine, shoulder your traps at duty's call, and let us go forthin form. Attention! Quick--march! Halt! is that the way I showedyou to march? Didn't I tell you to start from the left? Now tryagain. QUICK--march! left--right--left--right--left--right--NOWyou've--GOT it--DRAT ye,--KEEP it--left--right--left--right--left--right." And with no more ado the sergeant marched the little odd-job man to the wars.
　　VIVE LA FRANCE!
Chapter 18
　　Edouard, the moment his temper cooled, became very sad. He longedto be friends again with Rose, but did not know how. His own prideheld him back, and so did his fear that he had gone too far, andthat his offended mistress would not listen to an offer ofreconciliation from him. He sat down alone now to all his littlemeals. No sweet, mellow voices in his ear after the fatigues of theday. It was a dismal change in his life.
　　At last, one day, he received three lines from Josephine, requestinghim to come and speak to her. He went over directly, full of vaguehopes. He found her seated pale and languid in a small room on theground floor.
　　"What has she been doing to you, dear?" began she kindly.
　　"Has she not told you, Madame Raynal?""No; she is refractory. She will tell me nothing, and that makes mefear she is the one in fault.""Oh! if she does not accuse me, I am sure I will not accuse her. Idare say I am to blame; it is not her fault that I cannot make herlove me.""But you can. She does.""Yes; but she loves others better, and she holds me out no hope itwill ever be otherwise. On this one point how can I hope for yoursympathy; unfortunately for me you are one of my rivals. She toldme plainly she never could love me as she loves you.""And you believed her?""I had good reason to believe her."Josephine smiled sadly. "Dear Edouard," said she, "you must notattach so much importance to every word we say. Does Rose at herage know everything? Is she a prophet? Perhaps she really fanciesshe will always love her sister as she does now; but you are a manof sense; you ought to smile and let her talk. When you marry heryou will take her to your own house; she will only see me now andthen; she will have you and your affection always present. Each daysome new tie between you and her. You two will share every joy,every sorrow. Your children playing at your feet, and reflectingthe features of both parents, will make you one. Your hearts willmelt together in that blessed union which raises earth so near toheaven; and then you will wonder you could ever be jealous of poorJosephine, who must never hope--ah, me!"Edouard, wrapped up in himself, mistook Josephine's emotion at thepicture she had drawn of conjugal love. He soothed her, and vowedupon his honor he never would separate Rose from her.
　　"Madame Raynal," said he, "you are an angel, and I am a fiend.
　　Jealousy must be the meanest of all sentiments. I never will bejealous again, above all, of you, sweet angel. Why, you are mysister as well as hers, and she has a right to love you, for I loveyou myself.""You make me very happy when you talk so," sighed Josephine. "Peaceis made?""Never again to be broken. I will go and ask her pardon. What isthe matter now?"For Jacintha was cackling very loud, and dismissing with ignominytwo beggars, male and female.
　　She was industry personified, and had no sympathy with mendicity.
　　In vain the couple protested, Heaven knows with what truth, thatthey were not beggars, but mechanics out of work. "March! tramp!"was Jacintha's least word. She added, giving the rein to herimagination, "I'll loose the dog." The man moved away, the womanturned appealingly to Edouard. He and Josephine came towards thegroup. She had got a sort of large hood, and in that hood shecarried an infant on her shoulders. Josephine inspected it. "Itlooks sickly, poor little thing," said she.
　　"What can you expect, young lady?" said the woman. "Its mother hadto rise and go about when she ought to have been in her bed, and nowshe has not enough to give it.""Oh, dear!" cried Josephine. "Jacintha, give them some food and anice bottle of wine.""That I will," cried Jacintha, changing her tone with courtier-likealacrity. "I did not see she was nursing."Josephine put a franc into the infant's hand; the little fingersclosed on it with that instinct of appropriation, which is our firstand often our last sentiment. Josephine smiled lovingly on thechild, and the child seeing that gave a small crow.
　　"Bless it," said Josephine, and thereupon her lovely head reareditself like a snake's, and then darted down on the child; and theyoung noble kissed the beggar's brat as if she would eat it.
　　This won the mother's heart more than even the gifts.
　　"Blessings on you, my lady!" she cried. "I pray the Lord not toforget this when a woman's trouble comes on you in your turn! It isa small child, mademoiselle, but it is not an unhealthy one. See."Inspection was offered, and eagerly accepted.
　　Edouard stood looking on at some distance in amazement, mingled withdisgust.
　　"Ugh!" said he, when she rejoined him, "how could you kiss thatnasty little brat?""Dear Edouard, don't speak so of a poor little innocent. Who wouldpity them if we women did not? It had lovely eyes.""Like saucers.""Yes.""It is no compliment when you are affectionate to anybody; youoverflow with benevolence on all creation, like the rose which shedsits perfume on the first-comer.""If he is not going to be jealous of me next," whined Josephine.
　　She took him to Rose, and she said, "There, whenever good friendsquarrel, it is understood they were both in the wrong. Bygones areto be bygones; and when your time comes round to quarrel again,please consult me first, since it is me you will afflict." She leftthem together, and went and tapped timidly at the doctor's study.
　　Aubertin received her with none of that reserve she had seen in him.
　　He appeared both surprised and pleased at her visit to his littlesanctum. He even showed an emotion Josephine was at a loss toaccount for. But that wore off during the conversation, and,indeed, gave place to a sort of coldness.
　　"Dear friend," said she, "I come to consult you about Rose andEdouard." She then told him what had happened, and hinted atEdouard's one fault. The doctor smiled. "It is curious. You havecome to draw my attention to a point on which it has been fixed forsome days past. I am preparing a cure for the two young fools; asevere remedy, but in their case a sure one."He then showed her a deed, wherein he had settled sixty thousandfrancs on Rose and her children. "Edouard," said he, "has a goodplace. He is active and rising, and with my sixty thousand francs,and a little purse of ten thousand more for furniture and nonsense,they can marry next week, if they like. Yes, marriage is asovereign medicine for both of these patients. She does not lovehim quite enough. Cure: marriage. He loves her a little too much.
　　Cure: marriage.""O doctor!""Can't help it. I did not make men and women. We must take humannature as we find it, and thank God for it on the whole. Have younothing else to confide to me?""No, doctor.""Are you sure?""No, dear friend. But this is very near my heart," falteredJosephine.
　　The doctor sighed; then said gently, "They shall be happy: as happyas you wish them."Meantime, in another room, a reconciliation scene was taking place,and the mutual concessions of two impetuous but generous spirits.
　　The baroness noticed the change in Josephine's appearance.
　　She asked Rose what could be the matter.
　　"Some passing ailment," was the reply.
　　"Passing? She has been so, on and off, a long time. She makes mevery anxious."Rose made light of it to her mother, but in her own heart she grewmore and more anxious day by day. She held secret conferences withJacintha; that sagacious personage had a plan to wake Josephine fromher deathly languor, and even soothe her nerves, and check thosepitiable fits of nervous irritation to which she had become subject.
　　Unfortunately, Jacintha's plan was so difficult and so dangerous,that at first even the courageous Rose recoiled from it; but thereare dangers that seem to diminish when you look them long in theface.
　　The whole party was seated in the tapestried room: Jacintha wasthere, sewing a pair of sheets, at a respectful distance from thegentlefolks, absorbed in her work; but with both ears on full cock.
　　The doctor, holding his glasses to his eye, had just begun to readout the Moniteur.
　　The baroness sat close to him, Edouard opposite; and the youngladies each in her corner of a large luxurious sofa, at some littledistance.
　　"'The Austrians left seventy cannon, eight thousand men, and threecolors upon the field. Army of the North: General Menard defeatedthe enemy after a severe engagement, taking thirteen field-piecesand a quantity of ammunition.'"The baroness made a narrow-minded renmark. "That is always the waywith these journals," said she. "Austrians! Prussians! when it'sEgypt one wants to hear about."--"No, not a word about Egypt," saidthe doctor; "but there is a whole column about the Rhine, whereColonel Dujardin is--and Dard. If I was dictator, the firstnuisance I would put down is small type." He then spelled out asanguinary engagement: "eight thousand of the enemy killed. We havesome losses to lament. Colonel Dujardin"--"Only wounded, I hope," said the baroness.
　　The doctor went coolly on. "At the head of the 24th brigade made abrilliant charge on the enemy's flank, that is described in thegeneral order as having decided the fate of the battle.""How badly you do read," said the old lady, sharply. "I thought hewas gone; instead of that he has covered himself with glory; but itis all our doing, is it not, young ladies? We saved his life.""We saved it amongst us, madame.""What is the matter, Rose?" said Edouard.
　　"Nothing: give me the salts, quick."She only passed them, as it were, under her own nostrils; then heldthem to Josephine, who was now observed to be trembling all over.
　　Rose contrived to make it appear that this was mere sympathy onJosephine's part.
　　"Don't be silly, girls," cried the baroness, cheerfully; "there isnobody killed that we care about."Dr. Aubertin read the rest to himself.
　　Edouard fell into a gloomy silence and tortured himself aboutCamille, and Rose's anxiety and agitation.
　　By and by the new servant brought in a letter. It was the long-expected one from Egypt.
　　"Here is something better than salts for you. A long letter,Josephine, and all in his own hand; so he is safe, thank Heaven! Iwas beginning to be uneasy again. You frightened me for that poorCamille: but this is worth a dozen Camilles; this is my son; I wouldgive my old life for him."--"My dear Mother--('Bless him!'), my dearwife, and my dear sister--('Well! you sit there like two rocks!')--We have just gained a battle--fifty colors. ('What do you think ofthat?') All the enemy's baggage and ammunition are in our hands.
　　('This is something like a battle, this one.') Also the Pasha ofNatolie. ('Ah! the Pasha of Natolie; an important personage, nodoubt, though I never had the honor of hearing of him. Do youhear?--you on the sofa. My son has captured the Pasha of Natolie.
　　He is as brave as Caesar.') But this success is not one of thosethat lead to important results ('Never mind, a victory is avictory'), and I should not wonder if Bonaparte was to dash home anyday. If so, I shall go with him, and perhaps spend a whole day withyou, on my way to the Rhine."At this prospect a ghastly look passed quick as lightning betweenRose and Josephine.
　　The baroness beckoned Josephine to come close to her, and read herwhat followed in a lower tone of voice.
　　"Tell my wife I love her more and more every day. I don't expect asmuch from her, but she will make me very happy if she can make shiftto like me as well as her family do."--"No danger! What husbanddeserves to be loved as he does? I long for his return, that hiswife, his mother, and his sister may all combine to teach this poorsoldier what happiness means. We owe him everything, Josephine, andif we did not love him, and make him happy, we should be monsters;now should we not?"Josephine stammered an assent.
　　"NOW you may read his letter: Jacintha and all," said the baronessgraciously.
　　The letter circulated. Meantime, the baroness conversed withAubertin in quite an undertone.
　　"My friend, look at Josephine. That girl is ill, or else she isgoing to be ill.""Neither the one nor the other, madame," said Aubertin, looking hercoolly in the face.
　　"But I say she is. Is a doctor's eye keener than a mother's?""Considerably," replied the doctor with cool and enviable effrontery.
　　The baroness rose. "Now, children, for our evening walk. We shallenjoy it now.""I trust you may: but for all that I must forbid the evening air toone of the party--to Madame Raynal."The baroness came to him and whispered, "That is right. Thank you.
　　See what is the matter with her, and tell me." And she carried offthe rest of the party.
　　At the same time Jacintha asked permission to pass the rest of theevening with her relations in the village. But why that swift,quivering glance of intelligence between Jacintha and Rose deBeaurepaire when the baroness said, "Yes, certainly"?
　　Time will show.
　　Josephine and the doctor were left alone. Now Josephine had noticedthe old people whisper and her mother glance her way, and the wholewoman was on her guard. She assumed a languid complacency, and byway of shield, if necessary, took some work, and bent her eyes andapparently her attention on it.
　　The doctor was silent and ill at ease.
　　She saw he had something weighty on his mind. "The air would havedone me no harm," said she.
　　"Neither will a few words with me.""Oh, no, dear friend. Only I think I should have liked a littlewalk this evening.""Josephine," said the doctor quietly, "when you were a child I savedyour life.""I have often heard my mother speak of it. I was choked by thecroup, and you had the courage to lance my windpipe.""Had I?" said the doctor, with a smile. He added gravely, "It seemsthen that to be cruel is sometimes kindness. It is the nature ofmen to love those whose life they save.""And they love you.""Well, our affection is not perfect. I don't know which is most toblame, but after all these years I have failed to inspire you withconfidence." The doctor's voice was sad, and Josephine's bosompanted.
　　"Pray do not say so," she cried. "I would trust you with my life.""But not with your secret.""My secret! What secret? I have no secrets.""Josephine, you have now for full twelve months suffered in body andmind, yet you have never come to me for counsel, for comfort, for anold man's experience and advice, nor even for medical aid.""But, dear friend, I assure you"--"We DO NOT deceive our friend. We CANNOT deceive our doctor."Josephine trembled, but defended herself after the manner of hersex. "Dear doctor," said she, "I love you all the better for this.
　　Your regard for me has for once blinded your science. I am not sorobust as you have known me, but there is nothing serious the matterwith me. Let us talk of something else. Besides, it is notinteresting to talk about one's self.""Very well; since there is nothing serious or interesting in yourcase, we will talk about something that is both serious andinteresting.""With all my heart;" and she smiled with a sense of relief.
　　But the doctor leaned over the table to her, and said in a cautiousand most emphatic whisper, "We will talk about YOUR CHILD."The work dropped from Josephine's hands: she turned her face wildlyon Aubertin, and faltered out, "M--my child?""My words are plain," replied he gravely. "YOUR CHILD."When the doctor repeated these words, when Josephine looking in hisface saw he spoke from knowledge, however acquired, and not fromguess, she glided down slowly off the sofa and clasped his knees ashe stood before her, and hid her face in an agony of shame andterror on his knees.
　　"Forgive me," she sobbed. "Pray do not expose me! Do not destroyme.""Unhappy young lady," said he, "did you think you had deceived me,or that you are fit to deceive any but the blind? Your face, youranguish after Colonel Dujardin's departure, your languor, and thenyour sudden robustness, your appetite, your caprices, your strangesojourn at Frejus, your changed looks and loss of health on yourreturn! Josephine, your old friend has passed many an hour thinkingof you, divining your folly, following your trouble step by step.
　　Yet you never invited him to aid you."Josephine faltered out a lame excuse. If she had revered him lessshe could have borne to confess to him. She added it would be arelief to her to confide in him.
　　"Then tell me all," said he.
　　She consented almost eagerly, and told him--nearly all. The old manwas deeply affected. He murmured in a broken voice, "Your story isthe story of your sex, self-sacrifice, first to your mother, then toCamille, now to your husband.""And he is well worthy of any sacrifice I can make," said Josephine.
　　"But oh, how hard it is to live!""I hope to make it less hard to you ere long," said the doctorquietly. He then congratulated himself on having forced Josephineto confide in him. "For," said he, "you never needed an experiencedfriend more than at this moment. Your mother will not always be soblind as of late. Edouard is suspicious. Jacintha is a shrewdyoung woman, and very inquisitive."Josephine was not at the end of her concealments: she was ashamed tolet him know she had made a confidant of Jacintha and not of him.
　　She held her peace.
　　"Then," continued Aubertin, "there is the terrible chance ofRaynal's return. But ere I take on me to advise you, what are yourown plans?""I don't know," said Josephine helplessly.
　　"You--don't--know!" cried the doctor, looking at her in utteramazement.
　　"It is the answer of a mad woman, is it not? Doctor, I am littlebetter. My foot has slipped on the edge of a precipice. I close myeyes, and let myself glide down it. What will become of me?""All shall be well," said Aubertin, "provided you do not still lovethat man."Josephine did not immediately reply: her thoughts turned inwards.
　　The good doctor was proceeding to congratulate her on being cured ofa fatal passion, when she stopped him with wonder in her face. "Notlove him! How can I help loving him? I was his betrothed. Iwronged him in my thoughts. War, prison, anguish, could not killhim; he loved me so. He struggled bleeding to my feet; and could Ilet him die, after all? Could I be crueller than prison, andtorture, and despair?"The doctor sighed deeply; but, arming himself with the necessaryresolution, he sternly replied, "A woman of your name cannotvacillate between love and honor; such vacillations have but oneend. I will not let you drift a moral wreck between passion andvirtue; and that is what it will come to if you hesitate now.""Hesitate! Who can say I have hesitated where my honor wasconcerned? You can read our bodies then, but not our hearts. What!
　　you see me so pale, forlorn, and dead, and that does not tell you Ihave bid Camille farewell forever? That we might be safer still Ihave not even told him he is a father: was ever woman so cruel as Iam? I have written him but one letter, and in that I must deceivehim. I told him I thought I might one day be happy, if I could hearthat he did not give way to despair. I told him we must never meetagain in this world. So now come what will: show me my duty and Iwill do it. This endless deceit burns my heart. Shall I tell myhusband? It will be but one pang more, one blush more for me. Butmy mother!" and, thus appealed to, Dr. Aubertin felt, for the firsttime, all the difficulty of the situation he had undertaken to cure.
　　He hesitated, he was embarrassed.
　　"Ah," said Josephine, "you see." Then, after a short silence, shesaid despairingly, "This is my only hope: that poor Raynal will belong absent, and that ere he returns mamma will lie safe from sorrowand shame in the little chapel. Doctor, when a woman of my ageforms such wishes as these, I think you might pity her, and forgiveher ill-treatment of you, for she cannot be very happy. Ah me! ahme! ah me!""Courage, poor soul! All is now in my hands, and I will save you,"said the doctor, his voice trembling in spite of him. "Guilt liesin the intention. A more innocent woman than you does not breathe.
　　Two courses lay open to you: to leave this house with CamilleDujardin, or to dismiss him, and live for your hard duty till itshall please Heaven to make that duty easy (no middle course wastenable for a day); of these two paths you chose the right one, and,having chosen, I really think you are not called on to reveal yourmisfortune, and make those unhappy to whose happiness you havesacrificed your own for years to come.""Forever," said Josephine quietly.
　　"The young use that word lightly. The old have almost ceased to useit. They have seen how few earthly things can conquer time."He resumed, "You think only of others, Josephine, but I shall thinkof you as well. I shall not allow your life to be wasted in aneedless struggle against nature." Then turning to Rose, who hadglided into the room, and stood amazed, "Her griefs were as manybefore her child was born, yet her health stood firm. Why? becausenature was on her side. Now she is sinking into the grave. Why?
　　because she is defying nature. Nature intended her to be pressingher child to her bosom day and night; instead of that, a peasantwoman at Frejus nurses the child, and the mother pines atBeaurepaire."At this, Josephine leaned her face on her hands on the doctor'sshoulder. In this attitude she murmured to him, "I have never seenhim since I left Frejus." Dr. Aubertin sighed for her. Emboldenedby this, she announced her intention of going to Frejus the verynext day to see her little Henri. But to this Dr. Aubertindemurred. "What, another journey to Frejus?" said he, "when thefirst has already roused Edouard's suspicions; I can never consentto that."Then Josephine surprised them both. She dropped her coaxing voiceand pecked the doctor like an irritated pigeon. "Take care," saidshe, "don't be too cruel to me. You see I am obedient, resigned. Ihave given up all I lived for: but if I am never to have my littleboy's arms round me to console me, then--why torment me any longer?
　　Why not say to me, 'Josephine, you have offended Heaven; pray forpardon, and die'?"Then the doctor was angry in his turn. "Oh, go then," said he, "goto Frejus; you will have Edouard Riviere for a companion this time.
　　Your first visit roused his suspicions. So before you go tell yourmother all; for since she is sure to find it out, she had betterhear it from you than from another.""Doctor, have pity on me," said Josephine.
　　"You have no heart," said Rose. "She shall see him though, in spiteof you.""Oh, yes! he has a heart," said Josephine: "he is my best friend.
　　He will let me see my boy."All this, and the tearful eyes and coaxing yet trembling voice, washard to resist. But Aubertin saw clearly, and stood firm. He puthis handkerchief to his eyes a moment: then took the pining youngmother's hand. "And, do you think," said he, "I do not pity you andlove your boy? Ah! he will never want a father whilst I live; andfrom this moment he is under my care. I will go to see him; I willbring you news, and all in good time; I will place him where youshall visit him without imprudence; but, for the present, trust awiser head than yours or Rose's; and give me your sacred promise notto go to Frejus."Weighed down by his good-sense and kindness, Josephine resisted nolonger in words. She just lifted her hands in despair and began tocry. It was so piteous, Aubertin was ready to yield in turn, andconsent to any imprudence, when he met with an unexpected ally.
　　"Promise," said Rose, doggedly.
　　Josephine looked at her calmly through her tears.
　　"Promise, dear," repeated Rose, and this time with an intonation sofine that it attracted Josephine's notice, but not the doctor's. Itwas followed by a glance equally subtle.
　　"I promise," said Josephine, with her eye fixed inquiringly on hersister.
　　For once she could not make the telegraph out: but she could see itwas playing, and that was enough. She did what Rose bid her; shepromised not to go to Frejus without leave.
　　Finding her so submissive all of a sudden, he went on to suggestthat she must not go kissing every child she saw. "Edouard tells mehe saw you kissing a beggar's brat. The young rogue was going toquiz you about it at the dinner-table; luckily, he told me hisintention, and I would not let him. I said the baroness would beannoyed with you for descending from your dignity--and exposing anoble family to fleas--hush! here he is.""Tiresome!" muttered Rose, "just when"--Edouard came forward with a half-vexed face.
　　However, he turned it off into play. "What have you been saying toher, monsieur, to interest her so? Give me a leaf out of your book.
　　I need it."The doctor was taken aback for a moment, but at last he said slyly,"I have been proposing to her to name the day. She says she mustconsult you before she decides that.""Oh, you wicked doctor!--and consult HIM of all people!""So be off, both of you, and don't reappear before me till it issettled."Edouard's eyes sparkled. Rose went out with a face as red as fire.
