White Lies

  CHAPTER XIV.

  The baroness, as I have said, drew Josephine aside, and tried to breakto her the sad news: but her own grief overcame her, and bursting intotears she bewailed the loss of her son. Josephine was greatly shocked.Death!--Raynal dead--her true, kind friend dead--her benefactor dead.She clung to her mother's neck, and sobbed with her. Presently shewithdrew her face and suddenly hid it in both her hands.

  She rose and kissed her mother once more: and went to her own room: andthen, though there was none to see her, she hid her wet, but burning,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 in prayersfor the dead and in self-humiliation. Her "tender conscience" accusedherself bitterly for not having loved this gallant spirit more than shehad.

  Camille realized nothing at first; he looked all confused in thedoctor's face, and was silent. Then after awhile he said, "Dead? Raynaldead?"

  "Killed in action."

  A red flush came to Camille's face, and his eyes went down to the groundat his very feet, nor did he once raise them while the doctor told himhow the sad news had come. "Picard the notary brought us the Moniteur,and there was Commandant Raynal among the killed in a cavalry skirmish."With this, he took the journal from his pocket, and Camille read it,with awe-struck, and other feelings he would have been sorry to seeanalyzed. He said not a word; and lowered his 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 no more:well she might."

  Aubertin went away, and left Dujardin standing there like a statue, hiseyes 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 so remainedtill 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 but Rose andAubertin. At sight of him Rose got up and left the room. But I supposeshe went to Josephine; for she returned in a few minutes, and rang thebell, and ordered some supper to be brought up for Colonel Dujardin.

  "You have not dined, I hear," said she, very coldly.

  "I was afraid you were gone altogether," said the doctor: then turningto Rose, "He told me he was going this evening. You had better stayquiet 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. "DidI wish him dead? I hope I never formed such a thought! I don't rememberever wishing him dead." And he went twice a day to that place by thestream, and thought very solemnly what a terrible thing ungovernedpassion is; and repented--not eloquently, but silently, sincerely.

  But soon his impatient spirit began to torment itself again. Why didJosephine shun him now? Ah! she loved Raynal now that he was dead. Womenlove the thing they have lost; so he had heard say. In that case, thevery sight of him would of course be odious to her: he could understandthat. The absolute, unreasoning faith he once had in her had beenso rudely shaken by her marriage with Raynal, that now he could onlybelieve just so much as he saw, and he saw that she shunned him.

  He became moody, sad, and disconsolate: and as Josephine shunned him, sohe avoided all the others, and wandered for hours by himself, perplexedand miserable. After awhile, he became conscious that he was under asort of surveillance. Rose de Beaurepaire, who had been so kind to himwhen he was confined to his own room, but had taken little notice of himsince he came down, now resumed her care of him, and evidently made ither business to keep up his heart. She used to meet him out walking ina mysterious way, and in short, be always falling in with him and tryingto 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, ofcourse, in so vague and general a way that, thinking he knew all, inreality 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. What affectedhim most deeply was the death of Raynal, his personal friend and patron.But when his tyrants, as he called the surgeon and his uncle, gave himleave to go home, all feelings were overpowered by his great joy at theprospect of seeing Rose. He walked over to Beaurepaire, his arm in asling, his heart beating. He was coming to receive the reward of all hehad done, and all he had attempted. "I will surprise them," thought he."I will see her face when I come in at the door: oh, happy hour! thispays for all." He entered the house without announcing himself; he wentsoftly up to the saloon; to his great disappointment he found no onebut the baroness: she received him kindly, but not with the warmth heexpected. She was absorbed in her new grief. He asked timidly after herdaughters. "Madame Raynal bears up, for the sake of others. You willnot, however, see her: she keeps her room. My daughter Rose is takinga walk, I believe." After some polite inquiries, and sympathy with hisaccident, the baroness retired to indulge her grief, and Edouard thusliberated ran in search of his beloved.

  He met her at the gate of the Pleasaunce, but not alone. She was walkingwith an officer, a handsome, commanding, haughty, brilliant officer. Shewas walking by his side, talking earnestly to him.