　　It was a balmy evening. Edouard was to leave them for a week thenext day. They were alone: Rose was determined he should go awayquite happy. Everything was in Edouard's favor: he pleaded hiscause warmly: she listened tenderly: this happy evening her piquancyand archness seemed to dissolve into tenderness as she and Edouardwalked hand in hand under the moon: a tenderness all the moreheavenly to her devoted lover, that she was not one of those angelswho cloy a man by invariable sweetness.
　　For a little while she forgot everything but her companion. In thatsoft hour he won her to name the day, after her fashion.
　　"Josephine goes to Paris with the doctor in about three weeks,"murmured she.
　　"And you will stay behind, all alone?""Alone? that shall depend on you, monsieur."On this Edouard caught her for the first time in his arms.
　　She made a faint resistance.
　　"Seal me that promise, sweet one!""No! no!--there!"He pressed a delicious first kiss upon two velvet lips that in theirinnocence scarcely shunned the sweet attack.
　　For all that, the bond was no sooner sealed after this fashion, thanthe lady's cheek began to burn.
　　"Suppose we go in NOW?" said she, dryly.
　　"Ah, not yet.""It is late, dear Edouard."And with these words something returned to her mind with its fullforce: something that Edouard had actually made her forget. Shewanted to get rid of him now.
　　"Edouard," said she, "can you get up early in the morning? If youcan, meet me here to-morrow before any of them are up; then we cantalk without interruption."Edouard was delighted.
　　"Eight o'clock?""Sooner if you like. Mamma bade me come and read to her in her roomto-night. She will be waiting for me. Is it not tiresome?""Yes, it is.""Well, we must not mind that, dear; in three weeks' time we are tohave too much of one another, you know, instead of too little.""Too much! I shall never have enough of you. I shall hate the nightwhich will rob me of the sight of you for so many hours in thetwenty-four.""If you can't see me, perhaps you may hear me; my tongue runs bynight as well as by day.""Well, that is a comfort," said Edouard, gravely. "Yes, littlequizzer, I would rather hear you scold than an angel sing. Judge,then, what music it is when you say you love me!""I love you, Edouard."Edouard kissed her hand warmly, and then looked irresolutely at herface.
　　"No, no!" said she, laughing and blushing. "How rude you are. Nexttime we meet.""That is a bargain. But I won't go till you say you love me again.
　　"Edouard, don't be silly. I am ashamed of saying the same thing sooften--I won't say it any more. What is the use? You know I loveyou. There, I HAVE said it: how stupid!""Adieu, then, my wife that is to be.""Adieu! dear Edouard.""My hus--go on--my hus--""My huswife that shall be."Then they walked very slowly towards the house, and once more Roseleft quizzing, and was all tenderness.
　　"Will you not come in, and bid them 'good-night'?""No, my own; I am in heaven. Common faces--common voices wouldbring me down to earth. Let me be alone;--your sweet words ringingin my ear. I will dilute you with nothing meaner than the stars.
　　See how bright they shine in heaven; but not so bright as you shinein my heart.""Dear Edouard, you flatter me, you spoil me. Alas! why am I notmore worthy of your love?""More worthy! How can that be?"Rose sighed.
　　"But I will atone for all. I will make you a better--(here shesubstituted a full stop for a substantive)--than you expect. Youwill see else."She lingered at the door: a proof that if Edouard, at thatparticular moment, had seized another kiss, there would have been novery violent opposition or offence.
　　But he was not so impudent as some. He had been told to wait tillthe next meeting for that. He prayed Heaven to bless her, and sothe affianced lovers parted for the night.
　　It was about nine o'clock. Edouard, instead of returning to hislodgings, started down towards the town, to conclude a bargain withthe innkeeper for an English mare he was in treaty for. He wantedher for to-morrow's work; so that decided him to make the purchase.
　　In purchases, as in other matters, a feather turns the balancedscale. He sauntered leisurely down. It was a very clear night; thefull moon and the stars shining silvery and vivid. Edouard's heartswelled with joy. He was loved after all, deeply loved; and inthree short weeks he was actually to be Rose's husband: her lord andmaster. How like a heavenly dream it all seemed--the first hopelesscourtship, and now the wedding fixed! But it was no dream; he felther soft words still murmur music at his heart, and the shadow ofher velvet lips slept upon his own.
　　He had strolled about a league when he heard the ring of a horse'shoofs coming towards him, accompanied by a clanking noise; it camenearer and nearer, till it reached a hill that lay a little ahead ofEdouard; then the sounds ceased; the cavalier was walking his horseup the hill.
　　Presently, as if they had started from the earth, up popped betweenEdouard and the sky, first a cocked hat that seemed in that light tobe cut with a razor out of flint; then the wearer, phosphorescenthere and there; so brightly the keen moonlight played on hisepaulets and steel scabbard. A step or two nearer, and Edouard gavea great shout; it was Colonel Raynal.
　　After the first warm greeting, and questions and answers, Raynaltold him he was on his way to the Rhine with despatches.
　　"To the Rhine?"I am allowed six days to get there. I made a calculation, and foundI could give Beaurepaire half a day. I shall have to make up for itby hard riding. You know me; always in a hurry. It is Bonaparte'sfault this time. He is always in a hurry too.""Why, colonel," said Edouard, "let us make haste then. Mind they goearly to rest at the chateau.""But you are not coming my way, youngster?""Not coming your way? Yes, but I am. Yours is a face I don't seeevery day, colonel; besides I would not miss THEIR faces, especiallythe baroness's and Madame Raynal's, at sight of you; and, besides,"--and the young gentleman chuckled to himself, and thought of Rose'swords, "the next time we meet;" well, this will be the next time.
　　"May I jump up behind?"Colonel Raynal nodded assent. Edouard took a run, and lighted likea monkey on the horse's crupper. He pranced and kicked at thisunexpected addition; but the spur being promptly applied to hisflanks, he bounded off with a snort that betrayed more astonishmentthan satisfaction, and away they cantered to Beaurepaire, withoutdrawing rein.
　　"There," said Edouard, "I was afraid they would be gone to bed; andthey are. The very house seems asleep--fancy--at half-past ten.""That is a pity," said Raynal, "for this chateau is the strongholdof etiquette. They will be two hours dressing before they will comeout and shake hands. I must put my horse into the stable. Go youand give the alarm.""I will, colonel. Stop, first let me see whether none of them areup, after all."And Edouard walked round the chateau, and soon discovered a light atone window, the window of the tapestried room. Running round theother way he came slap upon another light: this one was nearer theground. A narrow but massive door, which he had always seen notonly locked but screwed up, was wide open; and through the aperturethe light of a candle streamed out and met the moonlight streamingin.
　　"Hallo!" cried Edouard.
　　He stopped, turned, and looked in.
　　"Hallo!" he cried again much louder.
　　A young woman was sleeping with her feet in the silvery moonlight,and her head in the orange-colored blaze of a flat candle, whichrested on the next step above of a fine stone staircase, whoseexistence was now first revealed to the inquisitive Edouard.
　　Coming plump upon all this so unexpectedly, he quite started.
　　"Why, Jacintha!"He touched her on the shoulder to wake her. No. Jacintha wassleeping as only tired domestics can sleep. He might have taken thecandle and burnt her gown off her back. She had found a step thatfitted into the small of her back, and another that supported herhead, and there she was fast as a door.
　　At this moment Raynal's voice was heard calling him.
　　"There is a light in that bedroom.""It is not a bedroom, colonel; it is our sitting-room now. We shallfind them all there, or at least the young ladies; and perhaps thedoctor. The baroness goes to bed early. Meantime I can show youone of our dramatis personae, and an important one too. She rulesthe roost."He took him mysteriously and showed him Jacintha.
　　Moonlight by itself seems white, and candlelight by itself seemsyellow; but when the two come into close contrast at night, candleturns a reddish flame, and moonlight a bluish gleam.
　　So Jacintha, with her shoes in this celestial sheen, and her face inthat demoniacal glare, was enough to knock the gazer's eye out.
　　"Make a good sentinel--this one," said Raynal--"an outlying picketfor instance, on rough ground, in front of the enemy's riflemen.""Ha! ha! colonel! Let us see where this staircase leads. I have anidea it will prove a short cut.""Where to?""To the saloon, or somewhere, or else to some of Jacintha's haunts.
　　Serve her right for going to sleep at the mouth of her den.""Forward then--no, halt! Suppose it leads to the bedrooms? Mindthis is a thundering place for ceremony. We shall get drummed outof the barracks if we don't mind our etiquette."At this they hesitated; and Edouard himself thought, on the whole,it would be better to go and hammer at the front door.
　　Now while they hesitated, a soft delicious harmony of female voicessuddenly rose, and seemed to come and run round the walls. The menlooked at one another in astonishment; for the effect was magical.
　　The staircase being enclosed on all sides with stone walls andfloored with stone, they were like flies inside a violoncello; thevoices rang above, below, and on every side of the vibrating walls.
　　In some epochs spirits as hardy as Raynal's, and wits as quick asRiviere's, would have fled then and there to the nearest public, andtold over cups how they had heard the dames of Beaurepaire, longsince dead, holding their revel, and the conscious old devil's nestof a chateau quivering to the ghostly strains.
　　But this was an incredulous age. They listened, and listened, anddecided the sounds came from up-stairs.
　　"Let us mount, and surprise these singing witches," said Edouard.
　　"Surprise them! what for? It is not the enemy--for once. What isthe good of surprising our friends?"Storming parties and surprises were no novelty and therefore notreat to Raynal.
　　"It will be so delightful to see their faces at first sight of you.
　　O colonel, for my sake! Don't spoil it by going tamely in at thefront door, after coming at night from Egypt for half an hour."Raynal grumbled something about its being a childish trick; but toplease Edouard consented at last; only stipulated for a light: "orelse," said he, "we shall surprise ourselves instead with a brokenneck, going over ground we don't know to surprise the natives--ourskirmishers got nicked that way now and then in Egypt.""Yes, colonel, I will go first with Jacintha's candle." Edouardmounted the stairs on tiptoe. Raynal followed. The solid stonesteps did not prate. The men had mounted a considerable way, whenpuff a blast of wind came through a hole, and out went Edouard'scandle. He turned sharply round to Raynal. "Peste!" said he in avicious whisper. But the other laid his hand on his shoulder andwhispered, "Look to the front." He looked, and, his own candlebeing out, saw a glimmer on ahead. He crept towards it. It was ataper shooting a feeble light across a small aperture. They caughta glimpse of what seemed to be a small apartment. Yet Edouardrecognized the carpet of the tapestried room--which was a very largeroom. Creeping a yard nearer, he discovered that it was thetapestried room, and that what had seemed the further wall was onlythe screen, behind which were lights, and two women singing a duet.
　　He whispered to Raynal, "It is the tapestried room.""Is it a sitting-room?" whispered Raynal.
　　"Yes! yes! Mind and not knock your foot against the wood."And Raynal went softly up and put his foot quietly through theaperture, which he now saw was made by a panel drawn back close tothe ground; and stood in the tapestried chamber. The carpet wasthick; the voices favored the stealthy advance; the floor of the oldhouse was like a rock; and Edouard put his face through theaperture, glowing all over with anticipation of the little scream ofjoy that would welcome his friend dropping in so nice and suddenlyfrom Egypt.
　　The feeling was rendered still more piquant by a sharp curiositythat had been growing on him for some minutes past. For why wasthis passage opened to-night?--he had never seen it opened before.
　　And why was Jacintha lying sentinel at the foot of the stairs?
　　But this was not all. Now that they were in the room both menbecame conscious of another sound besides the ladies' voices--a verypeculiar sound. It also came from behind the screen. They bothheard it, and showed, by the puzzled looks they cast at one another,that neither could make out what on earth it was. It consisted of asuccession of little rustles, followed by little thumps on thefloor.
　　But what was curious, too, this rustle, thump--rustle, thump--fellexactly into the time of the music; so that, clearly, either therustle thump was being played to the tune, or the tune sung to therustle thump.
　　This last touch of mystery inflamed Edouard's impatience beyondbearing: he pointed eagerly and merrily to the corner of the screen.
　　Raynal obeyed, and stepped very slowly and cautiously towards it.
　　Rustle, thump! rustle, thump! rustle, thump! with the rhythm ofharmonious voices.
　　Edouard got his head and foot into the room without taking his eyeoff Raynal.
　　Rustle, thump! rustle, thump! rustle, thump!
　　Raynal was now at the screen, and quietly put his head round it, andhis hand upon it.
　　Edouard was bursting with expectation.
　　No result. What is this? Don't they see him? Why does he notspeak to them? He seems transfixed.
　　Rustle, thump! rustle, thump; accompanied now for a few notes by onevoice only, Rose's.
　　Suddenly there burst a shriek from Josephine, so loud, so fearful,that it made even Raynal stagger back a step, the screen in hishand.
　　Then another scream of terror and anguish from Rose. Then a faintercry, and the heavy helpless fall of a human body.
　　Raynal sprang forward whirling the screen to the earth in terribleagitation, and Edouard bounded over it as it fell at his feet. Hedid not take a second step. The scene that caught his eye stupefiedand paralyzed him in full career, and froze him to the spot withamazement and strange misgivings.
Chapter 19
　　To return for a moment to Rose. She parted from Edouard, and wentin at the front door: but the next moment she opened it softly andwatched her lover unseen. "Dear Edouard!" she murmured: and thenshe thought, "how sad it is that I must deceive him, even to-night:
　　must make up an excuse to get him from me, when we were so happytogether. Ah! he little knows how I shall welcome our wedding-day.
　　When once I can see my poor martyr on the road to peace and contentunder the good doctor's care. And oh! the happiness of having nomore secrets from him I love! Dear Edouard! when once we aremarried, I never, never, will have a secret from you again--I swearit."As a comment on these words she now stepped cautiously out, andpeered in every direction.
　　"St--st!" she whispered. No answer came to this signal.
　　Rose returned into the house and bolted the door inside. She wentup to the tapestried room, and found the doctor in the act ofwishing Josephine good-night. The baroness, fatigued a little byher walk, had mounted no higher than her own bedroom, which was onthe first floor just under the tapestried room. Rose followed thedoctor out. "Dear friend, one word. Josephine talked of tellingRaynal. You have not encouraged her to do that?""Certainly not, while he is in Egypt.""Still less on his return. Doctor, you don't know that man.
　　Josephine does not know him. But I do. He would kill her if heknew. He would kill her that minute. He would not wait: he wouldnot listen to excuses: he is a man of iron. Or if he spared her hewould kill Camille: and that would destroy her by the cruellest ofall deaths! My friend, I am a wicked, miserable girl. I am thecause of all this misery!"She then told Aubertin all about the anonymous letter, and whatRaynal had said to her in consequence.
　　"He never would have married her had he known she loved another. Heasked me was it so. I told him a falsehood. At least Iequivocated, and to equivocate with one so loyal and simple was todeceive him. I am the only sinner: that sweet angel is the onlysufferer. Is this the justice of Heaven? Doctor, my remorse isgreat. No one knows what I feel when I look at my work. Edouardthinks I love her so much better than I do him. He is wrong: it isnot love only, it is pity: it is remorse for the sorrow I havebrought on her, and the wrong I have done poor Raynal."The high-spirited girl was greatly agitated: and Aubertin, though hedid not acquit her of all blame, soothed her, and made excuses forher.
　　"We must not always judge by results," said he. "Things turnedunfortunately. You did for the best. I forgive you for one. Thatis, I will forgive you if you promise not to act again without myadvice.""Oh, never! never!""And, above all, no imprudence about that child. In three littleweeks they will be together without risk of discovery. Well, youdon't answer me."Rose's blood turned cold. "Dear friend," she stammered, "I quiteagree with you.""Promise, then.""Not to let Josephine go to Frejus?" said Rose hastily. "Oh, yes! Ipromise.""You are a good girl," said Aubertin. "You have a will of your own.
　　But you can submit to age and experience." The doctor then kissedher, and bade her farewell.
　　"I leave for Paris at six in the morning," he said. "I will not tryyour patience or hers unnecessarily. Perhaps it will not be threeweeks ere she sees her child under her friend's roof."The moment Rose was alone, she sat down and sighed bitterly. "Thereis no end to it," she sobbed despairingly. "It is like a spider'sweb: every struggle to be free but multiplies the fine yetirresistible thread that seems to bind me. And to-night I thoughtto be so happy; instead of that, he has left me scarce the heart todo what I have to do."She went back to the room, opened a window, and put out a whitehandkerchief, then closed the window down on it.
　　Then she went to Josephine's bedroom-door: it opened on thetapestried room.
　　"Josephine," she cried, "don't go to bed just yet.""No, love. What are you doing? I want to talk to you. Why did yousay promise? and what did you mean by looking at me so? Shall Icome out to you?""Not just yet," said Rose; she then glided into the corridor, andpassed her mother's room and the doctor's, and listened to see ifall was quiet. While she was gone Josephine opened her door; butnot seeing Rose in the sitting-room, retired again.
　　Rose returned softly, and sat down with her head in her hand, in acalm attitude belied by her glancing eye, and the quick tapping ofher other hand upon the table.
　　Presently she raised her head quickly; a sound had reached her ear,--a sound so slight that none but a high-strung ear could have caughtit. It was like a mouse giving a single scratch against a stonewall.
　　Rose coughed slightly.
　　On this a clearer sound was heard, as of a person scratching woodwith the finger-nail. Rose darted to the side of the room, pressedagainst the wall, and at the same time put her other hand againstthe rim of one of the panels and pushed it laterally; it yielded,and at the opening stood Jacintha in her cloak and bonnet.
　　"Yes," said Jacintha, "under my cloak--look!""Ah! you found the things on the steps?""Yes! I nearly tumbled over them. Have you locked that door?""No, but I will." And Rose glided to the door and locked it. Thenshe put the screen up between Josephine's room and the open panel:
　　then she and Jacintha were wonderfully busy on the other side thescreen, but presently Rose said, "This is imprudent; you must godown to the foot of the stairs and wait till I call you."Jacintha pleaded hard against this arrangement, and represented thatthere was no earthly chance of any one coming to that part of thechateau.
　　"No matter; I will be guarded on every side.""Mustn't I stop and just see her happy for once?""No, my poor Jacintha, you must hear it from my lips."Jacintha retired to keep watch as she was bid. Rose went toJosephine's room, and threw her arms round her neck and kissed hervehemently. Josephine returned her embrace, then held her out atarm's length and looked at her.
　　"Your eyes are red, yet your little face is full of joy. There, yousmile.""I can't help that; I am so happy.""I am glad of it. Are you coming to bed?""Not yet. I invite you to take a little walk with me first. Come!"and she led the way slowly, looking back with infinite archness andtenderness.
　　"You almost frighten me," said Josephine; "it is not like you to beall joy when I am sad. Three whole weeks more!""That is it. Why are you sad? because the doctor would not let yougo to Frejus. And why am I not sad? because I had already thoughtof a way to let you see Edouard without going so far.""Rose! O Rose! O Rose!""This way--come!" and she smiled and beckoned with her finger, whileJosephine followed like one under a spell, her bosom heaving, hereye glancing on every side, hoping some strange joy, yet scarcedaring to hope.
　　Rose drew back the screen, and there was a sweet little berceau thathad once been Josephine's own, and in it, sunk deep in snow-whitelawn, was a sleeping child, that lay there looking as a rose mightlook could it fall upon new-fallen snow.
　　At sight of it Josephine uttered a little cry, not loud but deep--ay, a cry to bring tears into the eye of the hearer, and she stoodtrembling from head to foot, her hands clasped, and her eyefascinated and fixed on the cradle.
　　"My child under this roof! What have you done?" but her eye,fascinated and fixed, never left the cradle.
　　"I saw you languishing, dying, for want of him.""Oh, if anybody should come?" But her eye never stirred an inchfrom the cradle.
　　"No, no, no! the door is locked. Jacintha watches below; there isno dan-- Ah, oh, poor sister!"For, as Rose was speaking, the young mother sprang silently upon herchild. You would have thought she was going to kill him; her headreared itself again and again like a crested snake's, and again andagain and again and again plunged down upon the child, and shekissed his little body from head to foot with soft violence, andmurmured, through her streaming tears, "My child! my darling! myangel! oh, my poor boy! my child! my child!"I will ask my female readers of every degree to tell their brothersand husbands all the young noble did: how she sat on the floor, andhad her child on her bosom; how she smiled over it through hertears; how she purred over it; how she, the stately one, lisped andprattled over it; and how life came pouring into her heart from it.
　　Before she had had it in her arms five minutes, her pale cheek wasas red as a rose, and her eyes brighter than diamonds.
　　"Bless you, Rose! bless you! bless you! in one moment you have mademe forget all I ever suffered in my life.""There is a cold draught," cried she presently, with maternalanxiety; "close the panel, Rose.""No, dear; or I could not call to Jacintha, or she to me; but I willshift the screen round between him and the draught. There, now,come to his aunt--a darling!"Then Rose sat on the floor too, and Josephine put her boy on aunt'slap, and took a distant view of him. But she could not bear so vasta separation long. She must have him to her bosom again.
　　Presently my lord, finding himself hugged, opened his eyes, and, asa natural consequence, his mouth.
　　"Oh, that will never do," cried Rose, and they put him back in thecradle with all expedition, and began to rock it. Young master wasnot to be altogether appeased even by that. So Rose began singingan old-fashioned Breton chant or lullaby.
　　Josephine sang with her, and, singing, watched with a smile her boydrop off by degrees to sleep under the gentle motion and the lullingsong. They sang and rocked till the lids came creeping down, andhid the great blue eyes; but still they sang and rocked, lulling theboy, and gladdening their own hearts; for the quaint old Bretonditty was tunable as the lark that carols over the green wheat inApril; and the words so simple and motherly, that a nation had takenthem to heart. Such songs bind ages together and make the lofty andthe low akin by the great ties of music and the heart. Many aBreton peasant's bosom in the olden time had gushed over hersleeping boy as the young dame's of Beaurepaire gushed now--in thisquaint, tuneful lullaby.