  An arrow of ice shot through young Riviere; and then came a feeling ofdeath 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 a littleantelope, and put out both her hands at once. He could only give herone.

  "Ah!" she cried with an accent of heavenly pity, and took his hand withboth hers.

  This was like the meridian sun coming suddenly on a cold place. He wasall happiness.

  When Josephine heard he was come her eye flashed, and she said quickly,"I will come down to welcome him--dear Edouard!"

  The sisters looked at one another. Josephine blushed. Rose smiled andkissed her. She colored higher still, and said, "No, she was ashamed togo down."

  "Why?"

  "Look at my face."

  "I see nothing wrong with it, except that it eclipses other people's,and I have long forgiven you that."

  "Oh, yes, dear Rose: look what a color it has, and a fortnight ago itwas 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 knew howhard I pray to be better. Rose, I do try so to be as unhappy as I ought;but I can't, I can't. My cold heart seems as dead to unhappiness as onceit was to happiness. Am I a heartless woman after all?"

  "Not altogether," said Rose dryly. "Fasten my collar, dear, and don'ttorment yourself. You have suffered much and nobly. It was Heaven'swill: you bowed to it. It was not Heaven's will that you should beblighted altogether. Bow in this, too, to Heaven's will: take thingsas they come, and do cease to try and reconcile feelings that are tooopposite 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 it isthe excitement of seeing Edouard. Leave all to me."

  Josephine greeted Edoua
rd most affectionately, drew from him his wholehistory, and petted him and sympathized with him deliciously, and madehim the hero of the evening. Camille, who was not naturally of a jealoustemper, bore this very well at first, but at last he looked so bitterat her neglect of him, that Rose took him aside to soothe him. Edouard,missing the auditor he most valued, and seeing her in secret conferencewith the brilliant colonel, felt a return of the jealous pangs thathad seized him at first sight of the man; and so they played at crosspurposes.

  At another period of the evening the conversation became more general;and Edouard took a dislike to Colonel Dujardin. A young man oftwenty-eight nearly always looks on a boy of twenty-one with the air ofa superior, and this assumption, not being an ill-natured one, is apt tobe so easy and so undefined that the younger hardly knows how to resentor to resist it. But Edouard was a little vain as we know; and theColonel jarred him terribly. His quick haughty eye jarred him. Hisregimentals jarred him: they fitted like a glove. His mustache and hismanner jarred him, and, worst of all, his cool familiarity with Rose,who seemed to court him rather than be courted by him. He put this actof Rose's to the colonel's account, according to the custom of lovers,and revenged himself in a small way by telling Josephine in her ear"that the colonel produced on his mind the effect of an intolerablepuppy."

  Josephine colored up and looked at him with a momentary surprise. Shesaid quietly, "Military men do give themselves some airs, but he is veryamiable at bottom. You must make a better acquaintance with him, andthen he will reveal to you his nobler qualities."--"Oh! I have noparticular desire," sneered unlucky Edouard. Sweet as Josephine was,this was too much for her: she said nothing; but she quietly turnedEdouard over to Aubertin, and joined Rose, and under cover of her had asweet timid chat with her falsely accused.

  This occupied the two so entirely that Edouard was neglected. This hurthis foible, and seemed to be so unkind on the very first day of hisreturn that he made his adieus to the baroness, and marched off indudgeon unobserved.

  Rose missed him first, but said nothing.

  When Josephine saw he was gone, she uttered a little exclamation, andlooked at Rose. Rose put on a mien of haughty indifference, but thewater 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 his favor,"said Rose pouting: then she gave his defender a kiss. "Yes, dear," saidJosephine, answering the kiss, and ignoring the words, "he is a dear;and he is not cross, nor so very vain, poor boy! now don't you see whatit was?"

  "No."

  "Yes, you do, you little cunning thing: you are too shrewd not to seeeverything."

  "No, indeed, Josephine; do tell me, don't keep me waiting: I can't bearthat."

  "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 more orless 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 is notin nature to abstain."

  This foible detected in her lover, Rose was very gay at the prospect ofamusement it afforded her.

  And I think I have many readers who at this moment are awaiting unmixedenjoyment 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 this witha particularly cheerful one; on this, Edouard's face cleared up, andhe was himself again; agreeable as this was, Rose felt a littledisappointed. "I am afraid he is not very jealous after all," thoughtshe.

  Josephine left her room this day and mingled once more with the family.The bare sight of her was enough for Camille at first, but after awhilehe wanted more. He wanted to be often alone with her; but several causesco-operated to make her shy of giving him many such opportunities:first, her natural delicacy, coupled with her habit of self-denial; thenher fear of shocking her mother, and lastly her fear of her own heart,and of Camille, whose power over her she knew. For Camille, when he didget a sweet word alone with her, seemed to forget everything except thatshe was his betrothed, and that he had come back alive to marry her.He spoke to her of his love with an ardor and an urgency that made herthrill with happiness, but at the same time shrink with a certain fearand self-reproach. Possessed with a feeling no stronger than hers, butsingle, he did not comprehend the tumult, the trouble, the daily contestin her heart. The wind seemed to him to be always changing, and hot andcold the same hour. Since he did not even see that she was acting inhourly fear of her mother's eye, he was little likely to penetrateher more hidden sentiments; and then he had not touched herkey-note,--self-denial.

  Women are self-denying and uncandid. Men are self-indulgent andoutspoken.

  And this is the key to a thousand double misunderstandings; for believeme, good women are just as stupid in misunderstanding men as honest menare in misunderstanding women.

  To Camille, Josephine's fluctuations, joys, tremors, love, terror,modesty, seemed one grand total, caprice. The component parts of it hesaw not; and her caprice tortured him almost to madness. Too penitentto give way again to violent passion, he gently fretted. His healthretrograded and his temper began to sour. The eye of timid love thatwatched him with maternal anxiety from under its long lashes saw thiswith dismay, and Rose, who looked into her sister's bosom, devotedherself once more to soothe him without compromising Josephine'sdelicacy. Matters were not so bad but what a fine sprightly girl likeRose could cheer up a dejected but manly colonel; and Rose was generallysuccessful.

  But then, unfortunately, this led to a fresh mystification. Riviere'snatural jealousy revived, and found constant food in the attention Rosepaid Camille, a brilliant colonel living in the house while he, poorwretch, lived in lodgings. The false position of all the parties broughtabout some singular turns. I give from their number one that forms alink, though a small one, in my narrative.

  One day Edouard came to tell Rose she was making him unhappy; he had heralone in the Pleasaunce; she received him with a radiant smile, and theyhad a charming talk,--a talk all about HIM: what the family owed him,etc.

  On this, his late jealousy and sense of injury seemed a thing of threeyears ago, and never to return. So hard it is for the loving heart toresist its sun.

  Jacintha came with a message from the colonel: "Would it be agreeable toMademoiselle 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 to reconsiderthat 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 quiet hauteur.

  "Neither mad nor a fool," was the reply. "I love you too well to shareyour regard with any one, upon any terms; least of all upon these, thatthere is to be a man in the world at whose beck and call you are tobe, and at whose orders you are to break off an interview with me.Perdition!"

  "Dear Edouard, what folly! Can you suspect me of discourtesy, as well asof--I know not what. Colonel Dujardin will join us, that is all, and weshall take a little walk with him."

  "Not I. I decline the intrusion; you are engaged with me, and I havethings to say to you that are not fit for that puppy to hear. So choosebetween me and him, and choose forever."

  Rose colored. "I should be very sorry to cho
ose either of you forever;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 Colonel Dujardin.She then turned with an air of mock submission to Edouard. "I am atmonsieur's ORDERS."