　　Now, as they kneeled over the cradle, one on each side, and rockedit, and sang that ancient chant, Josephine, who was opposite thescreen, happening to raise her eyes, saw a strange thing.
　　There was the face of a man set close against the side of thescreen, and peeping and peering out of the gloom. The light of hercandle fell full on this face; it glared at her, set pale, wonder-struck, and vivid in the surrounding gloom.
　　Horror! It was her husband's face.
　　At first she was quite stupefied, and looked at it with soul andsenses benumbed. Then she trembled, and put her hand to her eyes;for she thought it a phantom or a delusion of the mind. No: thereit glared still. Then she trembled violently, and held out her lefthand, the fingers working convulsively, to Rose, who was stillsinging.
　　But, at the same moment, the mouth of this face suddenly opened in along-drawn breath. At this, Josephine uttered a violent shriek, andsprang to her feet, with her right hand quivering and pointing atthat pale face set in the dark.
　　Rose started up, and, wheeling her head round, saw Raynal's gloomyface looking over her shoulder. She fell screaming upon her knees,and, almost out of her senses, began to pray wildly and piteouslyfor mercy.
　　Josephine uttered one more cry, but this was the faint cry ofnature, sinking under the shock of terror. She swooned dead away,and fell senseless on the floor ere Raynal could debarrass himselfof the screen, and get to her.
　　This, then, was the scene that met Edouard's eyes. His affiancedbride on her knees, white as a ghost, trembling, and screaming,rather than crying, for mercy. And Raynal standing over his wife,showing by the working of his iron features that he doubted whethershe was worthy he should raise her.
　　One would have thought nothing could add to the terror of thisscene. Yet it was added to. The baroness rang her bell violentlyin the room below. She had heard Josephine's scream and fall.
　　At the ringing of this shrill bell Rose shuddered like a maniac, andgrovelled on her knees to Raynal, and seized his very knees andimplored him to show some pity.
　　"O sir! kill us! we are culpable"--Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring! pealed the baroness's bell again.
　　"But do not tell our mother. Oh, if you are a man! do not! do not!
　　Show us some pity. We are but women. Mercy! mercy! mercy!""Speak out then," groaned Raynal. "What does this mean? Why has mywife swooned at sight of me?--whose is this child?""Whose?" stammered Rose. Till he said that, she never thought thereCOULD be a doubt whose child.
　　Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring!
　　"Oh, my God!" cried the poor girl, and her scared eyes glanced everyway like some wild creature looking for a hole, however small, toescape by.
　　Edouard, seeing her hesitation, came down on her other side. "Whoseis the child, Rose?" said he sternly.
　　"You, too? Why were we born? mercy! oh! pray let me go to mysister."Dring! dring! dring! dring! dring! went the terrible bell.
　　The men were excited to fury by Rose's hesitation; they each seizedan arm, and tore her screaming with fear at their violence, from herknees up to her feet between them with a single gesture.
　　"Whose is the child?""You hurt me!" said she bitterly to Edouard, and she left crying andwas terribly calm and sullen all in a moment.
　　"Whose is the child?" roared Edouard and Raynal, in one ragingbreath. "Whose is the child?""It is mine."
Chapter 20
　　These were not words; they were electric shocks.
　　The two arms that gripped Rose's arms were paralyzed, and droppedoff them; and there was silence.
　　Then first the thought of all she had done with those three wordsbegan to rise and grow and surge over her. She stood, her eyesturned downwards, yet inwards, and dilating with horror.
　　Silence.
　　Now a mist began to spread over her eyes, and in it she sawindistinctly the figure of Raynal darting to her sister's side, andraising her head.
　　She dared not look round on the other side. She heard feet staggeron the floor. She heard a groan, too; but not a word.
　　Horrible silence.
　　With nerves strung to frenzy, and quivering ears, that magnifiedevery sound, she waited for a reproach, a curse; either would havebeen some little relief. But no! a silence far more terrible.
　　Then a step wavered across the room. Her soul was in her ear. Shecould hear and feel the step totter, and it shook her as it went.
　　All sounds were trebled to her. Then it struck on the stone step ofthe staircase, not like a step, but a knell; another step, anotherand another; down to the very bottom. Each slow step made her headring and her heart freeze.
　　At last she heard no more. Then a scream of anguish and recall roseto her lips. She fought it down, for Josephine and Raynal. Edouardwas gone. She had but her sister now, the sister she loved betterthan herself; the sister to save whose life and honor she had thismoment sacrificed her own, and all a woman lives for.
　　She turned, with a wild cry of love and pity, to that sister's sideto help her; and when she kneeled down beside her, an iron arm waspromptly thrust out between the beloved one and her.
　　"This is my care, madame," said Raynal, coldly.
　　There was no mistaking his manner. The stained one was not to touchhis wife.
　　She looked at him in piteous amazement at his ingratitude. "It iswell," said she. "It is just. I deserve this from you."She said no more, but drooped gently down beside the cradle, and hidher forehead in the clothes beside the child that had brought allthis woe, and sobbed bitterly.
　　Then honest Raynal began to be sorry for her, in spite of himself.
　　But there was no time for this. Josephine stirred; and, at the samemoment, a violent knocking came at the door of the apartment, andthe new servant's voice, crying, "Ladies, for Heaven's sake, what isthe matter? The baroness heard a fall--she is getting up--she willbe here. What shall I tell her is the matter?"Raynal was going to answer, but Rose, who had started up at theknocking, put her hand in a moment right before his mouth, and ranto the door. "There is nothing the matter; tell mamma I am comingdown to her directly." She flew back to Raynal in an excitementlittle short of frenzy. "Help me carry her into her own room,"cried she imperiously. Raynal obeyed by instinct; for the fierygirl spoke like a general, giving the word of command, with theenemy in front. He carried the true culprit in his arms, and laidher gently on her bed.
　　"Now put IT out of sight--take this, quick, man! quick!" cried Rose.
　　Raynal went to the cradle. "Ah! my poor girl," said he, as helifted it in his arms, "this is a sorry business; to have to hideyour own child from your own mother!""Colonel Raynal," said Rose, "do not insult a poor, despairing girl.
　　C'est lache.""I am silent, young woman," said Raynal, sternly. "What is to bedone?""Take it down the steps, and give it to Jacintha. Stay, here is acandle; I go to tell mamma you are come; and, Colonel Raynal, Inever injured YOU: if you tell my mother you will stab her to theheart, and me, and may the curse of cowards light on you!--may"--"Enough!" said Raynal, sternly. "Do you take me for a babblinggirl? I love your mother better than you do, or this brat of yourswould not be here. I shall not bring her gray hairs down withsorrow to the grave. I shall speak of this villany to but oneperson; and to him I shall talk with this, and not with the idletongue." And he tapped his sword-hilt with a sombre look ofterrible significance.
　　He carried out the cradle. The child slept sweetly through it all.
　　Rose darted into Josephine's room, took the key from the inside tothe outside, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and randown to her mother's room; her knees trembled under her as she went.
　　Meantime, Jacintha, sleeping tranquilly, suddenly felt her throatgriped, and heard a loud voice ring in her ear; then she was lifted,and wrenched, and dropped. She found herself lying clear of thesteps in the moonlight; her head was where her feet had been, andher candle out.
　　She uttered shriek upon shriek, and was too frightened to get up.
　　She thought it was supernatural; some old De Beaurepaire had servedher thus for sleeping on her post. A struggle took place betweenher fidelity and her superstitious fears. Fidelity conquered.
　　Quaking in every limb, she groped up the staircase for her candle.
　　It was gone.
　　Then a still more sickening fear came over her.
　　What if this was no spirit's work, but a human arm--a strong one--some man's arm?
　　Her first impulse was to dart up the stairs, and make sure that nocalamity had befallen through her mistimed drowsiness. But, whenshe came to try, her dread of the supernatural revived. She couldnot venture without a light up those stairs, thronged perhaps withangry spirits. She ran to the kitchen. She found the tinderbox,and with trembling hands struck a light. She came back shading itwith her shaky hands; and, committing her soul to the care ofHeaven, she crept quaking up the stairs. Then she heard voicesabove, and that restored her more; she mounted more steadily.
　　Presently she stopped, for a heavy step was coming down. It did notsound like a woman's step. It came further down; she turned to fly.
　　"Jacintha!" said a deep voice, that in this stone cylinder rang likethunder from a tomb.
　　"Oh! saints and angels save me!" yelled Jacintha; and fell on herknees, and hid her head for security; and down went her candlestickclattering on the stone.
　　"Don't be a fool!" said the iron voice. "Get up and take this."She raised her head by slow degrees, shuddering. A man was holdingout a cradle to her; the candle he carried lighted up his face; itwas Colonel Raynal.
　　She stared at him stupidly, but never moved from her knees, and thecandle began to shake violently in her hand, as she herself trembledfrom head to foot.
　　Then Raynal concluded she was in the plot; but, scorning to reproacha servant, he merely said, "Well, what do you kneel there for,gaping at me like that? Take this, I tell you, and carry it out ofthe house."He shoved the cradle roughly down into her hands, then turned on hisheel without a word.
　　Jacintha collapsed on the stairs, and the cradle beside her, for allthe power was driven out of her body; she could hardly support herown weight, much less the cradle.
　　She rocked herself, and moaned out, "Oh, what's this? oh, what'sthis?"A cold perspiration came over her whole frame.
　　"What could this mean? What on earth had happened?"She took up the candle, for it was lying burning and guttering onthe stairs; scraped up the grease with the snuffers, and by force ofhabit tried to polish it clean with a bit of paper that shookbetween her fingers; she did not know what she was doing. When sherecovered her wits, she took the child out of the cradle, andwrapped it carefully in her shawl; then went slowly down the stairs;and holding him close to her bosom, with a furtive eye, and brainconfused, and a heart like lead, stole away to the tenantlesscottage, where Madame Jouvenel awaited her.
　　Meantime, Rose, with quaking heart, had encountered the baroness.
　　She found her pale and agitated, and her first question was, "Whatis the matter? what have you been all doing over my head?""Darling mother," replied Rose, evasively, "something has happenedthat will rejoice your heart. Somebody has come home.""My son? eh, no! impossible! We cannot be so happy.""He will be with you directly."The old lady now trembled with joyful agitation.
　　"In five minutes I will bring him to you. Shall you be dressed? Iwill ring for the girl to help you.""But, Rose, the scream, and that terrible fall. Ah! where isJosephine?""Can't you guess, mamma? Oh, the fall was only the screen; theystumbled over it in the dark.""They! who?""Colonel Raynal, and--and Edouard. I will tell you, mamma, butdon't be angry, or even mention it; they wanted to surprise us.
　　They saw a light burning, and they crept on tiptoe up to thetapestried room, where Josephine and I were, and they did give us agreat fright.""What madness!" cried the baroness, angrily; "and in Josephine'sweak state! Such a surprise might have driven her into a fit.""Yes, it was foolish, but let it pass, mamma. Don't speak of it,for he is so sorry about it."Then Rose slipped out, ordered a fire in the salon, and not in thetapestried room, and the next minute was at her sister's door.
　　There she found Raynal knocking, and asking Josephine how she was.
　　"Pray leave her to me a moment," said she. "I will bring her down toyou. Mamma is waiting for you in the salon."Raynal went down. Rose unlocked the bedroom-door, went in, and, toher horror, found Josephine lying on the floor. She dashed water inher face, and applied every remedy; and at last she came back tolife, and its terrors.
　　"Save me, Rose! save me--he is coming to kill me--I heard him at thedoor," and she clung trembling piteously to Rose.
　　Then Rose, seeing her terror, was almost glad at the suicidalfalsehood she had told. She comforted and encouraged Josephine and--deceived her. (This was the climax.)"All is well, my poor coward," she cried; "your fears are allimaginary; another has owned the child, and the story is believed.""Another! impossible! He would not believe it.""He does believe it--he shall believe it."Rose then, feeling by no means sure that Josephine, terrified as shewas, would consent to let her sister come to shame to screen her,told her boldly that Jacintha had owned herself the mother of thechild, and that Raynal's only feeling towards HER was pity, andregret at having so foolishly frightened her, weakened as she was byillness. "I told him you had been ill, dear. But how came you onthe ground?""I had come to myself; I was on my knees praying. He tapped. Iheard his voice. I remember no more. I must have fainted againdirectly."Rose had hard work to make her believe that her guilt, as she calledit, was not known; and even then she could not prevail on her tocome down-stairs, until she said, "If you don't, he will come toyou." On that Josephine consented eagerly, and with tremblingfingers began to adjust her hair and her dress for the interview.
　　All this terrible night Rose fought for her sister. She took herdown-stairs to the salon; she put her on the sofa; she sat by herand pressed her hand constantly to give her courage. She told thestory of the surprise her own way, before the whole party, includingthe doctor, to prevent Raynal from being called on to tell it hisway. She laughed at Josephine's absurdity, but excused it onaccount of her feeble health. In short, she threw more and moredust in all their eyes.
　　But by the time when the rising sun came faintly in and lighted thehaggard party, where the deceived were happy, the deceiverswretched, the supernatural strength this young girl had shown wasalmost exhausted. She felt an hysterical impulse to scream andweep: each minute it became more and more ungovernable. Then camean unexpected turn. Raynal after a long and tiring talk with hismother, as he called her, looked at his watch, and in acharacteristic way coolly announced his immediate departure, thisbeing the first hint he had given them that he was not come back forgood.
　　The baroness was thunderstruck.
　　Rose and Josephine pressed one another's hands, and had much ado notto utter a loud cry of joy.
　　Raynal explained that he was the bearer of despatches. "I must beoff: not an hour to lose. Don't fret, mother, I shall soon be backagain, if I am not knocked on the head."Raynal took leave of them all. When it came to Rose's turn, he drewher aside and whispered into her ear, "Who is the man?"She started, and seemed dumfounded.
　　"Tell me, or I ask my wife.""She has promised me not to betray me: I made her swear. Spare menow, brother; I will tell you all when you come back.""That is a bargain: now hear ME swear: he shall marry you, or heshall die by my hand."He confirmed this by a tremendous oath.
　　Rose shuddered, but said nothing, only she thought to herself, "I amforewarned. Never shall you know who is the father of that child."He was no sooner gone than the baroness insisted on knowing whatthis private communication between him and Rose was about.
　　"Oh," said Rose, "he was only telling me to keep up your courage andJosephine's till he comes back."This was the last lie the poor entangled wretch had to tell thatmorning. The next minute the sisters, exhausted by their terriblestruggle, went feebly, with downcast eyes, along the corridor and upthe staircase to Josephine's room.
　　They went hand in hand. They sank down, dressed as they were, onJosephine's bed, and clung to one another and trembled together,till their exhausted natures sank into uneasy slumbers, from whicheach in turn would wake ever and anon with a convulsive start, andclasp her sister tighter to her breast.
　　Theirs was a marvellous love. Even a course of deceit had not yetprevailed to separate or chill their sister bosoms. But still inthis deep and wonderful love there were degrees: one went a shadedeeper than the other now--ay, since last night. Which? why, shewho had sacrificed herself for the other, and dared not tell her,lest the sacrifice should be refused.
　　It was the gray of the morning, and foggy, when Raynal, after takingleave, went to the stable for his horse. At the stable-door he cameupon a man sitting doubled up on the very stones of the yard, withhis head on his knees. The figure lifted his head, and showed himthe face of Edouard Riviere, white and ghastly: his hair lank withthe mist, his teeth chattering with cold and misery. The poorwretch had walked frantically all night round and round the chateau,waiting till Raynal should come out. He told him so.
　　"But why didn't you?--Ah! I see. No! you could not go into thehouse after that. My poor fellow, there is but one thing for you todo. Turn your back on her, and forget she ever lived; she is deadto you.""There is something to be done besides that," said Edouard, gloomily.
　　"What?""Vengeance.""That is my affair, young man. When I come back from the Rhine, shewill tell me who her seducer is. She has promised.""And don't you see through that?" said Edouard, gnashing his teeth;"that is only to gain time: she will never tell you. She is youngin years, but old in treachery."He groaned and was silent a moment, then laying his hand on Raynal'sarm said grimly, "Thank Heaven, we don't depend on her forinformation! I know the villain."Raynal's eyes flashed: "Ah! then tell me this moment.""It is that scoundrel Dujardin.""Dujardin! What do you mean?""I mean that, while you were fighting for France, your house wasturned into a hospital for wounded soldiers.""And pray, sir, to what more honorable use could they put it?""Well, this Dujardin was housed by you, was nursed by your wife andall the family; and in return has seduced your sister, my affianced.""I can hardly believe that. Camille Dujardin was always a man ofhonor, and a good soldier.""Colonel, there has been no man near the place but this Dujardin. Itell you it is he. Don't make me tear my bleeding heart out: must Itell you how often I caught them together, how I suspected, and howshe gulled me? blind fool that I was, to believe a woman's wordsbefore my own eyes. I swear to you he is the villain; the onlyquestion is, which of us two is to kill him.""Where is the man?""In the army of the Rhine.""Ah! all the better.""Covered with glory and honor. Curse him! oh, curse him! cursehim!""I am in luck. I am going to the Rhine.""I know it. That is why I waited here all through this night ofmisery. Yes, you are in luck. But you will send me a line when youhave killed him; will you not? Then I shall know joy again. Shouldhe escape you, he shall not escape me.""Young man," said Raynal, with dignity, "this rage is unmanly.
　　Besides, we have not heard his side of the story. He is a goodsoldier; perhaps he is not all to blame: or perhaps passion hasbetrayed him into a sin that his conscience and honor disapprove: ifso, he must not die. You think only of your wrong: it is natural:
　　but I am the girl's brother; guardian of her honor and my own. Hislife is precious as gold. I shall make him marry her.""What! reward him for his villany?" cried Edouard, frantically.
　　"A mighty reward," replied Raynal, with a sneer.
　　"You leave one thing out of the calculation, monsieur," saidEdouard, trembling with anger, "that I will kill your brother-in-lawat the altar, before her eyes.""YOU leave one thing out of the calculation: that you will firsthave to cross swords, at the altar, with me.""So be it. I will not draw on my old commandant. I could not; butbe sure I will catch him and her alone some day, and the bride shallbe a widow in her honeymoon.""As you please," said Raynal, coolly. "That is all fair, as youhave been wronged. I shall make her an honest wife, and then youmay make her an honest widow. (This is what they call LOVE, andsneer at me for keeping clear of it.) But neither he nor you shallkeep MY SISTER what she is now, a ----," and he used a word out ofcamp.
　　Edouard winced and groaned. "Oh! don't call her by such a name.
　　There is some mystery. She loved me once. There must have beensome strange seduction.""Now you deceive yourself," said Raynal. "I never saw a girl thatcould take her own part better than she can; she is not like hersister at all in character. Not that I excuse him; it was adishonorable act, an ungrateful act to my wife and my mother.""And to you.""Now listen to me: in four days I shall stand before him. I shallnot go into a pet like you; I am in earnest. I shall just say tohim, 'Dujardin, I know all!' Then if he is guilty his face willshow it directly. Then I shall say, 'Comrade, you must marry herwhom you have dishonored.'""He will not. He is a libertine, a rascal.""You are speaking of a man you don't know. He WILL marry her andrepair the wrong he has done.""Suppose he refuses?""Why should he refuse? The girl is not ugly nor old, and if she hasdone a folly, he was her partner in it.""But SUPPOSE he refuses?"Raynal ground his teeth. "Refuse? If he does, I'll run my swordthrough his carcass then and there, and the hussy shall go into aconvent."
Chapter 21
　　The French army lay before a fortified place near the Rhine, whichwe will call Philipsburg.
　　This army knew Bonaparte by report only; it was commanded bygenerals of the old school.
　　Philipsburg was defended on three sides by the nature of the ground;but on the side that faced the French line of march there was only azigzag wall, pierced, and a low tower or two at each of the salientangles.
　　There were evidences of a tardy attempt to improve the defences. Inparticular there was a large round bastion, about three times theheight of the wall; but the masonry was new, and the very embrasureswere not yet cut.
　　Young blood was for assaulting these equivocal fortifications at theend of the day's march that brought the French advanced guard insight of the place; but the old generals would not hear of it; thesoldiers' lives must not be flung away assaulting a place that couldbe reduced in twenty-one days with mathematical certainty. For atthis epoch a siege was looked on as a process with a certain result,the only problem was in how many days would the place be taken; andeven this they used to settle to a day or two on paper byarithmetic; so many feet of wall, and so many guns on the one side;so many guns, so many men, and such and such a soil to cut thetrenches in on the other: result, two figures varying from fourteento forty. These two figures represented the duration of the siege.
　　For all that, siege arithmetic, right in general, has often beenterribly disturbed by one little incident, that occurs from time totime; viz., Genius INside. And, indeed, this is one of the sins ofgenius; it goes and puts out calculations that have stood the bruntof years. Archimedes and Todleben were, no doubt, clever men intheir way and good citizens, yet one characteristic of delicatemen's minds they lacked--veneration; they showed a sad disrespectfor the wisdom of the ancients, deranged the calculations which somuch learning and patient thought had hallowed, disturbed the mindsof white-haired veterans, took sieges out of the grasp of science,and plunged them back into the field of wild conjecture.
　　Our generals then sat down at fourteen hundred yards' distance, andplanned the trenches artistically, and directed them to be cut atartful angles, and so creep nearer and nearer the devoted town.
　　Then the Prussians, whose hearts had been in their shoes at firstsight of the French shakos, plucked up, and turned not the garrisononly but the population of the town into engineers and masons.
　　Their fortifications grew almost as fast as the French trenches.
　　The first day of the siege, a young but distinguished brigadier inthe French army rode to the quarters of General Raimbaut, whocommanded his division, and was his personal friend, andrespectfully but firmly entreated the general to represent to thecommander-in-chief the propriety of assaulting that new bastionbefore it should become dangerous. "My brigade shall carry it infifteen minutes, general," said he.
　　"What! cross all that open under fire? One-half your brigade wouldnever reach the bastion.""But the other half would take it.""That is not so certain."General Raimbaut refused to forward the young colonel's proposal toheadquarters. "I will not subject you to TWO refusals in onematter," said he, kindly.