  Then this unhappy novice, being naturally good-natured, thanked heragain and again for her condescension in setting his heart at rest. Heproposed a walk, since his interference had lost her one. She yieldeda cold assent. This vexed him, but he took it for granted it would wearoff before the end of the walk. Edouard's heart bounded, but he lovedher too sincerely to be happy unless he could see her happy too; themalicious thing saw this, or perhaps knew it by instinct, and by meansof this good feeling of his she revenged herself for his tyranny. Shetortured him as only a woman can torture, and as even she can tortureonly a worthy man, and one who loves her. In the course of that shortwalk this inexperienced girl, strong in the instincts and inborn artsof her sex, drove pins and needles, needles and pins, of all sorts andsizes, through her lover's heart.

  She was everything by turns, except kind, and nothing for long together.She was peevish, she was ostentatiously patient and submissive, she wasinattentive to her companion and seemingly wrapped up in contemplationof absent things and persons, the colonel to wit; she was dogged,repulsive, and cold; and she never was herself a single moment. Theyreturned to the gate of the Pleasaunce. "Well, mademoiselle," saidRiviere very sadly, "that interloper might as well have been with us."

  "Of course he might, and you would have lost nothing by permitting meto be courteous to a guest and an invalid. If you had not played thetyrant, and taken the matter into your own hands, I should have foundmeans to soothe your jeal--I mean your vanity; but you preferred to haveyour own way. Well, you have had it."

  "Yes, mademoiselle, you have given me a lesson; you have shown me howidle it is to attempt to force a young lady's inclinations in anything."

  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. "MademoiselleRose," said he, humbly, "I called to apologize for the ungentlemanlytone of my remonstrances yesterday."

  "Fiddle-dee," said Rose. "Don't do it again; that is the best apology."

  "I am not likely to offend so again," said he sadly. "I am going away. Iam sorry to say I am promoted; my new post is ten leagues. HE WILL HAVEIT ALL HIS OWN WAY NOW. But perhaps it is best. Were I to stay here, Iforesee you would soon lose whatever friendly feeling 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-knowledgewhich is so general an attribute of human beings; "no man less so, noram I jealous; but I respect myself, and I could never be content toshare your time and your regard with Colonel Dujardin, nor with a muchbetter man. See now; he has made me arrogant. Was I 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 all thatwretch's doing."

  Rose sighed, but she said nothing; for she saw that to excuse Camillewould only make the jealous one more bitter against him.

  "Will you deign to write to me at my new post? once a month? in answerto 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 duties of anew 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 her room andhad a good cry. In the afternoon Josephine came and remonstrated withher. "You have not walked with him at all to-day."

  "No; you must pet him yourself for once. I hate the sight of him; ithas made mischief between Edouard and me, my being so attentive to him.Edouard is jealous, and I cannot wonder. After all, what right have I tomystify him who honors me with his affection?"

  Then, being pressed with questions by Josephine, she related to her allthat 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 is happyhimself."

  "Ah! would to Heaven I could make him as happy as he deserves to be."

  "You could easily make him much happier than that. And why not do it?"

  "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: they believeonly what they see. I have done what I can for you and Camille, but itis useless. Would you have him believe you love him, you must yourselfbe kind to him; and it would be a charitable action: you would make fourunhappy people happy, or, at least, put them on the road; NOW they areoff the road, and, by what I have seen to-day, I think, if we go on somuch longer, it will be too late to try to return. Come, Josephine,for my sake! Let me go and tell him you will consent--to all ourhappinesses. There, the crime is mine." And she ran off in spite ofJosephine's faint and hypocritical entreaties. She returns the nextminute looking all aghast. "It is too late," said she. "He is goingaway. I am sure he is, for he is packing up his things to go. I spiedthrough the old place and saw him. He was sighing like a furnace as hestrapped his portmanteau. I hate him, of course, but I was sorry forhim. I could 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 are notsuch fools. We are mismanaging: one gone, the other going; both losingfaith 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," saidshe, "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 stay directly."

  "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 man to staywho wishes to leave me. But just you go to him, and say Madame Raynalis going to take a little walk: will he do her the honor to be hercompanion? Not a word more, if you love me."

  "I'll go. Hypocrite!"

  Josephine received Camille with a bright smile. She seemed in unusuallygood spirits, and overflowing with kindness and innocent affection. Onthis his high gloomy brow relaxed, and all his prospects brightened asby magic. Then she communicated to him a number of little plans for nextweek and the week after. Among the rest he was to go with her and Roseto 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 the smilingJosephine.

  "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 Inot be always with you if I consulted my inclination?--let me go."

  "No! consult your inclination a little longer."

  "Must I?"

  "Yes; that shall be your punishm
ent."

  "For what? What have I done?" asked she with an air of great innocence.

  "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, andscreamed, "Run, Rose!"

  On this concise, and to us not very clear instruction, Rose slipped upthe secret stair. She saw Camille come in and gravely unpack his littleportmanteau, and dispose his things in the drawers with soldier-likeneatness, and hum an agreeable march. She came and told 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'sway, 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 Josephine tobe his wife directly.

  Have you noticed those half tame deer that come up to you in a park solovingly, with great tender eyes, and, being now almost within reach,stop short, and with bodies fixed like statues on pedestals, craneout their graceful necks for sugar, or bread, or a chestnut, or apocket-handkerchief? Do but offer to put your hand upon them, away theybound that moment twenty yards, and then stand quite still, and look atyour hand and you, with great inquiring, suspicious, tender eyes.

  So Josephine started at Camille's audacious proposal. "Never mentionsuch a thing to me again: or--or, I will not walk with you any more:"then she thrilled with pleasure at the obnoxious idea, "she Camille'swife!" and colored all over--with rage, Camille thought. He promisedsubmissively not to renew the topic: no more he did till next day.Josephine had spent nearly the whole interval in thinking of it; so shewas prepared to put him down by calm reasons. She proceeded to do so,gently, but firmly.

  Lo and behold! what does he do, but meets her with just as many reasons,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 the happiness,as, being persons of honor, they had accepted the misery? with manyother arguments, differing in other things, but agreeing in this, thatthey 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 passion andsentiment 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. Sherefused to show him the least attention. This threw him on Josephine:and when Josephine begged her to help reduce Camille to reason, heranswer 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 he willmake 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 to giveway. She had now battled for months against her own heart: first for hermother; then, in a far more terrible conflict for Raynal, for honor andpurity; and of late she had been battling, still against her own heart,for delicacy, for etiquette, things very dear to her, but not so great,holy, and sustaining as honor and charity that were her very householdgods: and so, just when the motives of resistance were lowered, thelength of the resistance began to wear her out.

  For nothing is so hard to her sex as a long steady struggle. In mattersphysical, this is the thing the muscles of the fair cannot stand; inmatters intellectual and moral, the long strain it is that beats themdead.

  Do not look for a Bacona, a Newtona, a Handella, a Victoria Huga.

  Some American ladies tell us education has stopped the growth of these.

  No! mesdames. These are not in nature.

  They can bubble letters in ten minutes that you could no more deliverto order in ten days than a river can play like a fountain. They cansparkle gems of stories: they can flash little diamonds of poems. Theentire sex has never produced one opera nor one epic that mankind couldtolerate: and why? these come by long, high-strung labor. But, weak asthey are in the long run of everything but the affections (and theregiants), they are all overpowering while their gallop lasts. Fragillashall dance any two of you flat on the floor before four o'clock, andthen dance on till the peep of day.

  Only you trundle off to your business as usual, and could dance againthe 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'sfaith in her had stood firm. Hers in him had not. She had wronged him,first by believing him false, then by marrying another. One day sheasked his pardon for this. He replied that he had forgiven that; butwould she be good enough to make him forget it?

  "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, 'I wasfaithful: I suffered something for her; I came home: she loved me still;the proof is, she was my wife within three months of my return.'"

  When he said that to her in the Pleasaunce, if there had been a priestat hand--. In a word, Josephine longed to show him her love, yet wishednot to shock her mother, nor offend her own sense of delicacy; butCamille cared for nothing but his love. To sacrifice love and happiness,even for a time, to etiquette, seemed to him to be trifling with thesubstance of great things for the shadow of petty things; and he saidso: sometimes sadly, sometimes almost bitterly.