　　The young colonel lingered. He said, respectfully, "One question,general, when that bastion cuts its teeth will it be any easier totake than now?""Certainly; it will always be easier to take it from the sap than tocross the open under fire to it, and take it. Come, colonel, toyour trenches; and if your friend should cut its teeth, you shallhave a battery in your attack that will set its teeth on edge. Ha!
　　ha!"The young colonel did not echo his chief's humor; he salutedgravely, and returned to the trenches.
　　The next morning three fresh tiers of embrasures grinned one aboveanother at the besiegers. The besieged had been up all night, andnot idle. In half these apertures black muzzles showed themselves.
　　The bastion had cut its front teeth.
　　Thirteenth day of the siege.
　　The trenches were within four hundred yards of the enemy's guns, andit was hot work in them. The enemy had three tiers of guns in theround bastion, and on the top they had got a long 48-pounder, whichthey worked with a swivel joint, or the like, and threw a greatroaring shot into any part of the French lines.
　　As to the commander-in-chief and his generals, they were dottedabout a long way in the rear, and no shot came as far as them; butin the trenches the men began now to fall fast, especially on theleft attack, which faced the round bastion. Our young colonel hadgot his heavy battery, and every now and then he would divert thegeneral efforts of the bastion, and compel it to concentrate itsattention on him, by pounding away at it till it was all in soreplaces. But he meant it worse mischief than that. Still, asheretofore, regarding it as the key to Philipsburg, he had got alarge force of engineers at work driving a mine towards it, and tothis he trusted more than to breaching it; for the bigger holes hemade in it by day were all stopped at night by the townspeople.
　　This colonel was not a favorite in the division to which his brigadebelonged. He was a good soldier, but a dull companion. He was alsoaccused of hauteur and of an unsoldierly reserve with his brotherofficers.
　　Some loose-tongued ones even called him a milk-sop, because he wasconstantly seen conversing with the priest--he who had nothing tosay to an honest soldier.
　　Others said, "No, hang it, he is not a milk-sop: he is a triedsoldier: he is a sulky beggar all the same." Those under hisimmediate command were divided in opinion about him. There wassomething about him they could not understand. Why was his sallowface so stern, so sad? and why with all that was his voice sogentle? somehow the few words that did fall from his mouth wereprized. One old soldier used to say, "I would rather have a wordfrom our brigadier than from the commander-in-chief." Othersthought he must at some part of his career have pillaged a church,taken the altar-piece, and sold it to a picture-dealer in Paris, orwhipped the earrings out of the Madonna's ears, or admitted thefemale enemy to quarter upon ungenerous conditions: this, or somesuch crime to which we poor soldiers are liable: and now wascommitting the mistake of remording himself about it. "Alwaysalongside the chaplain, you see!"This cold and silent man had won the heart of the most talkativesergeant in the French army. Sergeant La Croix protested with manyoaths that all the best generals of the day had commanded him inturn, and that his present colonel was the first that had succeededin inspiring him with unlimited confidence. "He knows every pointof war--this one," said La Croix, "I heard him beg and pray forleave to storm this thundering bastion before it was armed: but no,the old muffs would be wiser than our colonel. So now here we arekept at bay by a place that Julius Caesar and Cannibal wouldn't havemade two bites at apiece; no more would I if I was the old boy outthere behind the hill." In such terms do sergeants denotecommanders-in-chief--at a distance. A voluble sergeant has moreinfluence with the men than the minister of war is perhaps aware: onthe whole, the 24th brigade would have followed its gloomy colonelto grim death and a foot farther. One thing gave these men a touchof superstitious reverence for their commander. He seemed to themfree from physical weakness. He never SAT DOWN to dinner, andseemed never to sleep. At no hour of the day or night were thesentries safe from his visits.
　　Very annoying. But, after awhile, it led to keen watchfulness: themore so that the sad and gloomy colonel showed by his manner heappreciated it. Indeed, one night he even opened his marble jaws,and told Sergeant La Croix that a watchful sentry was an importantsoldier, not to his brigade only, but to the whole army. Judgewhether the maxim and the implied encomium did not circulate nextmorning, with additions.
　　Sixteenth day of the siege. The round bastion opened fire at eighto'clock, not on the opposing battery, but on the right of the Frenchattack. Its advanced position enabled a portion of its guns to rakethese trenches slant-wise: and depressing its guns it made the roundshot strike the ground first and ricochet over.
　　On this our colonel opened on them with all his guns: one of thesehe served himself. Among his other warlike accomplishments, he wasa wonderful shot with a cannon. He showed them capital practicethis morning: drove two embrasures into one, and knocked about a tonof masonry off the parapet. Then taking advantage of this, heserved two of his guns with grape, and swept the enemy off the topof the bastion, and kept it clear. He made it so hot they could notwork the upper guns. Then they turned the other two tiers all uponhim, and at it both sides went ding, dong, till the guns were toohot to be worked. So then Sergeant La Croix popped his head up fromthe battery, and showed the enemy a great white plate. This wasmeant to convey to them an invitation to dine with the French army:
　　the other side of the table of course.
　　To the credit of Prussian intelligence be it recorded, that thispantomimic hint was at once taken and both sides went to dinner.
　　The fighting colonel, however, remained in the battery, and kept adetachment of his gunners employed cooling the guns and repairingthe touch-holes. He ordered his two cutlets and his glass of waterinto the battery.
　　Meantime, the enemy fired a single gun at long intervals, as much asto say, "We had the last word."Let trenches be cut ever so artfully, there will be a little spaceexposed here and there at the angles. These spaces the men areordered to avoid, or whip quickly across them into cover.
　　Now the enemy had just got the range of one of these places withtheir solitary gun, and had already dropped a couple of shot righton to it. A camp follower with a tray, two cutlets, and a glass ofwater, came to this open space just as a puff of white smoke burstfrom the bastion. Instead of instantly seeking shelter till theshot had struck, he, in his inexperience, thought the shot must havestruck, and all danger be over. He stayed there mooning instead ofpelting under cover: the shot (eighteen-pound) struck him right onthe breast, knocked him into spilikins, and sent the mutton cutletsflying.
　　The human fragments lay quiet, ten yards off. But a soldier thatwas eating his dinner kicked it over, and jumped up at the side of"Death's Alley" (as it was christened next minute), and danced andyelled with pain.
　　"Haw! haw! haw!" roared a soldier from the other side of the alley.
　　"What is that?" cried Sergeant La Croix. "What do you laugh at,Private Cadel?" said he sternly, for, though he was too far in thetrench to see, he had heard that horrible sound a soldier knows fromevery other, the "thud" of a round shot striking man or horse.
　　"Sergeant," said Cadel, respectfully, "I laugh to see Private Dard,that got the wind of the shot, dance and sing, when the man that gotthe shot itself does not say a word.""The wind of the shot, you rascal!" roared Private Dard: "lookhere!" and he showed the blood running down his face.
　　The shot had actually driven a splinter of bone out of the sutlerinto Dard's temple.
　　"I am the unluckiest fellow in the army," remonstrated Dard: and hestamped in a circle.
　　"Seems to me you are only the second unluckiest this time," said ayoung soldier with his mouth full; and, with a certain dry humor, hepointed vaguely over his shoulder with the fork towards the corpse.
　　The trenches laughed and assented.
　　This want of sympathy and justice irritated Dard. "You cursedfools!" cried he. "He is gone where we must all go--without anytrouble. But look at me. I am always getting barked. Dogs ofPrussians! they pick me out among a thousand. I shall have aheadache all the afternoon, you see else."Some of our heads would never have ached again: but Dard had a goodthick skull.
　　Dard pulled out his spilikin savagely.
　　"I'll wrap it up in paper for Jacintha," said he. "Then that willlearn her what a poor soldier has to go through."Even this consolation was denied Private Dard.
　　Corporal Coriolanus Gand, a bit of an infidel from Lyons, whosometimes amused himself with the Breton's superstition, told himwith a grave face, that the splinter belonged not to him, but to thesutler, and, though so small, was doubtless a necessary part of hisframe.
　　"If you keep that, it will be a bone of contention between you two,"said he; "especially at midnight. HE WILL BE ALWAYS COMING BACK TOYOU FOR IT.""There, take it away!" said the Breton hastily, "and bury it withthe poor fellow."Sergeant La Croix presented himself before the colonel with a ruefulface and saluted him and said, "Colonel, I beg a thousand pardons;your dinner has been spilt--a shot from the bastion.""No matter," said the colonel. "Give me a piece of bread instead."La Croix went for it himself, and on his return found Cadel sittingon one side of Death's Alley, and Dard with his head bound up on theother. They had got a bottle which each put up in turn wherever hefancied the next round shot would strike, and they were bettingtheir afternoon rations which would get the Prussians to hit thebottle first.
　　La Croix pulled both their ears playfully.
　　"Time is up for playing marbles," said he. "Be off, and play atduty," and he bundled them into the battery.
　　It was an hour past midnight: a cloudy night. The moon was up, butseen only by fitful gleams. A calm, peaceful silence reigned.
　　Dard was sentinel in the battery.
　　An officer going his rounds found the said sentinel flat instead ofvertical. He stirred him with his scabbard, and up jumped Dard.
　　"It's all right, sergeant. O Lord! it's the colonel. I wasn'tasleep, colonel.""I have not accused you. But you will explain what you were doing.""Colonel," said Dard, all in a flutter, "I was taking a squint atthem, because I saw something. The beggars are building a wall,now.""Where?""Between us and the bastion.""Show me.""I can't, colonel; the moon has gone in; but I did see it.""How long was it?""About a hundred yards.""How high?""Colonel, it was ten feet high if it was an inch.""Have you good sight?""La! colonel, wasn't I a bit of a poacher before I took to thebayonet?""Good! Now reflect. If you persist in this statement, I turn outthe brigade on your information.""I'll stand the fire of a corporal's guard at break of day if I makea mistake now," said Dard.
　　The colonel glided away, called his captain and first lieutenants,and said two words in each ear, that made them spring off theirbacks.
　　Dard, marching to an fro, musket on shoulder, found himself suddenlysurrounded by grim, silent, but deadly eager soldiers, that camepouring like bees into the open space behind the battery. Theofficers came round the colonel.
　　"Attend to two things," said he to the captains. "Don't fire tillthey are within ten yards: and don't follow them unless I lead you."The men were then told off by companies, some to the battery, someto the trenches, some were kept on each side Death's Alley, readyfor a rush.
　　They were not all of them in position, when those behind the parapetsaw, as it were, something deepen the gloom of night, some fourscoreyards to the front: it was like a line of black ink suddenly drawnupon a sheet covered with Indian ink.
　　It seems quite stationary. The novices wondered what it was. Theveterans muttered--"Three deep."Though it looked stationary, it got blacker and blacker. Thesoldiers of the 24th brigade griped their muskets hard, and settheir teeth, and the sergeants had much ado to keep them quiet.
　　All of a sudden, a loud yell on the right of the brigade, two orthree single shots from the trenches in that direction, followed bya volley, the cries of wounded men, and the fierce hurrahs of anattacking party.
　　Our colonel knew too well those sounds: the next parallel had beensurprised, and the Prussian bayonet was now silently at work.
　　Disguise was now impossible. At the first shot, a guttural voice infront of Dujardin's men was heard to give a word of command. Therewas a sharp rattle and in a moment the thick black line was tippedwith glittering steel.
　　A roar and a rush, and the Prussian line three deep came furiouslylike a huge steel-pointed wave, at the French lines. A tremendouswave of fire rushed out to meet that wave of steel: a crash of twohundred muskets, and all was still. Then you could see through theblack steel-tipped line in a hundred frightful gaps, and the groundsparkled with bayonets and the air rang with the cries of thewounded.
　　A tremendous cheer from the brigade, and the colonel charged at thehead of his column, out by Death's Alley.
　　The broken wall was melting away into the night. The colonelwheeled his men to the right: one company, led by the impetuousyoung Captain Jullien, followed the flying enemy.
　　The other attack had been only too successful. They shot thesentries, and bayoneted many of the soldiers in their tents: othersescaped by running to the rear, and some into the next parallel.
　　Several, half dressed, snatched up their muskets, killed onePrussian, and fell riddled like sieves.
　　A gallant officer got a company together into the place of arms andformed in line.
　　Half the Prussian force went at them, the rest swept the trenches:
　　the French company delivered a deadly volley, and the next momentclash the two forces crossed bayonets, and a silent deadly stabbingmatch was played: the final result of which was inevitable. ThePrussians were five to one. The gallant officer and the poorfellows who did their duty so stoutly, had no thought left but todie hard, when suddenly a roaring cheer seemed to come from the rearrank of the enemy. "France! France!" Half the 24th brigade cameleaping and swarming over the trenches in the Prussian rear. ThePrussians wavered. "France!" cried the little party that were beingoverpowered, and charged in their turn with such fury that in twoseconds the two French corps went through the enemy's centre likepaper, and their very bayonets clashed together in more than onePrussian body.
　　Broken thus in two fragments the Prussian corps ceased to exist as amilitary force. The men fled each his own way back to the fort, andmany flung away their muskets, for French soldiers were swarming infrom all quarters. At this moment, bang! bang! bang! from thebastion.
　　"They are firing on my brigade," said our colonel. "Who has led hiscompany there against my orders? Captain Neville, into the battery,and fire twenty rounds at the bastion! Aim at the flashes fromtheir middle tier.""Yes, colonel."The battery opened with all its guns on the bastion. The rightattack followed suit. The town answered, and a furious cannonaderoared and blazed all down both lines till daybreak. Hell seemedbroken loose.
　　Captain Jullien had followed the flying foe: but could not come upwith them: and, as the enemy had prepared for every contingency, thefatal bastion, after first throwing a rocket or two to discovertheir position, poured showers of grape into them, killed many, andwould have killed more but that Captain Neville and his gunnershappened by mere accident to dismount one gun and to kill a coupleof gunners at the others. This gave the remains of the company timeto disperse and run back. When the men were mustered, CaptainJullien and twenty-five of his company did not answer to theirnames. At daybreak they were visible from the trenches lying all bythemselves within eighty yards of the bastion.
　　A flag of truce came from the fort: the dead were removed on bothsides and buried. Some Prussian officers strolled into the Frenchlines. Civilities and cigars exchanged: "Bon jour," "Gooten daeg:"then at it again, ding dong all down the line blazing and roaring.
　　At twelve o'clock the besieged had got a man on horseback, on top ofa hill, with colored flags in his hand, making signals.
　　"What are you up to now?" inquired Dard.
　　"You will see," said La Croix, affecting mystery; he knew no morethan the other.
　　Presently off went Long Tom on the top of the bastion, and the shotcame roaring over the heads of the speakers.
　　The flags were changed, and off went Long Tom again at an elevation.
　　Ten seconds had scarcely elapsed when a tremendous explosion tookplace on the French right. Long Tom was throwing red-hot shot; onehad fallen on a powder wagon, and blown it to pieces, and killed twopoor fellows and a horse, and turned an artillery man at somedistance into a seeming nigger, but did him no great harm; only tookhim three days to get the powder out of his clothes with pipe clay,and off his face with raw potato-peel.
　　When the tumbril exploded, the Prussians could be heard to cheer,and they turned to and fired every iron spout they owned. Long Tomworked all day.
　　They got into a corner where the guns of the battery could not hitthem or him, and there was his long muzzle looking towards the sky,and sending half a hundredweight of iron up into the clouds, andplunging down a mile off into the French lines.
　　And, at every shot, the man on horseback made signals to let thegunners know where the shot fell.
　　At last, about four in the afternoon, they threw a forty-eight-poundshot slap into the commander-in-chief's tent, a mile and a halfbehind trenches.
　　Down comes a glittering aide-de-camp as hard as he can gallop.
　　"Colonel Dujardin, what are you about, sir? YOUR BASTION has throwna round shot into the commander-in-chief's tent."The colonel did not appear so staggered as the aide-de-campexpected.
　　"Ah, indeed!" said he quietly. "I observed they were tryingdistances.""Must not happen again, colonel. You must drive them from the gun.""How?""Why, where is the difficulty?""If you will do me the honor to step into the battery, I will showyou," said the colonel.
　　"If you please," said the aide-de-camp stiffly.
　　Colonel Dujardin took him to the parapet, and began, in a calm,painstaking way, to show him how and why none of his guns could bebrought to bear upon Long Tom.
　　In the middle of the explanation a melodious sound was heard in theair above them, like a swarm of Brobdingnag bees.
　　"What is that?" inquired the aide-de-camp.
　　"What? I see nothing.""That humming noise.""Oh, that? Prussian bullets. Ah, by-the-by, it is a compliment toyour uniform, monsieur; they take you for some one of importance.
　　Well, as I was observing"--"Your explanation is sufficient, colonel; let us get out of this.
　　Ha, ha! you are a cool hand, colonel, I must say. But your batteryis a warm place enough: I shall report it so at headquarters."The grim colonel relaxed.
　　"Captain," said he politely, "you shall not have ridden to my postin vain. Will you lend me your horse for ten minutes?""Certainly; and I will inspect your trenches meantime.""Do so; oblige me by avoiding that angle; it is exposed, and theenemy have got the range to an inch."Colonel Dujardin slipped into his quarters; off with his half-dressjacket and his dirty boots, and presently out he came full fig,glittering brighter than the other, with one French and two foreignorders shining on his breast, mounted the aide-de-camp's horse, andaway full pelt.
　　Admitted, after some delay, into the generalissimo's tent, Dujardinfound the old gentleman surrounded by his staff and wroth: nor wasthe danger to which he had been exposed his sole cause of ire.
　　The shot had burst through his canvas, struck a table on which was alarge inkstand, and had squirted the whole contents over thedespatches he was writing for Paris.
　　Now this old gentleman prided himself upon the neatness of hisdespatches: a blot on his paper darkened his soul.
　　Colonel Dujardin expressed his profound regret. The commander,however, continued to remonstrate. "I have a great deal of writingto do," said he, "as you must be aware; and, when I am writing, Iexpect to be quiet."Colonel Dujardin assented respectfully to the justice of this. Hethen explained at full length why he could not bring a gun in thebattery to silence "Long Tom," and quietly asked to be permitted torun a gun out of the trenches, and take a shot at the offender.
　　"It is a point-blank distance, and I have a new gun, with which aman ought to be able to hit his own ball at three hundred yards."The commander hesitated.
　　"I cannot have the men exposed.""I engage not to lose a man--except him who fires the gun. HE musttake his chance.""Well, colonel, it must be done by volunteers. The men must not beORDERED out on such a service as that."Colonel Dujardin bowed, and retired.
　　"Volunteers to go out of the trenches!" cried Sergeant La Croix, ina stentorian voice, standing erect as a poker, and swelling withimportance.
　　There were fifty offers in less than as many seconds.
　　"Only twelve allowed to go," said the sergeant; "and I am one,"added he, adroitly inserting himself.
　　A gun was taken down, placed on a carriage, and posted near Death'sAlley, but out of the line of fire.
　　The colonel himself superintended the loading of this gun; and tothe surprise of the men had the shot weighed first, and then weighedout the powder himself.
　　He then waited quietly a long time till the bastion pitched one ofits periodical shots into Death's Alley, but no sooner had the shotstruck, and sent the sand flying past the two lanes of curiousnoses, than Colonel Dujardin jumped upon the gun and waved hiscocked hat. At this preconcerted signal, his battery opened fire onthe bastion, and the battery to his right opened on the wall thatfronted them; and the colonel gave the word to run the gun out ofthe trenches. They ran it out into the cloud of smoke their ownguns were belching forth, unseen by the enemy; but they had nosooner twisted it into the line of Long Tom, than the smoke wasgone, and there they were, a fair mark.
　　"Back into the trenches, all but one!" roared Dujardin.
　　And in they ran like rabbits.
　　"Quick! the elevation."Colonel Dujardin and La Croix raised the muzzle to the mark--hoo,hoo, hoo! ping, ping, ping! came the bullets about their ears.
　　"Away with you!" cried the colonel, taking the linstock from him.
　　Then Colonel Dujardin, fifteen yards from the trenches, in fullblazing uniform, showed two armies what one intrepid soldier can do.
　　He kneeled down and adjusted his gun, just as he would have done ina practising ground. He had a pot shot to take, and a pot shot hewould take. He ignored three hundred muskets that were levelled athim. He looked along his gun, adjusted it, and re-adjusted it to ahair's breadth. The enemy's bullets pattered upon it: still headjusted it delicately. His men were groaning and tearing theirhair inside at his danger.
　　At last it was levelled to his mind, and then his movements were asquick as they had hitherto been slow. In a moment he stood erect inthe half-fencing attitude of a gunner, and his linstock at thetouch-hole: a huge tongue of flame, a volume of smoke, a roar, andthe iron thunderbolt was on its way, and the colonel walkedhaughtily but rapidly back to the trenches; for in all this nobravado. He was there to make a shot; not to throw a chance of lifeaway watching the effect.
　　Ten thousand eyes did that for him.
　　Both French and Prussians risked their own lives craning out to seewhat a colonel in full uniform was doing under fire from a wholeline of forts, and what would be his fate; but when he fired the guntheir curiosity left the man and followed the iron thunderbolt.
　　For two seconds all was uncertain; the ball was travelling.
　　Tom gave a rear like a wild horse, his protruding muzzle went upsky-high, then was seen no more, and a ring of old iron and aclatter of fragments was heard on the top of the bastion. Long Tomwas dismounted. Oh! the roar of laughter and triumph from one endto another of the trenches; and the clapping of forty thousand handsthat went on for full five minutes; then the Prussians, eitherthrough a burst of generous praise for an act so chivalrous and sobrilliant, or because they would not be crowed over, clapped theirtea thousand hands as loudly, and thus thundering, heart-thrillingsalvo of applause answered salvo on both sides that terrible arena.
　　That evening came a courteous and flattering message from thecommander-in-chief to Colonel Dujardin; and several officers visitedhis quarters to look at him; they went back disappointed. The crywas, "What a miserable, melancholy dog! I expected to see a fine,dashing fellow."The trenches neared the town. Colonel Dujardin's mine was faradvanced; the end of the chamber was within a few yards of thebastion. Of late, the colonel had often visited this mine inperson. He seemed a little uneasy about something in that quarter;but no one knew what: he was a silent man. The third evening, afterhe dismounted Long Tom, he received private notice that an order wascoming down from the commander-in-chief to assault the bastion. Heshrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. That same night thecolonel and one of his lieutenants stole out of the trenches, and bythe help of a pitch-dark, windy night, got under the bastionunperceived, and crept round it, and made their observations, andgot safe back. About noon down came General Raimbaut.
　　"Well, colonel, you are to have your way at last. Your bastion isto be stormed this afternoon previous to the general assault. Why,how is this? you don't seem enchanted?""I am not.""Why, it was you who pressed for the assault.""At the right time, general, not the wrong. In five days Iundertake to blow that bastion into the air. To assault it nowwould be to waste our men."General Raimbaut thought this excess of caution a great piece ofperversity in Achilles. They were alone, and he said a littlepeevishly,--"Is not this to blow hot and cold on the same thing?""No, general," was the calm reply. "Not on the same thing. I blewhot upon timorous counsels; I blow cold on rash ones. General, lastnight Lieutenant Fleming and I were under that bastion; and allround it.""Ah! my prudent colonel, I thought we should not talk long withoutyour coming out in your true light. If ever a man secretly enjoyedrisking his life, it is you.""No, general," said Dujardin looking gloomily down; "I enjoy neitherthat nor anything else. Live or die, it is all one to me; but tothe lives of my soldiers I am not indifferent, and never will bewhile I live. My apparent rashness of last night was pureprudence."Raimbaut's eye twinkled with suppressed irony. "No doubt!" said he;"no doubt!"The impassive colonel would not notice the other's irony; he wentcalmly on:--"I suspected something; I went to confute, or confirm thatsuspicion. I confirmed it."Rat! tat! tat! tat! tat! tat! tat! was heard a drum. Relievingguard in the mine.
　　Colonel Dujardin interrupted himself.
　　"That comes apropos," said he. "I expect one proof more from thatquarter. Sergeant, send me the sentinel they are relieving."Sergeant La Croix soon came back, as pompous as a hen with onechick, predominating with a grand military air over a droll figurethat chattered with cold, and held its musket in hands clothed ingreat mittens. Dard.
　　La Croix marched him up as if he had been a file; halted him like afile, sang out to him as to a file, stentorian and unintelligible,after the manner of sergeants.
　　"Private No. 4."DARD. P-p-p-present!
　　LA CROIX. Advance to the word of command, and speak to the colonel.
　　The shivering figure became an upright statue directly, and carriedone of his mittens to his forehead. Then, suddenly recognizing therank of the gray-haired officer, he was morally shaken, but remainedphysically erect, and stammered,--"Colonel!--general!--colonel!""Don't be frightened, my lad. But look at the general and answerme.""Yes! general! colonel!" and he levelled his eye dead at thegeneral, as he would a bayonet at a foe, being so commanded.
　　"Now answer in as few syllables as you can.""Yes! general--colonel.""You have been on guard in the mine.""Yes, general.""What did you see there?""Nothing; it was night down there.""What did you feel?""Cold! I--was--in--water--hugh!""Did you hear nothing, then?""Yes.""What?""Bum! bum! bum!""Are you sure you did not hear particles of earth fall at the end ofthe trench?""I think it did, and this (touching his musket) sounded of its ownaccord.""Good! you have answered well; go.""Sergeant, I did not miss a word," cried Dard, exulting. He thoughthe had passed a sort of military college examination. The sergeantwas awe-struck and disgusted at his familiarity, speaking to himbefore the great: he pushed Private Dard hastily out of thepresence, and bundled him into the trenches.
　　"Are you countermined, then?" asked General Raimbaut.
　　"I think not, general; but the whole bastion is. And we found ithad been opened in the rear, and lately half a dozen broad roads cutthrough the masonry.""To let in re-enforcements?""Or to let the men run out in ease of an assault. I have seen fromthe first an able hand behind that part of the defences. If weassault the bastion, they will pick off as many of us as they canwith their muskets then they will run for it, and fire a train, andblow it and us into the air.""Colonel, this is serious. Are you prepared to lay this statementbefore the commander-in-chief?""I am, and I do so through you, the general of my division. I evenbeg you to say, as from me, that the assault will be mere suicide--bloody and useless."General Raimbaut went off to headquarters in some haste, a thoroughconvert to Colonel Dujardin's opinion. Meantime the colonel wentslowly to his tent. At the mouth of it a corporal, who was also hisbody-servant, met him, saluted, and asked respectfully if there wereany orders.
　　"A few minutes' repose, Francois, that is all. Do not let me bedisturbed for an hour.""Attention!" cried Francois. "Colonel wants to sleep."The tent was sentinelled, and Dujardin was alone with the past.
　　Then had the fools, that took (as fools will do) deep sorrow forsullenness, seen the fiery soldier droop, and his wan face fall intohaggard lines, and his martial figure shrink, and heard his stoutheart sigh! He took a letter from his bosom: it was almost worn topieces. He had read it a thousand times, yet he read it again. Apart of the sweet sad words ran thus:--"We must bow. We can never be happy together on earth; let us makeHeaven our friend. This is still left us,--not to blush for ourlove; to do our duty, and to die.""How tender, but how firm," thought Camille. "I might agitate,taunt, grieve her I love, but I could not shake her. No! God andthe saints to my aid! they saved me from a crime I now shudder at.
　　And they have given me the good chaplain: he prays with me, he weepsfor me. His prayers still my beating heart. Yes, poor sufferingangel! I read your will in these tender, but bitter, words: youprefer duty to love. And one day you will forget me; not yetawhile, but it will be so. It wounds me when I think of it, but Imust bow. Your will is sacred. I must rise to your level, not dragyou to mine."Then the soldier that had stood between two armies in a hail ofbullets, and fired a master-shot, took a little book of offices inone hand,--the chaplain had given it him,--and fixed his eyes uponthe pious words, and clung like a child to the pious words, andkissed his lost wife's letter, and tried hard to be like her heloved: patient, very patient, till the end should come.
　　"Qui vive?" cried the sentinel outside to a strange officer.
　　"France," was his reply. He then asked the sentinel, "Where is thecolonel commanding the brigade?"The sentinel lowered his voice, "Asleep, my officer," said he; forthe new-comer carried two epaulets.
　　"Wake him," said the officer in a tone of a man used to command on alarge scale.
　　Dujardin heard, and did not choose a stranger should think he wasasleep in broad day. He came hastily out of the tent, therefore,with Josephine's letter in his hand, and, in the very act ofconveying it to his bosom, found himself face to face with--herhusband.
　　Did you ever see two duellists cross rapiers?
　　How unlike a theatrical duel! How smooth and quiet the brightblades are! they glide into contact. They are polished andslippery, yet they hold each other. So these two men's eyes met,and fastened: neither spoke: each searched the other's face keenly.
　　Raynal's countenance, prepared as he was for this meeting, was likea stern statue's. The other's face flushed, and his heart raged andsickened at sight of the man, that, once his comrade and benefactor,was now possessor of the woman he loved. But the figures of bothstood alike haughty, erect, and immovable, face to face.
　　Colonel Raynal saluted Colonel Dujardin ceremoniously. ColonelDujardin returned the salute in the same style.
　　"You thought I was in Egypt," said Raynal with grim significancethat caught Dujardin's attention, though he did not know quite howto interpret it.
　　He answered mechanically, "Yes, I did.""I am sent here by General Bonaparte to take a command," explainedRaynal.
　　"You are welcome. What command?""Yours.""Mine?" cried Dujardin, his forehead flushing with mortification andanger. "What, is it not enough that you take my"-- He stoppedthen.
　　"Come, colonel," said the other calmly, "do not be unjust to an oldcomrade. I take your demi-brigade; but you are promoted toRaimbaut's brigade. The exchange is to be made to-morrow.""Was it then to announce to me my promotion you came to myquarters?" and Camille looked with a strange mixture of feelings athis old comrade.
　　"That was the first thing, being duty, you know.""What? have you anything else to say to me, then?""I have.""Is it important? for my own duties will soon demand me.""It is so important that, command or no command, I should have comefurther than the Rhine to say it to you."Let a man be as bold as a lion, a certain awe still waits upon doubtand mystery; and some of this vague awe crept over Camille Dujardinat Raynal's mysterious speech, and his grave, quiet, significantmanner.
　　Had he discovered something, and what? For Josephine's sake, morethan his own, Camille was on his guard directly.
　　Raynal looked at him in silence a moment.
　　"What?" said he with a slight sneer, "has it never occurred to youthat I MUST have a serious word to say to you? First, let me putyou a question: did they treat you well at my house? at the chateaude Beaurepaire?""Yes," faltered Camille.
　　"You met, I trust, all the kindness and care due to a woundedsoldier and an officer of merit. It would annoy me greatly if Ithought you were not treated like a brother in my house."Colonel Dujardin writhed inwardly at this view of matters. He couldnot reply in few words. This made him hesitate.
　　His inquisitor waited, but, receiving no reply, went on, "Well,colonel, have you shown the sense of gratitude we had a right tolook for in return? In a word, when you left Beaurepaire, had yourconscience nothing to reproach you with?"Dujardin still hesitated. He scarcely knew what to think or what tosay. But he thought to himself, "Who has told him? does he knowall?""Colonel Dujardin, I am the husband of Josephine, the son of Madamede Beaurepaire, and the brother of Rose. You know very well whatbrings me here. Your answer?""Colonel Raynal, between men of honor, placed as you and I are, fewwords should pass, for words are idle. You will never prove to methat I have wronged you: I shall never convince you that I have not.
　　Let us therefore close this painful interview in the way it is sureto close. I am at your service, at any hour and place you please.""And pray is that all the answer you can think of?" asked Raynalsomewhat scornfully.
　　"Why, what other answer can I give you?""A more sensible, a more honest, and a less boyish one. Who doubtsthat you can fight, you silly fellow? haven't I seen you? I wantyou to show me a much higher sort of courage: the courage to repaira wrong, not the paltry valor to defend one.""I really do not understand you, sir. How can I undo what is done?""Why, of course you cannot. And therefore I stand here ready toforgive all that is past; not without a struggle, which you don'tseem to appreciate."Camille was now utterly mystified. Raynal continued, "But of courseit is upon condition that you consent to heal the wound you havemade. If you refuse--hum! but you will not refuse.""But what is it you require of me?" inquired Camille impatiently.
　　"Only a little common honesty. This is the case: you have seduced ayoung lady.""Sir!" cried Camille angrily.
　　"What is the matter? The word is not so bad as the crime, I takeit. You have seduced her, and under circumstances-- But we won'tspeak of them, because I am resolved to keep cool. Well, sir, asyou said just now, it's no use crying over spilled milk; you can'tunseduce the little fool; so you must marry her.""M--m--marry her?" and Dujardin flushed all over, and his heartbeat, and he stared in Raynal's face.
　　"Why, what is the matter again? If she has played the fool, it waswith you, and no other man: it is not as if she was depraved. Come,my lad, show a little generosity! Take the consequences of your ownact--or your share of it--don't throw it all on the poor feeblewoman. If she has loved you too much, you are the man of all othersthat should forgive her. Come, what do you say?"This was too much for Camille; that Raynal should come and demand ofhim to marry his own wife, for so he understood the proposal. Hestared at Raynal in silence ever so long, and even when he spoke itwas only to mutter, "Are you out of your senses, or am I?"At this it cost Raynal a considerable effort to restrain his wrath.
　　However, he showed himself worthy of the office he had undertaken.
　　He contained himself, and submitted to argue the matter. "Why,colonel," said he, "is it such a misfortune to marry poor Rose? Sheis young, she is lovely, she has many good qualities, and she wouldhave walked straight to the end of her days but for you."Now here was another surprise for Dujardin, another mystification.
　　"Rose de Beaurepaire?" said he, putting his hand to his head, as ifto see whether his reason was still there.
　　"Yes, Rose de Beaurepaire--Rose Dujardin that ought to be, and thatis to be, if you please.""One word, monsieur: is it of Rose we have been talking all thistime?"Raynal nearly lost his temper at this question, and the cold,contemptuous tone with which it was put; but he gulped down his ire.
　　"It is," said he.
　　"One question more. Did she tell you I had--I had"--"Why, as to that, she was in no condition to deny she had fallen,poor girl; the evidence was too strong. She did not reveal herseducer's name; but I had not far to go for that.""One question more," said Dujardin, with a face of anguish. "Is itJos--is it Madame Raynal's wish I should marry her sister?""Why, of course," said Raynal, in all sincerity, assuming thatnaturally enough as a matter of course; "if you have any respect forHER feelings, look on me as her envoy in this matter."At this Camille turned sick with disgust; then rage and bitternessswelled his heart. A furious impulse seized him to expose Josephineon the spot. He overcame that, however, and merely said, "Shewishes me to marry her sister, does she? very well then, I decline."Raynal was shocked. "Oh," said he, sorrowfully, "I cannot believethis of you; such heartlessness as this is not written in your face;it is contradicted by your past actions.""I refuse," said Dujardin, hastily; and to tell the truth, not sorryto inflict some pain on the honest soldier who had unintentionallydriven the iron so deep into his own soul.
　　"And I," said Raynal, losing his temper, "insist, in the name of mydear Josephine"--"Perdition!" snarled Dujardin, losing his self-command in turn.
　　"And of the whole family.""And I tell you I will never marry her. Upon my honor, never.""Your honor! you have none. The only question is would you rathermarry her--or die.""Die, to be sure.""Then die you shall.""Ah!" said Dujardin; "did I not tell you we were wasting time?
　　"Let us waste no more then. WHEN and WHERE?""At the rear of the commander-in-chief's tent; when you like.""This afternoon, then--at five.""At five.""Seconds?""What for?""You are right. They are only in the way of men who carry sabres;and besides the less gossip the better. Good-by, till five," andthe two saluted one another with grim ceremony; and Raynal turned onhis heel.
　　Camille stood transfixed; a fierce, guilty joy throbbed in hisheart. His rival had quarrelled with him, had insulted him, hadchallenged him. It was not his fault. The sun shone bright nowupon his cold despair. An hour ago life offered nothing. A fewhours more, and then joy beyond expression, or an end of all. Deathor Josephine! Then he remembered that this very Josephine wished tomarry him to Rose. Then he remembered Raynal had saved his life.
　　Cold chills crossed his breaking heart. Of all that could happen tohim death alone seemed a blessing without alloy.
　　He stood there so torn with conflicting passions, that he notedneither the passing hours nor the flying bullets.
　　He was only awakened from his miserable trance by the even tread ofsoldiers marching towards him; he looked up and there were severalofficers coming along the edge of the trench, escorted by acorporal's guard.
　　He took a step or two to meet them. After the usual salutes, one ofthe three colonels delivered a large paper, with a large seal, toDujardin. He read it out to his captains and lieutenants, who hadassembled at sight of the cocked hats and full uniforms.
　　"Attack by the army to-morrow upon all the lines. Attack of thebastion St. Andre this evening. The 22d, the 24th, and 12thbrigades will furnish the contingents; the operation will beconducted by one of the colonels of the second division, to beappointed by General Raimbaut.""Aha!" sounded a voice like a trombone at the reader's elbow. "I amjust in the nick of time. When, colonel, when?""At five this evening, Colonel Raynal.""There," said Raynal, in a half-whisper, to Dujardin; "could theychoose no hour but that?""Do not be uneasy," replied Dujardin, under his breath. Heexplained aloud--"the assault will not take place, gentlemen; thebastion is mined.""What of that? half of them are mined. We will take our engineersin with us," said Raynal.
　　"Such an assault will be a useless massacre," resumed Dujardin. "Ireconnoitred the bastion last night, and saw their preparations forblowing us to the devil; and General Raimbaut, at my request, iseven now presenting my remarks to the commander-in-chief, andenforcing them. There will be no assault. In a day or two we shallblow the bastion, mines, and all into the air."At this moment Raynal caught sight of a gray-haired officer comingat some distance. "There IS General Raimbaut," said he. "I will goand pay my respects to him." General Raimbaut shook his handwarmly, and welcomed him to the army. They were old and warmfriends. "And you are come at the right time," said he. "It willsoon be as hot here as in Egypt."Raynal laughed and said all the better.
　　General Raimbaut now joined the group of officers, and entered atonce in the business which had brought him. Addressing himself toColonel Dujardin, first he informs that officer he had presented hisobservations to the commander-in-chief, who had given them theattention they merited.
　　Colonel Dujardin bowed.
　　"But," continued General Raimbaut, "they are overruled by imperiouscircumstances, some of which he did not reveal; they remain in hisown breast. However, on the eve of a general attack, which hecannot postpone, that bastion must be disarmed, otherwise it wouldbe too fatal to all the storming parties. It is a painfulnecessity." He added, "Tell Colonel Dujardin I count greatly on thecourage and discipline of his brigade, and on his own wisemeasures."Colonel Dujardin bowed. Then he whispered in the other's ear, "Bothwill alike be wasted."The other colonels waved their hats in triumph at the commander-in-chief's decision, and Raynal's face showed he looked on Dujardin asa sort of spoil-sport happily defeated.
　　"Well, then, gentlemen," said General Raimbaut, "we begin bysettling the contingents to be furnished by your several brigades.
　　Say, an equal number from each. The sum total shall be settled byColonel Dujardin, who has so long and ably baffled the bastion atthis post."Colonel Dujardin bowed stiffly and not very graciously. In hisheart he despised these old fogies, compounds of timidity andrashness.
　　"So, how many men in all, colonel?" asked General Raimbaut.
　　"The fewer the better," replied the other solemnly, "since"--andthen discipline tied his tongue.
　　"I understand you," said the old man. "Shall we say eight hundredmen?""I should prefer three hundred. They have made a back door to thebastion, and the means of flight at hand will put flight into theirheads. They will pick off some of our men as we go at them. Whenthe rest jump in they will jump out, and"-- He paused.
　　"Why, he knows all about it before it comes," said one of thecolonels naively.
　　"I do. I see the whole operation and its result before me, as I seethis hand. Three hundred men will do.""But, general," objected Raynal, "you are not beginning at thebeginning. The first thing in these cases is to choose the officerto command the storming party.""Yes, Raynal, unquestionably; but you must be aware that is apainful and embarrassing part of my duty, especially after ColonelDujardin's remarks.""Ah, bah!" cried Raynal. "He is prejudiced. He has been digging athundering long mine here, and now you are going to make his childuseless. We none of us like that. But when he gets the colors inhis hand, and the storming column at his back, his misgivings willall go to the wind, and the enemy after them, unless he has beencommitting some crime, and is very much changed from what I knew himfour years ago.""Colonel Raynal," said one of the other colonels, politely butfirmly, "pray do not assume that Colonel Dujardin is to lead thecolumn; there are three other claimants. General Raimbaut is toselect from us four.""Yes, gentlemen, and in a service of this kind I would feel gratefulto you all if you would relieve me of that painful duty.""Gentlemen," said Dujardin, with an imperceptible sneer, "thegeneral means to say this: the operation is so glorious that hecould hardly without partiality assign the command to either of usfour claimants. Well, then, let us cast lots."The proposal was received by acclamation.
　　"The general will mark a black cross on one lot, and he who draws itwins the command."The young colonels prepared their lots with almost boyish eagerness.
　　These fiery spirits were sick to death of lying and skulking in thetrenches. They flung their lots into the hat. After them, whoshould approach the hat, lot in hand, but Raynal. Dujardininstantly interfered, and held his arm as he was in the act ofdropping in his lot.
　　"What is the matter?" said Raynal, sharply.
　　"This is our affair, Colonel Raynal. You have no command in thisarmy.""I beg your pardon, sir, I have yours.""Not till to-morrow.""Why, you would not take such a pettifogging advantage of an oldcomrade as that.""Tell him the day ends at twelve o'clock," said one of the colonelsinterested by this strange strife.
　　"Ah!" cried Raynal, triumphantly; "but no," said he, altering histone, "let us leave that sort of argument to lawyers. I have come agood many miles to fight with you, general; and now you must decideto pay me this little compliment on my arrival, or put a bitteraffront on me--choose!"While the old general hesitated, Camille replied, "Since you takethat tone there can be but one answer. You are too great a creditto the French army for even an apparent slight to be put on youhere. The rule, I think, is, that one of the privates shall holdthe hat.--Hallo! Private Dard, come here--there--hold this hat.""Yes, colonel.--Lord, here is my young mistress's husband!""Silence!"And they began to draw, and, in the act of drawing, a change ofmanner was first visible in these gay and ardent spirits.
　　"It is not I," said one, throwing away his lot.
　　"Nor I.""It is I," said Raynal; then with sudden gravity, "I am the luckyone."And now that the honor and the danger no longer floated vaguely overfour heads, but had fixed on one, a sudden silence and solemnitytook the place of eager voices.
　　It was first broken by Private Dard saying, with foolish triumph,"And I held the hat for you, colonel.""Ah, Raynal!" said General Raimbaut, sorrowfully, "it was not worthwhile to come from Egypt for this."Raynal made no reply to this. He drew out his watch, and saidcalmly, he had no time to lose; he must inspect the detachments hewas to command. "Besides," said he, "I have some domesticarrangements to make. Hitherto on these occasions I was a bachelor,now I am married." General Raimbaut could not help sighing. Raynalread this aright, and turned to him, "A droll marriage, my oldfriend; I'll tell you all about it if ever I have the time. Itbegan with a purchase, general, and ends with--with a bequest, whichI might as well write now, and so have nothing to think of but dutyafterwards. Where can I write?""Colonel Dujardin will lend you his tent, I am sure.""Certainly.""And, messieurs," said Raynal, "if I waste time you need not. Youcan pick me my men from your brigades. Give me a strong spice ofold hands."The colonels withdrew on this, and General Raimbaut walked sadly andthoughtfully towards the battery. Dujardin and Raynal were leftalone.