  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. Whythen should I spin words? I will not trace so ill-matched a contest stepby step, sentence by sentence: let me rather hasten to relate the onepeculiarity that arose out of this trite contest, where, under the namesof Camille and Josephine, the two great sexes may be seen acting thewhole 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 this indelicateway--scarce a month after, oh!" And there ended the lady's sentence.In the absence of a legitimate full stop, she put one hand before herlovely face to hide it, and so no more. But some two minutes after shedelivered the rest in the form and with the tone of a distinct remark,"No: my mother would never consent."

  "Yes, she would if you could be brought to implore her as earnestly as Iimplore you."

  "Now would she?" asked Josephine, turning quickly to her sister.

  "No, never. Our mother would look with horror on such a proposal. Adaughter 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; thatis for him. Josephine's influence with mamma is very great: it is doublemine: but if we all went on our knees to her, the doctor and all, shewould never consent."

  "There you see, Camille: and I could not defy my mother, even for you."

  Camille sighed.

  "I see everything is against me, even my love: for that love is too muchakin to veneration to propose to you a clandestine marriage."

  "Oh, thank you! bless you for respecting as wel
l 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 the abovegood 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 sister to theother alternately. Rose was smiling ironically, Josephine had her eyesbent demurely on a handkerchief she was embroidering.

  That evening Camille drew Rose aside, and asked for an explanation ofher "maladroit."

  "So it was," replied Rose, sharply.

  But as this did not make the matter quite clear, Camille begged a littlefurther 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 love withoutrespect will satisfy her? yet you must go and tell her you respected hertoo much to ask her to marry you secretly. In other words, situated asshe is, you asked her not to marry you at all: she consented to thatdirectly; what else could you expect?"

  "Maladroit! indeed," said Camille, "but I would not have said it, only Ithought"--

  "You thought nothing would induce her to marry secretly, so you said toyourself, 'I will assume a virtue: I will do a bit of cheap self-denial:decline to the sound of trumpets what another will be sure to deny me ifI don't--ha! ha!'--well, for your comfort, I am by no means so sure shemight not have been brought to do ANYTHING for you, except openly defymamma: but now of course"--

  And here this young lady's sentence ended: for the sisters, unlike inmost things, were one in grammar.

  Camille was so disconcerted and sad at what he had done, that Rose beganto pity him: so she rallied him a little longer in spite of her pity:and then all of a sudden gave him her hand, and said she would try andrepair the mischief.

  He began to smother her hand with kisses.

  "Oh!" said she, "I don't deserve all that: I have a motive of my own;let me alone, child, do. Your unlucky speech will be quoted to me adozen times. Never mind."

  Rose went and bribed Josephine to consent.

  "Come, mamma shall not know, and as for you, you shall scarcely move inthe matter; only do not oppose me very violently, and all will be well."

  "Ah, Rose!" said Josephine; "it is delightful--terrible, I mean--to havea little creature about one that reads one like this. What shall 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 both suffered tothe limits of mortal endurance. Is he to go away unhappy, in anydoubt of your affection? and you to remain behind with the misery ofself-reproach added to the desolation of absence?--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 a wisereticence was not the same thing as a moral deceit. She reminded her,too, how often they had acted on his advice and always with good effect;how many anxieties and worries they had saved their mother by reticence.Josephine assented warmly to this.

  Was there not some reason to think they had saved their mother's verylife by these reticences? Josephine assented. "And, Josephine, you areof age; you are your own mistress; you have a right to marry whom youplease: and, sooner or later, you will certainly marry Camille. I doubtwhether even our mother could prevail on you to refuse him altogether.So it is but a question of time, and of giving our mother pain, orsparing her pain. Dear mamma is old; she is prejudiced. Why shock herprejudices? She could not be brought to understand the case: thesethings never happened in her day. Everything seems to have gone by rulethen. Let us do nothing to worry her for the short time she has tolive. 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 untenable ones--agreat point gained. She urged the difficulty, the impossibility of asecret marriage.