　　"This postpones our affair, sir.""Yes, Raynal.""Have you writing materials in your tent?""Yes; on the table.""You are quite sure the bastion is mined, comrade?"This unexpected word and Raynal's gentle appeal touched Dujardindeeply. It was in a broken voice he replied that he wasunfortunately too sure of it.
　　Raynal received this reply as a sentence of death, and withoutanother word walked slowly into Dujardin's tent.
　　Dujardin's generosity was up in arms; he followed Raynal, and saideagerly, "Raynal, for Heaven's sake resign this command!""Allow me to write to my wife, colonel," was the cold reply.
　　Camille winced at this affront, and drew back a moment; but hisnobler part prevailed. He seized Raynal by the wrist. "You shallnot affront me, you cannot affront me. You go to certain death Itell you, if you attack that bastion.""Don't be a fool, colonel," said Raynal: "somebody must lead themen.""Yes; but not you. Who has so good a right to lead them as I, theircolonel?""And be killed in my place, eh?""I know the ground better than you," said Camille. "Besides, whocares for me? I have no friends, no family. But you are married--and so many will mourn if you"--Raynal interrupted him sternly. "You forget, sir, that Rose deBeaurepaire is my sister, when you tell me you have no tie to life."He added, with wonderful dignity and sobriety, "Allow me to write tomy wife, sir; and, while I write, reflect that you can embitter anold comrade's last moments by persisting in your refusal to restorehis sister the honor you have robbed her of."And leaving the other staggered and confused by this sudden blow, heretired into Dujardin's tent, and finding writing materials on alittle table that was there, sat down to pen a line to Josephine.
　　Camille knew to whom he was writing, and a jealous pang passedthrough him.
　　What he wrote ran thus,--"A bastion is to be attacked at five. I command. Colonel Dujardinproposed we should draw lots, and I lost. The service is honorable,but the result may, I fear, give you some pain. My dear wife, it isour fate. I was not to have time to make you know, and perhaps loveme. God bless you."In writing these simple words, Raynal's hard face worked, and hismustache quivered, and once he had to clear his eye with his hand toform the letters. He, the man of iron.
　　He who stood there, leaning on his scabbard and watching the writer,saw this, and it stirred all that was great and good in that grandthough passionate heart of his.
　　"Poor Raynal!" thought he, "you were never like that before on goinginto action. He is loath to die. Ay, and it is a coward's trick tolet him die. I shall have her, but shall I have her esteem? Whatwill the army say? What will my conscience say? Oh! I feel alreadyit will gnaw my heart to death; the ghost of that brave fellow--oncemy dear friend, my rival now, by no fault of his--will rise betweenher and me, and reproach me with my bloody inheritance. The heartnever deceives; I feel it now whispering in my ear: 'Skulkingcaptain, white-livered soldier, that stand behind a parapet while abetter man does your work! you assassinate the husband, but therival conquers you.' There, he puts his hand to his eyes. Whatshall I do?""Colonel," said a low voice, and at the same time a hand was laid onhis shoulder.
　　It was General Raimbaut. The general looked pale and distressed.
　　"Come apart, colonel, for Heaven's sake! One word, while he iswriting. Ah! that was an unlucky idea of yours.""Of mine, general?""'Twas you proposed to cast lots.""Good God! so it was.""I thought of course it was to be managed so that Raynal should notbe the one. Between ourselves, what honorable excuse can we make?""None, general.""The whole division will be disgraced, and forgive me if I say aportion of the discredit will fall on you.""Help me to avert that shame then," cried Camille, eagerly.
　　"Ah! that I will: but how?""Take your pencil and write--'I authorize Colonel Dujardin to savethe honor of the colonels of the second division.'"The general hesitated. He had never seen an order so worded. Butat last he took out his pencil and wrote the required order, afterhis own fashion; i.e., in milk and water:--On account of the singular ability and courage with which ColonelDujardin has conducted the operations against the Bastion St. Andre,a discretionary power is given him at the moment of assault to carryinto effect such measures, as, without interfering with thecommander-in-chief's order, may sustain his own credit, and that ofthe other colonels of the second division.
　　RAIMBAUT, General of Division.
　　Camille put the paper into his bosom.
　　"Now, general, you may leave all to me. I swear to you, Raynalshall not die--shall not lead this assault.""Your hand, colonel. You are an honor to the French armies. Howwill you do it?""Leave it to me, general, it shall be done.""I feel it will, my noble fellow: but, alas! I fear not withoutrisking some valuable life or other, most likely your own. Tellme!""General, I decline.""You refuse me, sir?""Yes; this order gives me a discretionary power. I will hand backthe order at your command; but modify it I will not. Come, sir, youveteran generals have been unjust to me, and listened to me toolittle all through this siege, but at last you have honored me.
　　This order is the greatest honor that was ever done me since I worea sword.".
　　"My poor colonel!""Let me wear it intact, and carry it to my grave.""Say no more! One word--Is there anything on earth I can do foryou, my brave soldier?""Yes, general. Be so kind as to retire to your quarters; there arereasons why you ought not to be near this post in half an hour.""I go. Is there NOTHING else?""Well, general, ask the good priest Ambrose, to pray for all thosewho shall die doing their duty to their country this afternoon."They parted. General Raimbaut looked back more than once at thefirm, intrepid figure that stood there unflinching, on the edge ofthe grave. But HE never took his eye off Raynal. The next minutethe sad letter was finished, and Raynal walked out of the tent, andconfronted the man he had challenged to single combat.
　　I have mentioned elsewhere that Colonel Dujardin had eyes strangelycompounded of battle 
Chapter 22
　　A few wounded soldiers of the brigade lay still till dusk. Thenthey crept back to the trenches. These had all been struck down ordisabled short of the bastion. Of those that had taken the place noone came home.
　　Raynal, after the first stupefaction, pressed hard and even angrilyfor an immediate assault on the whole Prussian line. Not they. Itwas on paper that the assault should be at daybreak to-morrow. Suchleaders as they were cannot IMPROVISE.
　　Rage and grief in his heart, Raynal waited chafing in the trenchestill five minutes past midnight. He then became commander of thebrigade, gave his orders, and took thirty men out to creep up to thewreck of the bastion, and find the late colonel's body.
　　Going for so pious a purpose, he was rewarded by an importantdiscovery. The whole Prussian lines had been abandoned sincesunset, and, mounting cautiously on the ramparts, Raynal saw thetown too was evacuated, and lights and other indications on a risingground behind it convinced him that the Prussians were in fullretreat, probably to effect that junction with other forces whichthe assault he had recommended would have rendered impossible.
　　They now lighted lanterns, and searched all over and round thebastion for the poor colonel, in the rear of the bastion they foundmany French soldiers, most of whom had died by the bayonet. ThePrussian dead had all been carried off.
　　Here they found the talkative Sergeant La Croix. The poor fellowwas silent enough now. A terrible sabre-cut on the skull. Thecolonel was not there. Raynal groaned, and led the way on to thebastion. The ruins still smoked. Seven or eight bodies werediscovered by an arm or a foot protruding through the masses ofmasonry. Of these some were Prussians; a proof that some devotedhand had fired the train, and destroyed both friend and foe.
　　They found the tube of Long Tom sticking up, just as he had shownover the battlements that glorious day, with this exception, that agreat piece was knocked off his lip, and the slice ended in a long,broad crack.
　　The soldiers looked at this. "That is our bullet's work," saidthey. Then one old veteran touched his cap, and told Raynalgravely, he knew where their beloved colonel was. "Dig here, to thebottom," said he. "HE LIES BENEATH HIS WORK."Improbable and superstitious as this was, the hearts of the soldiersassented to it.
　　Presently there was a joyful cry outside the bastion. A rush wasmade thither. But it proved to be only Dard, who had discoveredthat Sergeant La Croix's heart still beat. They took him upcarefully, and carried him gently into camp. To Dard's delight thesurgeon pronounced him curable. For all that, he was three daysinsensible, and after that unfit for duty. So they sent him homeinvalided, with a hundred francs out of the poor colonel's purse.
　　Raynal reported the evacuation of the place, and that ColonelDujardin was buried under the bastion, and soon after rode out ofthe camp.
　　The words Camille had scratched with a pencil, and sent him from theedge of the grave, were few but striking.
　　"A dead man takes you once more by the hand. My last thought, thankGod, is France. For her sake and mine, Raynal. GO FOR GENERALBONAPARTE. Tell him, from a dying soldier, the Rhine is a river tothese generals, but to him a field of glory. He will lay out ourlives, not waste them."There was nothing to hinder Raynal from carrying out this sacredrequest: for the 24th brigade had ceased to exist: already thinnedby hard service, it was reduced to a file or two by the fatalbastion. It was incorporated with the 12th; and Raynal rode heavyat heart to Paris, with a black scarf across his breast.
Chapter 23
　　You see now into what a fatal entanglement two high-minded youngladies were led, step by step, through yielding to the naturalfoible of their sex--the desire to hide everything painful fromthose they love, even at the expense of truth.
　　A nice mess they made of it with their amiable dishonesty. And praytake notice that after the first White Lie or two, circumstancesoverpowered them, and drove them on against their will. It was nosmall part of all their misery that they longed to get back to truthand could not.
　　We shall see presently how far they succeeded in that pious object,for the sake of which they first entered on concealments. But firsta word is due about one of the victims of their amiable, self-sacrificing lubricity. Edouard Riviere fell in one night, fromhappiness and confidence, such as till that night be had neverenjoyed, to deep and hopeless misery.
　　He lost that which, to every heart capable of really loving, is thegreatest earthly blessing, the woman he adored. But worse thanthat, he lost those prime treasures of the masculine soul, belief inhuman goodness, and in female purity. To him no more could there bein nature a candid eye, a virtuous ready-mantling cheek: for frailtyand treachery had put on these signs of virtue and nobility.
　　Henceforth, let him live a hundred years, whom could he trust orbelieve in?
　　Here was a creature whose virtues seemed to make frailty impossible:
　　treachery, doubly impossible: a creature whose very faults--forfaults she had--had seemed as opposite to treachery as her veryvirtues were. Yet she was all frailty and falsehood.
　　He passed in that one night of anguish from youth to age. He wentabout his business like a leaden thing. His food turned tasteless.
　　His life seemed ended. Nothing appeared what it had been. The verylandscape seemed cut in stone, and he a stone in the middle of it,and his heart a stone in him. At times, across that heavy heartcame gushes of furious rage and bitter mortification; his heart wasbroken, and his faith was gone, for his vanity had been stabbed asfiercely as his love. "Georges Dandin!" he would cry, "curse her!
　　curse her!" But love and misery overpowered these heats, and frozehim to stone again.
　　The poor boy pined and pined. His clothes hung loose about him; hisface was so drawn with suffering, you would not have known him. Hehated company. The things he was expected to talk about!--he withhis crushed heart. He could not. He would not. He shunned all theworld; he went alone like a wounded deer. The good doctor, on hisreturn from Paris, called on him to see if he was ill: since he hadnot come for days to the chateau. He saw the doctor coming and badethe servant say he was not in the village.
　　He drew down the blind, that he might never see the chateau again.
　　He drew it up again: he could not exist without seeing it. "Shewill be miserable, too," he cried, gnashing his teeth. "She willsee whether she has chosen well." At other times, all his courage,and his hatred, and his wounded vanity, were drowned in his love andits despair, and then he bowed his head, and sobbed and cried as ifhis heart would burst. One morning he was so sobbing with his headon the table, when his landlady tapped at his door. He started upand turned his head away from the door.
　　"A young woman from Beaurepaire, monsieur.""From Beaurepaire?" his heart gave a furious leap. "Show her in."He wiped his eyes and seated himself at a table, and, all in aflutter, pretended to be the state's.
　　It was not Jacintha, as he expected, but the other servant. Shemade a low reverence, cast a look of admiration on him, and gave hima letter. His eye darted on it: his hand trembled as he took it.
　　He turned away again to open it. He forced himself to say, in atolerably calm voice, "I will send an answer."The letter was apparently from the baroness de Beaurepaire; a mereline inviting him to pay her a visit. It was written in a tremuloushand. Edouard examined the writing, and saw directly it was writtenby Rose.
　　Being now, naturally enough, full of suspicion, he set this down asan attempt to disguise her hand. "So," said he, to himself, "thisis the game. The old woman is to be drawn into it, too. She is tohelp to make Georges Dandin of me. I will go. I will baffle themall. I will expose this nest of depravity, all ceremony on thesurface, and voluptuousness and treachery below. O God! who couldbelieve that creature never loved me! They shall none of them seemy weakness. Their benefactor shall be still their superior. Theyshall see me cold as ice, and bitter as gall."But to follow him farther just now, would be to run too far inadvance of the main story. I must, therefore, return toBeaurepaire, and show, amongst other things, how this very lettercame to be written.
　　When Josephine and Rose awoke from that startled slumber thatfollowed the exhaustion of that troubled night, Rose was the morewretched of the two. She had not only dishonored herself, butstabbed the man she loved.
　　Josephine, on the other hand, was exhausted, but calm. The fearfulescape she had had softened down by contrast her more distantterrors.
　　She began to shut her eyes again, and let herself drift. Above all,the doctor's promise comforted her: that she should go to Paris withhim, and have her boy.
　　This deceitful calm of the heart lasted three days.
　　Carefully encouraged by Rose, it was destroyed by Jacintha.
　　Jacintha, conscious that she had betrayed her trust, was almostheart-broken. She was ashamed to appear before her young mistress,and, coward-like, wanted to avoid knowing even how much harm she haddone.
　　She pretended toothache, bound up her face, and never stirred fromthe kitchen. But she was not to escape: the other servant came downwith a message: "Madame Raynal wanted to see her directly."She came quaking, and found Josephine all alone.
　　Josephine rose to meet her, and casting a furtive glance round theroom first, threw her arms round Jacintha's neck, and embraced herwith many tears.
　　"Was ever fidelity like yours? how COULD you do it, Jacintha? andhow can I ever repay it? But, no; it is too base of me to acceptsuch a sacrifice from any woman."Jacintha was so confounded she did not know what to say. But it wasa mystification that could not endure long between two women, whowere both deceived by a third. Between them they soon discoveredthat it must have been Rose who had sacrificed herself.
　　"And Edouard has never been here since," said Josephine.
　　"And never will, madame.""Yes, he shall! there must be some limit even to my feebleness, andmy sister's devotion. You shall take a line to him from me. I willwrite it this moment."The letter was written. But it was never sent. Rose foundJosephine and Jacintha together; saw a letter was being written,asked to see it; on Josephine's hesitating, snatched it out of herhand, read it, tore it to pieces, and told Jacintha to leave theroom. She hated the sight of poor Jacintha, who had slept at thevery moment when all depended on her watchfulness.
　　"So you were going to send to HIM, unknown to me.""Forgive me, Rose." Rose burst out crying.
　　"O Josephine! is it come to this? Would you deceive ME?""You have deceived ME! Yes! it has come to that. I know all.
　　Twill not consent to destroy ALL I love."She then begged hard for leave to send the letter.
　　Rose gave an impetuous refusal. "What could you say to him? foolishthing, don't you know him, and his vanity? When you had exposedyourself to him, and showed him I had insulted him for you, do youthink he would forgive me? No! this is to make light of my love--tomake me waste the sacrifice I have made. I feel that sacrifice asmuch as you do, more perhaps, and I would rather die in a conventthan waste that night of shame and agony. Come, promise me, no moreattempts of that kind, or we are sisters no more, friends no more,one heart and one blood no more."The weaker nature, weakened still more by ill-health and grief, wasterrified into submission, or rather temporized. "Kiss me then,"said Josephine, "and love me to the end. Ah, if I was only in mygrave!"Rose kissed her with many sighs, but Josephine smiled. Rose eyedher with suspicion. That deep smile; what did it mean? She hadformed some resolution. "She is going to deceive me somehow,"thought Rose.
　　From that day she watched Josephine like a spy. Confidence was gonebetween them. Suspicion took its place.
　　Rose was right in her misgivings. The moment Josephine saw thatEdouard's happiness and Rose's were to be sacrificed for her whomnothing could make happy, the poor thing said to herself, "I CANDIE."And that was the happy thought that made her smile.
　　The doctor gave her laudanum: he found she could not sleep: and hethought it all-important that she should sleep.
　　Josephine, instead of taking these small doses, saved them all up,secreted them in a phial, and so, from the sleep of a dozen nights,collected the sleep of death: and now she was tranquil. This youngcreature that could not bear to give pain to any one else, preparedher own death with a calm resolution the heroes of our sex have notoften equalled. It was so little a thing to her to strikeJosephine. Death would save her honor, would spare her thefrightful alternative of deceiving her husband, or of telling himshe was another's. "Poor Raynal," said she to herself, "it is socruel to tie him to a woman who can never be to him what hedeserves. Rose would then prove her innocence to Edouard. A fewtears for a weak, loving soul, and they would all be happy andforget her."One day the baroness, finding herself alone with Rose and Dr.
　　Aubertin, asked the latter what he thought of Josephine's state.
　　"Oh, she was better: had slept last night without her usualnarcotic."The baroness laid down her knitting and said, with much meaning,"And I tell you, you will never cure her body till you can cure hermind. My poor child has some secret sorrow.""Sorrow!" said Aubertin, stoutly concealing the uneasiness thesewords created, "what sorrow?""Oh, she has some deep sorrow. And so have you, Rose.""Me, mamma! what DO you mean?"The baroness's pale cheek flushed a little. "I mean," said she,"that my patience is worn out at last; I cannot live surrounded bysecrets. Raynal's gloomy looks when he left us, after staying butone hour; Josephine ill from that day, and bursting into tears atevery word; yourself pale and changed, hiding an unaccountablesadness under forced smiles-- Now, don't interrupt me. Edouard,who was almost like a son, gone off, without a word, and never comesnear us now.""Really you are ingenious in tormenting yourself. Josephine is ill!
　　Well, is it so very strange? Have you never been ill? Rose ispale! you ARE pale, my dear; but she has nursed her sister for amonth; is it a wonder she has lost color? Edouard is gone ajourney, to inherit his uncle's property: a million francs. Butdon't you go and fall ill, like Josephine; turn pale, like Rose; andmake journeys in the region of fancy, after Edouard Riviere, who istramping along on the vulgar high road."This tirade came from Aubertin, and very clever he thought himself.
　　But he had to do with a shrewd old lady, whose suspicions had longsmouldered; and now burst out. She said quietly, "Oh, then Edouardis not in this part of the world. That alters the case: where IShe?""In Normandy, probably," said Rose, blushing.
　　The baroness looked inquiringly towards Aubertin. He put on aninnocent face and said nothing.
　　"Very good," said the baroness. "It's plain I am to learn nothingfrom you two. But I know somebody who will be more communicative.
　　Yes: this uncomfortable smiling, and unreasonable crying, andinterminable whispering; these appearances of the absent, anddisappearances of the present; I shall know this very day what theyall mean.""Really, I do not understand you.""Oh, never mind; I am an old woman, and I am in my dotage. For allthat, perhaps you will allow me two words alone with my daughter.""I retire, madame," and he disappeared with a bow to her, and ananxious look at Rose. She did not need this; she clenched herteeth, and braced herself up to stand a severe interrogatory.
　　Mother and daughter looked at one another, as if to measure forces,and then, instead of questioning her as she had intended, thebaroness sank back in her chair and wept aloud. Rose was allunprepared for this. She almost screamed in a voice of agony, "Omamma! mamma! O God! kill me where I stand for making my motherweep!""My girl," said the baroness in a broken voice, and with the mosttouching dignity, "may you never know what a mother feels who findsherself shut out from her daughters' hearts. Sometimes I think itis my fault; I was born in a severer age. A mother nowadays seemsto be a sort of elder sister. In my day she was something more.
　　Yet I loved my mother as well, or better than I did my sisters. Butit is not so with those I have borne in my bosom, and nursed upon myknee."At this Rose flung herself, sobbing and screaming, at her mother'sknees. The baroness was alarmed. "Come, dearest, don't cry likethat. It is not too late to take your poor old mother into yourconfidence. What is this mystery? and why this sorrow? How comesit I intercept at every instant glances that were not intended forme? Why is the very air loaded with signals and secrecy? (Rosereplied only by sobs.) Is some deceit going on? (Rose sobbed.) AmI to have no reply but these sullen sobs? will you really tell menothing?""I've nothing to tell," sobbed Rose.
　　"Well, then, will you do something for me?"Such a proposal was not only a relief, but a delight to thedeceiving but loving daughter. She started up crying, "Oh, yes,mamma; anything, everything. Oh, thank you!" In the ardor of hergratitude, she wanted to kiss her mother; but the baroness declinedthe embrace politely, and said, coldly and bitterly, "I shall notask much; I should not venture now to draw largely on youraffection; it's only to write a few lines for me."Rose got paper and ink with great alacrity, and sat down allbeaming, pen in hand.
　　The baroness dictated the letter slowly, with an eye gimleting herdaughter all the time.
　　"Dear--Monsieur--Riviere."The pen fell from Rose's hand, and she turned red and then pale.
　　"What! write to him?""Not in your own name; in mine. But perhaps you prefer to give methe trouble.""Cruel! cruel!" sighed Rose, and wrote the words as requested.
　　The baroness dictated again,--"Oblige me by coming here at your very earliest convenience.""But, mamma, if he is in Normandy," remonstrated Rose, fightingevery inch of the ground.
　　"Never you mind where he is," said the baroness. "Write as Irequest.""Yes, mamma," said Rose with sudden alacrity; for she had recoveredher ready wit, and was prepared to write anything, being now fullyresolved the letter should never go.
　　"Now sign my name." Rose complied. "There; now fold it, andaddress it to his lodgings." Rose did so; and, rising with acheerful air, said she would send Jacintha with it directly.
　　She was half across the room when her mother called her quietlyback.
　　"No, mademoiselle," said she sternly. "You will give me the letter.
　　I can trust neither the friend of twenty years, nor the servant thatstayed by me in adversity, nor the daughter I suffered for andnursed. And why don't I trust you? Because YOU HAVE TOLD ME ALIE."At this word, which in its coarsest form she had never heard fromthose high-born lips till then, Rose cowered like a hare.
　　"Ay, A LIE," said the baroness. "I saw Edouard Riviere in the parkbut yesterday. I saw him. My old eyes are feeble, but they are notdeceitful. I saw him. Send my breakfast to my own room. I come ofan ancient race: I could not sit with liars; I should forgetcourtesy; you would see in my face how thoroughly I scorn you all."And she went haughtily out with the letter in her hand.
　　Rose for the first time, was prostrated. Vain had been all thisdeceit; her mother was not happy; was not blinded. Edouard mightcome and tell her his story. Then no power could keep Josephinesilent. The plot was thickening; the fatal net was drawing closerand closer.
　　She sank with a groan into a chair, and body and spirit alikesuccumbed. But that was only for a little while. To thisprostration succeeded a feverish excitement. She could not, wouldnot, look Edouard in the face. She would implore Josephine to besilent; and she herself would fly from the chateau. But, ifJosephine would not be silent? Why, then she would go herself toEdouard, and throw herself upon his honor, and tell him the truth.
　　With this, she ran wildly up the stairs, and burst into Josephine'sroom so suddenly, that she caught her, pale as death, on her knees,with a letter in one hand and a phial of laudanum in the other.
Chapter 24
　　Josephine conveyed the phial into her bosom with wonderful rapidityand dexterity, and rose to her feet. But Rose just saw her concealsomething, and resolved to find out quietly what it was. So shesaid nothing about it, but asked Josephine what on earth she wasdoing.
　　"I was praying.""And what is that letter?""A letter I have just received from Colonel Raynal."Rose took the letter and read it. Raynal had written from Paris.
　　He was coming to Beaurepaire to stay a month, and was to arrive thatvery day.
　　Then Rose forgot all about herself, and even what she had come for.
　　She clung about her sister's neck, and implored her, for her sake,to try and love Raynal.
　　Josephine shuddered, and clung weeping to her sister in turn. Forin Rose's arms she realized more powerfully what that sister wouldsuffer if she were to die. Now, while they clung together, Rosefelt something hard, and contrived just to feel it with her cheek.
　　It was the phial.
　　A chill suspicion crossed the poor girl. The attitude in which shehad found Josephine; the letter, the look of despair, and now thislittle bottle, which she had hidden. WHY HIDE IT? She resolved notto let Josephine out of her sight; at all events, until she had seenthis little bottle, and got it away from her.
　　She helped her to dress, and breakfasted with her in the tapestriedroom, and dissembled, and put on gayety, and made light ofeverything but Josephine's health.
　　Her efforts were not quite in vain. Josephine became more composed;and Rose even drew from her a half promise that she would giveRaynal and time a fair trial.
　　And now Rose was relieved of her immediate apprehensions forJosephine, but the danger of another kind, from Edouard, remained.
　　So she ran into her bedroom for her bonnet and shawl, determined totake the strong measure of visiting Edouard at once, or interceptinghim. While she was making her little toilet, she heard her mother'svoice in the room. This was unlucky; she must pass through thatroom to go out. She sat down and fretted at this delay. And then,as the baroness appeared to be very animated, Rose went to thekeyhole, and listened. Their mother was telling Josephine how shehad questioned Rose, and how Rose had told her an untruth, and howshe had made that young lady write to Edouard, etc.; in short, thevery thing Rose wanted to conceal from Josephine.
　　Rose lost all patience, and determined to fly through the room andout before anybody could stop her. She heard Jacintha come in withsome message, and thought that would be a good opportunity to slipout unmolested. So she opened the door softly. Jacintha, itseemed, had been volunteering some remark that was not wellreceived, for the baroness was saying, sharply, "Your opinion is notasked. Go down directly, and bring him up here, to this room."Jacintha cast a look of dismay at Rose, and vanished.
　　Rose gathered from that look, as much as from the words, who thevisitor was. She made a dart after Jacintha. But the room was along one, and the baroness intercepted her: "No," said she, gravely,"I cannot spare you."Rose stood pale and panting, but almost defiant. "Mamma," said she,"if it is Monsieur Riviere, I MUST ask your leave to retire. Andyou have neither love nor pity, nor respect for me, if you detainme.""Mademoiselle!" was the stern reply, "I FORBID you to move. Be goodenough to sit there;" with which the baroness pointed imperiously toa sofa at the other side of the room. "Josephine, go to your room."Josephine retired, casting more than one anxious glance over hershoulder.
　　Rose looked this way and that in despair and terror; but ended bysinking, more dead than alive, into the seat indicated; and even asshe drooped, pale and trembling, on that sofa, Edouard Riviere, wornand agitated, entered the room, and bowed low to them all, without aword.
　　The baroness looked at him, and then at her daughter, as much as tosay, now I have got you; deceive me now if you can. "Rose, mydear," said this terrible old woman, affecting honeyed accents,"don't you see Monsieur Riviere?"The poor girl at this challenge rose with difficulty, and courtesiedhumbly to Edouard.
　　He bowed to her, and stealing a rapid glance saw her pallor anddistress; and that showed him she was not so hardened as he hadthought.
　　"You have not come to see us lately," said the baroness, quietly,"yet you have been in the neighborhood."These words puzzled Edouard. Was the old lady all in the dark,then? As a public man he had already learned to be on his guard; sohe stammered out, "That he had been much occupied with publicduties."Madame de Beaurepaire despised this threadbare excuse too much tonotice it at all. She went on as if he had said nothing. "Intimateas you were with us, you must have some reason for deserting us sosuddenly.""I have," said Edouard, gravely.
　　"What is it?""Excuse me," said Edouard, sullenly.
　　"No, monsieur, I cannot. This neglect, succeeding to a somewhatardent pursuit of my daughter, is almost an affront. You shall, ofcourse, withdraw yourself altogether, if you choose. But notwithout an explanation. This much is due to me; and, if you are agentleman, you will not withhold it from me.""If he is a gentleman!" cried Rose; "O mamma, do not you affront agentleman, who never, never gave you nor me any ground of offence.
　　Why affront the friends and benefactors we have lost by our ownfault?""Oh, then, it is all your fault," said the baroness. "I feared asmuch.""All my fault, all," said Rose; then putting her pretty palmstogether, and casting a look of abject supplication on Edouard, shemurmured, "my temper!""Do not you put words into his mouth," said the shrewd old lady.
　　"Come, Monsieur Riviere, be a man, and tell me the truth. What hasshe said to you? What has she done?"By this time the abject state of terror the high-spirited Rose wasin, and her piteous glances, had so disarmed Edouard, that he hadnot the heart to expose her to her mother.
　　"Madame," said he, stiffly, taking Rose's hint, "my temper andmademoiselle's could not accord.""Why, her temper is charming: it is joyous, equal, and gentle.""You misunderstand me, madame; I do not reproach Mademoiselle Rose.
　　It is I who am to blame.""For what?" inquired the baroness dryly.
　　"For not being able to make her love me.""Oh! that is it! She did not love you?""Ask herself, madame," said Edouard, bitterly.
　　"Rose," said the baroness, her eye now beginning to twinkle, "wereyou really guilty of such a want of discrimination? Didn't you lovemonsieur?"Rose flung her arms round her mother's neck, and said, "No, mamma, Idid not love Monsieur Edouard," in an exquisite tone of love, thatto a female ear conveyed the exact opposite of the words.
　　But Edouard had not that nice discriminating ear. He sighed deeply,and the baroness smiled. "You tell me that?" said she, "and you arecrying!""She is crying, madame?" said Edouard, inquiringly, and taking astep towards them.
　　"Why, you see she is, you foolish boy. Come, I must put an end tothis;" and she rose coolly from her seat, and begging Edouard toforgive her for leaving him a moment with his deadly enemy, went offwith knowing little nods into Josephine's room; only, before sheentered it, she turned, and with a maternal smile discharged thisword at the pair.
　　"Babies!"But between the alienated lovers was a long distressing silence.
　　Neither knew what to say; and their situation was intolerable. Atlast Rose ventured in a timorous voice to say, "I thank you for yourgenerosity. But I knew that you would not betray me.""Your secret is safe for me," sighed Edouard. "Is there anythingelse I can do for you?"Rose shook her head sadly.
　　Edouard moved to the door.
　　Rose bowed her head with a despairing moan. It took him by theheart and held him. He hesitated, then came towards her.
　　"I see you are sorry for what you have done to me who loved you so;and you loved me. Oh! yes, do not deny it, Rose; there was a timeyou loved me. And that makes it worse: to have given me such sweethopes, only to crush both them and me. And is not this cruel of youto weep so and let me see your penitence--when it is too late?""Alas! how can I help my regrets? I have insulted so good afriend."There was a sad silence. Then as he looked at her, her looks beliedthe charge her own lips had made against herself.
　　A light seemed to burst on Edouard from that high-minded, sorrow-stricken face.
　　"Tell me it is false!" he cried.
　　She hid her face in her hands--woman's instinct to avoid being read.
　　"Tell me you were misled then, fascinated, perverted, but that yourheart returned to me. Clear yourself of deliberate deceit, and Iwill believe and thank you on my knees.""Heaven have pity on us both!" cried poor Rose.
　　"On us! Thank you for saying on us. See now, you have not gainedhappiness by destroying mine. One word--do you love that man?--thatDujardin?""You know I do not.""I am glad of that; since his life is forfeited; if he escapes myfriend Raynal, he shall not escape me."Rose uttered a cry of terror. "Hush! not so loud. The life ofCamille! Oh! if he were to die, what would become of--oh, pray donot speak so loud.""Own then that you DO love him," yelled Edouard; "give me truth, ifyou have no love to give. Own that you love him, and he shall besafe. It is myself I will kill, for being such a slave as to loveyou still."Rose's fortitude gave way.
　　"I cannot bear it," she cried despairingly; "it is beyond mystrength; Edouard, swear to me you will keep what I tell you secretas the grave!""Ah!" cried Edouard, all radiant with hope, "I swear.""Then you are under a delirium. I have deceived, but never wrongedyou; that unhappy child is not-- Hush! HERE SHE COMES."The baroness came smiling out, and Josephine's wan, anxious face wasseen behind her.
　　"Well," said the baroness, "is the war at an end? What, are westill silent? Let me try then what I can do. Edouard, lend me yourhand."While Edouard hesitated, Josephine clasped her hands and mutelysupplicated him to consent. Her sad face, and the thought of howoften she had stood his friend, shook his resolution. He held outhis hand, but slowly and reluctantly.
　　"There is my hand," he groaned.
　　"And here is mine, mamma," said Rose, smiling to please her mother.
　　Oh! the mixture of feeling, when her soft warm palm pressed his.
　　How the delicious sense baffled and mystified the cold judgment.
　　Josephine raised her eyes thankfully to heaven.
　　While the young lovers yet thrilled at each other's touch, yet couldnot look one another in the face, a clatter of horses' feet washeard.
　　"That is Colonel Raynal," said Josephine, with unnatural calmness.
　　"I expected him to-day."The baroness was at the side window in a moment.
　　"It is he!--it is he!"She hurried down to embrace her son.
　　Josephine went without a word to her own room. Rose followed herthe next minute. But in that one minute she worked magic.
　　She glided up to Edouard, and looked him full in the face: not thesad, depressed, guilty-looking humble Rose of a moment before, butthe old high-spirited, and some what imperious girl.
　　"You have shown yourself noble this day. I am going to trust you asonly the noble are trusted. Stay in the house till I can speak toyou."She was gone, and something leaped within Edouard's bosom, and aflood of light seemed to burst in on him. Yet he saw no objectclearly: but he saw light.
　　Rose ran into Josephine's room, and once more surprised her on herknees, and in the very act of hiding something in her bosom.
　　"What are you doing, Josephine, on your knees?" said she, sternly.
　　"I have a great trial to go through," was the hesitating answer.
　　Rose said nothing. She turned paler. She is deceiving me, thoughtshe, and she sat down full of bitterness and terror, and, affectingnot to watch Josephine, watched her.
　　"Go and tell them I am coming, Rose.""No, Josephine, I will not leave you till this terrible meeting isover. We will encounter him hand in hand, as we used to go when ourhearts were one, and we deceived others, but never each other."At this tender reproach Josephine fell upon her neck and wept.
　　"I will not deceive you," she said. "I am worse than the poordoctor thinks me. My life is but a little candle that a breath mayput out any day."Rose said nothing, but trembled and watched her keenly.
　　"My little Henri," said Josephine imploringly, "what would you dowith him--if anything should happen to me?""What would I do with him? He is mine. I should be his mother.
　　Oh! what words are these: my heart! my heart!""No, dearest; some day you will be married, and owe all the motherto your children; and Henri is not ours only: he belongs to some oneI have seemed unkind to. Perhaps he thinks me heartless. For I ama foolish woman; I don't know how to be virtuous, yet show a man myheart. But THEN he will understand me and forgive me. Rose, love,you will write to him. He will come to you. You will go togetherto the place where I shall be sleeping. You will show him my heart.
　　You will tell him all my long love that lasted to the end. YOU neednot blush to tell him all. I have no right. Then you will give himhis poor Josephine's boy, and you will say to him, 'She never lovedbut you: she gives you all that is left of her, her child. She onlyprays you not to give him a bad mother.'"Poor soul! this was her one bit of little, gentle jealousy; but itmade her eyes stream. She would have put out her hand from the tombto keep her boy's father single all his life.
　　"Oh! my Josephine, my darling sister," cried Rose, "why do you speakof death? Do you meditate a crime?""No; but it was on my heart to say it: it has done me good.""At least, take me to your bosom, my well-beloved, that I may notSEE your tears.""There--tears? No, you have lightened my heart. Bless you! blessyou!"The sisters twined their bosoms together in a long, gentle embrace.
　　You might have taken them for two angels that flowed together in onelove, but for their tears.
　　A deep voice was now heard in the sitting-room.
　　Josephine and Rose postponed the inevitable one moment more, byarranging their hair in the glass: then they opened the door, andentered the tapestried room.
　　Raynal was sitting on the sofa, the baroness's hand in his. Edouardwas not there.
　　Colonel Raynal had given him a strange look, and said, "What, youhere?" in a tone of voice that was intolerable.
　　Raynal came to meet the sisters. He saluted Josephine on the brow.
　　"You are pale, wife: and how cold her hand is.""She has been ill this month past," said Rose interposing.
　　"You look ill, too, Mademoiselle Rose.""Never mind," cried the baroness joyously, "you will revive themboth."Raynal made no reply to that.
　　"How long do you stay this time, a day?""A month, mother."The doctor now joined the party, and friendly greetings passedbetween him and Raynal.
　　But ere long somehow all became conscious this was not a joyfulmeeting. The baroness could not alone sustain the spirits of theparty, and soon even she began to notice that Raynal's replies wereshort, and that his manner was distrait and gloomy. The sisters sawthis too, and trembled for what might be coming.
　　At last Raynal said bluntly, "Josephine, I want to speak to youalone."The baroness gave the doctor a look, and made an excuse for goingdown-stairs to her own room. As she was going Josephine went to herand said calmly,--"Mother, you have not kissed me to-day.""There! Bless you, my darling!"Raynal looked at Rose. She saw she must go, but she lingered, andsought her sister's eye: it avoided her. At that Rose ran to thedoctor, who was just going out of the door.
　　"Oh! doctor," she whispered trembling, "don't go beyond the door. Ifound her praying. My mind misgives me. She is going to tell him--or something worse.""What do you mean?""I am afraid to say all I dread. She could not be so calm if shemeant to live. Be near! as I shall. She has a phial hid in herbosom."She left the old man trembling, and went back.
　　"Excuse me," said she to Raynal, "I only came to ask Josephine ifshe wants anything.""No!--yes!--a glass of eau sucree."Rose mixed it for her. While doing this she noticed that Josephineshunned her eye, but Raynal gazed gently and with an air of pity onher.
　　She retired slowly into Josephine's bedroom, but did not quite closethe door.
　　Raynal had something to say so painful that he shrank from plunginginto it. He therefore, like many others, tried to creep into it,beginning with something else.
　　"Your health," said he, "alarms me. You seem sad, too. I don'tunderstand that. You have no news from the Rhine, have you?""Monsieur!" said Josephine scared.
　　"Do not call me monsieur, nor look so frightened. Call me yourfriend. I am your sincere friend.""Oh, yes; you always were.""Thank you. You will give me a dearer title before we part thistime.""Yes," said Josephine in a low whisper, and shuddered.
　　"Have you forgiven me frightening you so that night?""Yes.""It was a shock to me, too, I can tell you. I like the boy. Sheprofessed to love him, and, to own the truth, I loathe all treacheryand deceit. If I had done a murder, I would own it. A lie doublesevery crime. But I took heart; we are all selfish, we men; of thetwo sisters one was all innocence and good faith; and she was theone I had chosen."At these words Josephine rose, like a statue moving, and took aphial from her bosom and poured the contents into the glass.
　　But ere she could drink it, if such was her intention, Raynal, withhis eyes gloomily lowered, said, in a voice full of strangesolemnity,--"I went to the army of the Rhine."Josephine put down the glass directly, though without removing herhand from it.
　　"I see you understand me, and approve. Yes, I saw that your sisterwould be dishonored, and I went to the army and saw her seducer.""You saw HIM. Oh, I hope you did not go and speak to him of--ofthis?""Why, of course I did."Josephine resolved to know the worst at once. "May I ask," saidshe, "what you told him?""Why, I told him all I had discovered, and pointed out the course hemust take; he must marry your sister at once. He refused. Ichallenged him. But ere we met, I was ordered to lead a forlornhope against a bastion. Then, seeing me go to certain death, thenoble fellow pitied me. I mean this is how I understood it all atthe time; at any rate, he promised to marry Rose if he should live."Josephine put out her hand, and with a horrible smile said, "I thankyou; you have saved the honor of our family;" and with no more ado,she took the glass in her hand to drink the fatal contents.
　　But Raynal's reply arrested her hand. He said solemnly, "No, I havenot. Have you no inkling of the terrible truth? Do not fiddle withthat glass: drink it, or leave it alone; for, indeed, I need allyour attention."He took the glass out of her patient hand, and with a furtive lookat the bedroom-door, drew her away to the other end of the room;"and," said he, "I could not tell your mother, for she knows nothingof the girl's folly; still less Rose, for I see she loves him still,or why is she so pale? Advise me, now, whilst we are alone.
　　Colonel Dujardin was COMPARATIVELY indifferent to YOU. Will youundertake the task? A rough soldier like me is not the person tobreak the terrible tidings to that poor girl.""What tidings? You confuse, you perplex me. Oh! what does thishorrible preparation mean?""It means he will never marry your sister; he will never see hermore."Then Raynal walked the room in great agitation, which at oncecommunicated itself to his hearer. But the loving heart isingenious in avoiding its dire misgivings.
　　"I see," said she; "he told you he would never visit Beaurepaireagain. He was right."Raynal shook his head sorrowfully.
　　"Ah, Josephine, you are far from the truth. I was to attack thebastion. It was mined by the enemy, and he knew it. He tookadvantage of my back being turned. He led his men out of thetrenches; he assaulted the bastion at the head of his brigade. Hetook it.""Ah, it was noble; it was like him.""The enemy, retiring, blew the bastion into the air, and Dujardin--is dead.""Dead!" said Josephine, in stupefied tones, as if the word conveyedno meaning to her mind, benumbed and stunned by the blow.
　　"Don't speak so loud," said Raynal; "I hear the poor girl at thedoor. Ay, he took my place, and is dead.""Dead!""Swallowed up in smoke and flames, overwhelmed and crushed under theruins."Josephine's whole body gave way, and heaved like a tree fallingunder the axe. She sank slowly to her knees, and low moans of agonybroke from her at intervals. "Dead, dead, dead!""Is it not terrible?" he cried.
　　She did not see him nor hear him, but moaned out wildly, "Dead,dead, dead!" The bedroom-door was opened.
　　She shrieked with sudden violence, "Dead! ah, pity! the glass! thecomposing draught." She stretched her hands out wildly. Raynal,with a face full of concern, ran to the table, and got the glass.
　　She crawled on her knees to meet it; he brought it quickly to herhand.
　　"There, my poor soul!"Even as their hands met, Rose threw herself on the cup, and snatchedit with fury from them both. She was white as ashes, and her eyes,supernaturally large, glared on Raynal with terror. "Madman!" shecried, "would you kill her?"He glared back on her: what did this mean? Their eyes were fixed oneach other like combatants for life and death; they did not see thatthe room was filling with people, that the doctor was only on theother side of the table, and that the baroness and Edouard were atthe door, and all looking wonderstruck at this strange sight--Josephine on her knees, and those two facing each other, white, withdilating eyes, the glass between them.
　　But what was that to the horror, when the next moment the patientJosephine started to her feet, and, standing in the midst, tore herhair by handfuls, out of her head.
　　"Ah, you snatch the kind poison from me!""Poison!""Poison!""Poison!" cried the others, horror-stricken.
　　"Ah! you won't let me die. Curse you all! curse you! I never hadmy own way in anything. I was always a slave and a fool. I havemurdered the man I love--I love. Yes, my husband, do you hear? theman I love.""Hush! daughter, respect my gray hairs.""Your gray hairs! You are not so old in years as I am in agony. Sothis is your love, Rose! Ah, you won't let me die--won't you? THENI'LL DO WORSE--I'LL TELL.""He who is dead; you have murdered him amongst you, and I'll followhim in spite of you all--he was my betrothed. He struggled wounded,bleeding, to my feet. He found me married. News came of myhusband's death; I married my betrothed.""Married him!" exclaimed the baroness.
　　"Ah, my poor mother. And she kissed me so kindly just now--she willkiss me no more. Oh, I am not ashamed of marrying him. I am onlyashamed of the cowardice that dared not do it in face of all theworld. We had scarce been happy a fortnight, when a letter camefrom Colonel Raynal. He was alive. I drove my true husband away,wretch that I was. None but bad women have an atom of sense. Itried to do my duty to my legal husband. He was my benefactor. Ithought it was my duty. Was it? I don't know: I have lost thesense of right and wrong. I turned from a living creature to a lie.
　　He who had scattered benefits on me and all this house; he whom itwas too little to love; he ought to have been adored: this man camehere one night to wife proud, joyous, and warm-hearted. He found acradle, and two women watching it. Now Edouard, now MONSIEUR, doyou see that life is IMPOSSIBLE to me? One bravely accused herself:
　　she was innocent. One swooned away like a guilty coward."Edouard uttered an exclamation.
　　"Yes, Edouard, you shall not be miserable like me; she was guilty.
　　You do not understand me yet, my poor mother--and she was so happythis morning--I was the liar, the coward, the double-faced wife, themiserable mother that denied her child. Now will you let me die?
　　Now do you see that I can't and won't live upon shame and despair?
　　Ah, Monsieur Raynal, my dear friend, you were always generous: youwill pity and kill me. I have dishonored the name you gave me tokeep: I am neither Beaurepaire nor Raynal. Do pray kill me,monsieur--Jean, do pray release me from my life!"And she crawled to his knees and embraced them, and kissed his hand,and pleaded more piteously for death, than others have begged forlife.
　　Raynal stood like a rock: he was pale, and drew his breath audibly,but not a word. Then came a sight scarce less terrible thanJosephine's despair. The baroness, looking and moving twenty yearsolder than an hour before, tottered across the room to Raynal.
　　"Sir, you whom I have called my son, but whom I will never presumeso to call again, I thought I had lived long enough never to have toblush again. I loved you, monsieur. I prayed every day for you.
　　But she who WAS my daughter was not of my mind. Monsieur, I havenever knelt but to God and to my king, and I kneel to you: forgiveus, sir, forgive us!"She tried to go down on her knees. He raised her with his strongarm, but he could not speak. She turned on the others.
　　"So this is the secret you were hiding from me! This secret has notkilled you all. Oh! I shall not live under its shame so long as youhave. Chateau of Beaurepaire--nest of treason, ingratitude, andimmodesty--I loathe you as much as once I loved you. I will go andhide my head, and die elsewhere.""Stay, madame!" said he, in a voice whose depth and dignity was suchthat it seemed impossible to disobey it. "It was sudden--I wasshaken--but I am myself again.""Oh, show some pity!" cried Rose.
　　"I shall try to be just."There was a long, trembling silence; and during that silence andterrible agitation, one figure stood firm among those quaking,beating hearts, like a rock with the waves breaking round it--theMAN OF PRINCIPLE among the creatures of impulse.
　　He raised Josephine from her knees, and placed her all limp andpowerless in an arm-chair. To her frenzy had now succeeded asickness and feebleness like unto death.
　　"Widow Dujardin," said he, in a broken voice, "listen to me."She moaned a sort of assent.
　　"Your mistake has been not trusting me. I was your friend, and nota selfish friend. I was not enough in love with you to destroy yourhappiness. Besides, I despise that sort of love. If you had toldme all, I would have spared you this misery. By the present law,civil contracts of marriage can be dissolved by mutual consent."At this the baroness uttered some sign of surprise.
　　"Ah!" continued Raynal, sadly, "you are aristocrats, and cannot keeppace with the times. This very day our mere contract shall beformally dissolved. Indeed, it ceases to exist since both partiesare resolved to withdraw from it. So, if you married Dujardin in achurch, you are Madame Dujardin at this moment, and his child islegitimate. What does she say?"This question was to Rose, for what Josephine uttered sounded like amere articulate moan. But Rose's quick ear had caught words, andshe replied, all in tears, "My poor sister is blessing you, sir. Weall bless you.""She does not understand my position," said Raynal. He then walkedup to Josephine, and leaning over her arm, and speaking rather loud,under the impression that her senses were blunted by grief, he said,"Look here: Colonel Dujardin, your husband, deliberately, and withhis eyes open, sacrificed his life for me, and for his own heroicsense of honor. Now, it is my turn. If that hero stood here, andasked me for all the blood in my body, I would give it him. He isgone; but, dying for me, he has left me his widow and his child;they remain under my wing. To protect them is my pride, and my onlyconsolation. I am going to the mayor to annul our unlucky contractin due form, and make us brother and sister instead. But," turningto the baroness, "don't you think to escape me as your daughter hasdone: no, no, old lady, once a mother, always a mother. Stir fromyour son's home if you dare!"And with these words, in speaking which his voice had recovered itsiron firmness, he strode out at the door, superb in manhood andprinciple, and every eye turned with wonder and admiration afterhim. Even when he was gone they gazed at the door by which acreature so strangely noble had disappeared.
　　The baroness was about to follow him without taking any notice ofJosephine. But Rose caught her by the gown. "O mother, speak topoor Josephine: bid her live."The baroness only made a gesture of horror and disgust, and turnedher back on them both.
　　Josephine, who had tottered up from her seat at Rose's words, sankheavily down again, and murmured, "Ah! the grave holds all that loveme now."Rose ran to her side. "Cruel Josephine! what, do not I love you?
　　Mother, will you not help me persuade her to live? Oh! if she dies,I will die too; you will kill both your children."Stern and indignant as the baroness was, yet these words pierced herheart. She turned with a piteous, half apologetic air to Edouardand Aubertin. "Gentlemen," said she, "she has been foolish, notguilty. Heaven pardons the best of us. Surely a mother may forgiveher child." And with this nature conquered utterly; and she heldout her arms, wide, wide, as is a mother's heart. Her two erringchildren rushed sobbing violently into them; and there was not a dryeye in the room for a long time.
　　After this, Josephine's heart almost ceased to beat. Fear andmisgivings, and the heavy sense of deceit gnawing an honorableheart, were gone. Grief reigned alone in the pale, listless,bereaved widow.
　　The marriage was annulled before the mayor; and, three daysafterwards, Raynal, by his influence, got the consummated marriageformally allowed in Paris.
　　With a delicacy for which one would hardly have given him credit, henever came near Beaurepaire till all this was settled; but hebrought the document from Paris that made Josephine the widowDujardin, and her boy the heir of Beaurepaire; and the moment shewas really Madame Dujardin he avoided her no longer; and he became acomfort to her instead of a terror.
　　The dissolution of the marriage was a great tie between them. Somuch that, seeing how much she looked up to Raynal, the doctor saidone day to the baroness, "If I know anything of human nature, theywill marry again, provided none of you give her a hint which way herheart is turning."They, who have habituated themselves to live for others, can sufferas well as do great things. Josephine kept alive. A passion suchas hers, in a selfish nature, must have killed her.
　　Even as it was, she often said, "It is hard to live."Then they used to talk to her of her boy. Would she leave him--Camille's boy--without a mother? And these words were never spokento her quite in vain.
　　Her mother forgave her entirely, and loved her as before. Who couldbe angry with her long? The air was no longer heavy with lies.
　　Wretched as she was, she breathed lighter. Joy and hope were gone.
　　Sorrowful peace was coming. When the heart comes to this, nothingbut Time can cure; but what will not Time do? What wounds have Iseen him heal! His cures are incredible.
　　The little party sat one day, peaceful, but silent and sad, in thePleasaunce, under the great oak.
　　Two soldiers came to the gate. They walked feebly, for one waslame, and leaned upon the other, who was pale and weak, and leanedupon a stick.
　　"Soldiers," said Raynal, "and invalided.""Give them food and wine," said Josephine.
　　Rose went towards them; but she had scarcely taken three steps ereshe cried out,--"It is Dard! it is poor Dard! Come in, Dard, come in."Dard limped towards them, leaning upon Sergeant La Croix. A bit ofDard's heel had been shot away, and of La Croix's head.
　　Rose ran to the kitchen.
　　"Jacintha, bring out a table into the Pleasaunce, and something fortwo guests to eat."The soldiers came slowly to the Pleasaunce, and were welcomed, andinvited to sit down, and received with respect; for France even inthat day honored the humblest of her brave.
　　Soon Jacintha came out with a little round table in her hands, andaffected a composure which was belied by her shaking hands and herglowing cheek.
　　After a few words of homely welcome--not eloquent, but very sincere--she went off again with her apron to her eyes. She reappeared withthe good cheer, and served the poor fellows with radiant zeal.
　　"What regiment?" asked Raynal.
　　Dard was about to answer, but his superior stopped him severely;then, rising with his hand to his forehead, he replied, with pride,"Twenty-fourth brigade, second company. We were cut up atPhilipsburg, and incorporated with the 12th."Raynal instantly regretted his question; for Josephine's eye fixedon Sergeant La Croix with an expression words cannot paint. Yet sheshowed more composure, real or forced, than he expected.
　　"Heaven sends him," said she. "My friend, tell me, were you--ah!"Colonel Raynal interfered hastily. "Think what you do. He can tellyou nothing but what we know, not so much, in fact, as we know; for,now I look at him, I think this is the very sergeant we found lyinginsensible under the bastion. He must have been struck before thebastion was taken even.""I was, colonel, I was. I remember nothing but losing my senses,and feeling the colors go out of my hand.""There, you see, he knows nothing," said Raynal.
　　"It was hot work, colonel, under that bastion, but it was hotter tothe poor fellows that got in. I heard all about it from PrivateDard here.""So, then, it was you who carried the colors?""Yes, I was struck down with the colors of the brigade in my hand,"cried La Croix.
　　"See how people blunder about, everything; they told me the colonelcarried the colors.""Why, of course he did. You don't think our colonel, the fightingcolonel, would let me hold the colors of the brigade so long as hewas alive. No; he was struck by a Prussian bullet, and he had justtime to hand the colors to me, and point with his sword to thebastion, and down he went. It was hot work, I can tell you. I didnot hold them long, not thirty seconds, and if we could know theirhistory, they passed through more hands than that before they got tothe Prussian flag-staff."Raynal suddenly rose, and walked rapidly to and fro, with his handsbehind him.
　　"Poor colonel!" continued La Croix. "Well, I love to think he diedlike a soldier, and not like some of my poor comrades, hashed toatoms, and not a volley fired over him. I hope they put a stoneover him, for he was the best soldier and the best general in thearmy.""O sir!" cried Josephine, "there is no stone even to mark the spotwhere he fell," and she sobbed despairingly.
　　"Why, how is this, Private Dard?" inquired La Croix, sternly.
　　Dard apologized for his comrade, and touching his own headsignificantly told them that since his wound the sergeant's memorywas defective.
　　"Now, sergeant, didn't I tell you the colonel must have got thebetter of his wound, and got into the battery?""It's false, Private Dard; don't I know our colonel better thanthat? Would ever he have let those colors out of his hand, if therehad been an ounce of life left in him?""He died at the foot of the battery, I tell you.""Then why didn't we find him?"Here Jacintha put in a word with the quiet subdued meaning of herclass. "I can't find that anybody ever saw the colonel dead.""They did not find him, because they did not look for him," saidSergeant La Croix.
　　"God forgive you, sergeant!" said Dard, with some feeling. "Notlook for OUR COLONEL! We turned over every body that lay there,--full thirty there were,--and you were one of them.""Only thirty! Why, we settled more Prussians than that, I'llswear.""Oh! they carried off their dead.""Ay! but I don't see why they should carry our colonel off. Hisepaulets was all the thieves could do any good with. Stop! yet Ido, Private Dard; I have a horrible suspicion. No, I have not; itis a certainty. What! don't you see, ye ninny? Thunder andthousands of devils, here's a disgrace. Dogs of Prussians! theyhave got our colonel, they have taken him prisoner.""O God bless them!" cried Josephine; "O God bless the mouth thattells me so! O sir, I am his wife, his poor heart-broken wife. Youwould not be so cruel as to mock my despair. Say again that he maybe alive, pray, say it again!""His wife! Private Dard, why didn't you tell me? You tell menothing. Yes, my pretty lady, I'll say it again, and I'll prove it.
　　Here is an enemy in full retreat, would they encumber themselveswith the colonel? If he was dead, they'd have whipped off hisepaulets, and left him there. Alive? why not? Look at me: I amalive, and I was worse wounded than he was. They took me for dead,you see. Courage, madame! you will see him again, take an oldsoldier's word for it. Dard, attention! this is the colonel'swife."She gazed on the speaker like one in a trance.
　　Every eye and every soul had been so bent on Sergeant La Croix thatit was only now Raynal was observed to be missing. The next minutehe came riding out of the stable-yard, and went full gallop down theroad.
　　"Ah!" cried Rose, with a burst of hope; "he thinks so too; he hashopes. He is gone somewhere for information. Perhaps to Paris."Josephine's excitement and alternations of hope and fear were nowalarming. Rose held her hand, and implored her to try and be calmtill they could see Raynal.
　　Just before dark he came riding fiercely home. Josephine flew downthe stairs. Raynal at sight of her forgot all his caution. Hewaved his cocked hat in the air. She fell on her knees and thankedGod. He gasped out,--"Prisoner--exchanged for two Prussian lieutenants--sent home--theysay he is in France!"The tears of joy gushed in streams from her.
　　Some days passed in hope and joy inexpressible; but the good doctorwas uneasy for Josephine. She was always listening withsupernatural keenness and starting from her chair, and every fibreof her lovely person seemed to be on the quiver.
　　Nor was Rose without a serious misgiving. Would husband and wifeever meet? He evidently looked on her as Madame Raynal, and made ita point of honor to keep away from Beaurepaire.
　　They had recourse to that ever-soothing influence--her child.
　　Madame Jouvenel was settled in the village, and Josephine visitedher every day, and came back often with red eyes, but alwayssoothed.
　　One day Rose and she went to Madame Jouvenel, and, entering thehouse without ceremony, found the nurse out, and no one watching thechild.
　　"How careless!" said Rose.
　　Josephine stopped eagerly to kiss him. But instead of kissing him,she uttered a loud cry. There was a locket hanging round his neck.
　　It was a locket containing some of Josephine's hair and Camille's.
　　She had given it him in the happy days that followed their marriage.
　　She stood gasping in the middle of the room. Madame Jouvenel camerunning in soon after. Josephine, by a wonderful effort overherself, asked her calmly and cunningly,--"Where is the gentleman who put this locket round my child's neck?
　　I want to speak with him."Madame Jouvenel stammered and looked confused.
　　"A soldier--an officer?--come, tell me!""Woman," cried Rose, "why do you hesitate?""What am I to do?" said Madame Jouvenel. "He made me swear never tomention his coming here. He goes away, or hides whenever you come.
　　And since Madame does not love the poor wounded gentleman, what canhe do better?""Not love him!" cried Rose: "why, she is his wife, his lawful weddedwife; he is a fool or a monster to run away for her. She loves himas no woman ever loved before. She pines for him. She dies forhim."The door of a little back room opened at these words of Rose, andthere stood Camille, with his arm in a sling, pale and astounded,but great joy and wonder working in his face.
　　Josephine gave a cry of love that made the other two women weep, andin a moment they were sobbing for joy upon each other's neck.
　　Away went sorrow, doubt, despair, and all they had suffered. Thatone moment paid for all. And in that moment of joy and surprise, sogreat as to be almost terrible, perhaps it was well for Josephinethat Camille, weakened by his wound, was quite overcome, and nearlyfainted. She was herself just going into hysterics; but, seeing himquite overcome, she conquered them directly, and nursed, andsoothed, and pitied, and encouraged him instead.
　　Then they sat hand in hand. Their happiness stopped their verybreath. They could not speak. So Rose told him all. He neverowned why he had slipped away when he saw them coming. He forgotit. He forgot all his hard thoughts of her. They took him home inthe carriage. His wife would not let him out of her sight. Foryears and years after this she could hardly bear to let him be anhour out of her sight.
　　The world is wide; there may be a man in it who can paint the suddenbliss that fell on these two much suffering hearts; but I am notthat man; this is beyond me; it was not only heaven, but heavenafter hell.
　　Leave we the indescribable and the unspeakable for a moment, and goto a lighter theme.
　　The day Rose's character was so unexpectedly cleared, Edouard had noopportunity of speaking to her, or a reconciliation would have takenplace. As it was, he went home intensely happy. But he did notresume his visits to the chateau. When he came to think calmly overit, his vanity was cruelly mortified. She was innocent of thegreater offence; but how insolently she had sacrificed him, hislove, and his respect, to another's interest.
　　More generous thoughts prevailed by degrees. And one day that herpale face, her tears, and her remorse got the better of his offendedpride, he determined to give her a good lecture that should drownher in penitent tears; and then end by forgiving her. For one thinghe could not be happy till he had forgiven her.
　　She walked into the room with a calm, dignified, stately air, andbefore he could utter one word of his grave remonstrance, attackedhim thus: "You wish to speak to me, sir. If it is to apologize tome, I will save your vanity the mortification. I forgive you.""YOU forgive ME!" cried Edouard furiously.
　　"No violence, if you please," said the lady with cold hauteur. "Letus be friends, as Josephine and Raynal are. We cannot be anythingmore to one another now. You have wounded me too deeply by yourjealous, suspicious nature."Edouard gasped for breath, and was so far out-generalled that heaccepted the place of defendant. "Wasn't I to believe your ownlips? Did not Colonel Raynal believe you?""Oh, that's excusable. He did not know me. But you were my lover;you ought to have seen I was forced to deceive poor Raynal. Howdare you believe your eyes; much more your ears, against my truth,against my honor; and then to believe such nonsense?" Then, with agrand assumption of superior knowledge, says she, "You littlesimpleton, how could the child be mine when I wasn't married atall?"At this reproach, Edouard first stared, then grinned. "I forgotthat," said he.
　　"Yes, and you forgot the moon isn't made of green cheese. However,if I saw you very humble, and very penitent, I might, perhaps,really forgive you--in time.""No, forgive me at once. I don't understand your angelical,diabolical, incomprehensible sex: who on earth can? forgive me.""Oh! oh! oh! oh!"Lo! the tears that could not come at a remonstrance were flowing ina stream at his generosity.
　　"What is the matter now?" said he tenderly. She cried away, but atthe same time explained,--"What a f--f--foolish you must be not to see that it is I who amwithout excuse. You were my betrothed. It was to you I owed myduty; not my sister. I am a wicked, unhappy girl. How you musthate me!""I adore you. There, no more forgiving on either side. Let ouronly quarrel be who shall love the other best.""Oh, I know how that will be," said the observant toad. "You willlove me best till you have got me; and then I shall love you best;oh, ever so much."However, the prospect of loving best did not seem disagreeable toher; for with this announcement she deposited her head on hisshoulder, and in that attitude took a little walk with him up anddown the Pleasaunce: sixty times; about eight miles.
　　These two were a happy pair. This wayward, but generous heart neverforgot her offence, and his forgiveness. She gave herself to himheart and soul, at the altar, and well she redeemed her vow. Herose high in political life: and paid the penalty of that sort ofambition; his heart was often sore. But by his own hearth satcomfort and ever ready sympathy. Ay, and patient industry to readblue-books, and a ready hand and brain to write diplomatic notes forhim, off which the mind glided as from a ball of ice.
　　In thirty years she never once mentioned the servants to him.
　　"Oh, let eternal honor crown her name!"It was only a little bit of heel that Dard had left in Prussia.
　　More fortunate than his predecessor (Achilles), he got off with aslight but enduring limp. And so the army lost him.
　　He married Jacintha, and Josephine set them up in Bigot's,(deceased) auberge. Jacintha shone as a landlady, and custom flowedin. For all that, a hankering after Beaurepaire was observable inher. Her favorite stroll was into the Beaurepaire kitchen, and onall fetes and grand occasions she was prominent in gay attire as aretainer of the house. The last specimen of her homely sagacity Ishall have the honor to lay before you is a critique upon herhusband, which she vented six years after marriage.
　　"My Dard," said she, "is very good as far as he goes. What he hasfelt himself, that he can feel FOR: nobody better. You come to himwith an empty belly, or a broken head, or all bleeding with a cut,or black and blue, and you shall find a friend. But if it is a soreheart, or trouble, and sorrow, and no hole in your carcass to showfor it, you had better come to ME; for you might as well tell yourgrief to a stone wall as to my man."The baroness took her son Raynal to Paris, and there, with keen eye,selected him a wife. She proved an excellent one. It would havebeen hard if she had not, for the baroness with the severe sagacityof her age and sex, had set aside as naught a score of seemingangels, before she could suit herself with a daughter-in-law. Atfirst the Raynals very properly saw little of the Dujardins; butwhen both had been married some years, the recollection of thatfleeting and nominal connection waxed faint, while the memory ofgreat benefits conferred on both sides remained lively as ever inhearts so great, and there was a warm, a sacred friendship betweenthe two houses--a friendship of the ancient Greeks, not of themodern club-house.
　　Camille and Josephine were blessed almost beyond the lot ofhumanity: none can really appreciate sunshine but those who come outof the cold dark. And so with happiness. For years they couldhardly be said to live like mortals: they basked in bliss. But itwas a near thing; for they but just scraped clear of life-longmisery, and death's cold touch grazed them both as they went.
　　Yet they had heroic virtues to balance White Lies in the greatJudge's eye.
　　A wholesome lesson, therefore, and a warning may be gathered fromthis story: and I know many novelists who would have preached thatlesson at some length in every other chapter, and interrupted thesacred narrative to do it. But when I read stories so mutilated, Ithink of a circumstance related by Mr. Joseph Miller.
　　"An Englishman sojourning in some part of Scotland was afflictedwith many hairs in the butter, and remonstrated. He was told, inreply, that the hairs and the butter came from one source--the cow;and that the just and natural proportions hitherto observed, couldnot be deranged, and bald butter invented--for ONE. 'So be it,'
　　said the Englishman; 'but let me have the butter in one plate, andthe hairs in another.'"Acting on this hint, I have reserved some admirable remarks,reflections, discourses, and tirades, until the story should beended, and the other plate be ready for the subsidiary sermon.
　　And now that the proper time is come, that love of intruding one'sown wisdom in one's own person on the reader, which has marred somany works of art, is in my case restrained--first, by pure fatigue;secondly, because the moral of this particular story stands out soclear in the narrative, that he who runs may read it without anysermon at all.
　　Those who will not take the trouble to gather my moral from theliving tree, would not lift it out of my dead basket: would notunlock their jaw-bones to bite it, were I to thrust it into theirvery mouths.
The　End