  Camille burst in here: he undertook at once to overcome these imaginarydifficulties. "They could be married at a distance."

  "You will find no priest who will consent to do such a wicked thing asmarry 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 forms forme, and a priest who will marry me in the sight of Heaven, and both willkeep it secret for love of me till it shall please Josephine to throwoff this disguise."

  "Who is the priest?" inquired Josephine, keenly.

  "An old cure: he lives near Frejus: he was my tutor, and the mayor isthe 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, ofcourse."

  "There, I thought so! I will not have you telling fibs; it lowers you."

  "Of course it does; but you can't have secrecy without a fib or two."

  "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 his groom.Camille rode over to Frejus and told a made-up story to the old cure andthe mayor, and these his old friends believed every word he said, andreadily promised their services and strict secrecy.

  He told the young ladies what he had done.

  Rose approved. Josephine shook her head, and seeing matters going asher heart desired and her conscience did not quite approve, she suddenlyaffected to be next to nobody in the business--to be resigned, passive,and disposed of to her surprise by Queen Rose and King Camille, withoutherself taking any actual part in their proceedings.

  At last the great day arrived on which Camille and Josephine were to bemarried at Frejus.

  The mayor awaited them at eleven o'clock. The cure at twelve. The familyhad been duly prepared for this excursion by several smaller ones.

  Rose announced their intention over night; a part of it.

  "Mamma," said she, blushing a little, "Colonel Dujardin is good enoughto take us to Frejus tomorrow. It is a long way, and we must breakfastearly or we shall not be back to dinner."

  "Do so, my child. I hope you will have a fine day: and mind you takeplenty 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 Dard broughtthe 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 nextmoment Dr. Aubertin appeared with his cloak on his arm, and, salutingthe ladies politely, seated himself quietly in the vehicle before theparty 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 they wereto 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 lashed thehorse and away they went.

  It was a silent party. The doctor seemed in a reverie. The others didnot know what to think, much less to say. Aubertin sat by Camille'sside; so the latter could hold no secret communication with either lady.

  Now it was not the doctor's habit to ri
se at this time of the morning: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 as to theold man's intention. But what seemed most likely was, that he was withthem to prevent a clandestine marriage by his bare presence, withoutmaking a scene and shocking Josephine's pride: and if so, was he thereby his own impulse? No, it was rather to be feared that all this wasdone by order of the baroness. There was a finesse about it that smackedof a feminine origin, and the baroness was very capable of adopting sucha means as this, to spare her own pride and her favorite daughter's."The clandestine" is not all sugar. A more miserable party never wentalong, even to a wedding.

  After waiting a long time for the doctor to declare himself, they turneddesperate, and began to chatter all manner of trifles. This had a goodeffect: it roused Aubertin from his reverie, and presently he gave themthe following piece of information: "I told you the other day that anephew of mine was just dead; a nephew I had not seen for many years.Well, my friends, I received last night a hasty summons to his funeral."

  "At Frejus?"

  "No, at Paris. The invitation was so pressing, that I was obliged to go.The letter informed me, however, that a diligence passes through Frejus,at eleven o'clock, for Paris. I heard you say you were going toFrejus; so I packed up a few changes of linen, and my MS., my work onentomology, which at my last visit to the capital all the publisherswere mad enough to refuse: here it is. Apropos, has Jacintha put my baginto the carriage?"

  On this a fierce foot-search, and the bag was found. Meantime, Josephineleaned back in her seat with a sigh of thankfulness. She was more intenton not being found out than on being married. But Camille, who was moreintent on being married than on not being found out, was asking himself,with fury, how on earth they should get 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, they werewaiting for it they were failing their rendezvous with the mayor, andmaking their rendezvous with the curate impossible. But, above all,there was the risk of one or other of those friends coming up andblurting all out, taking for granted that the doctor must be in theirconfidence, or why bring him.

  At last, at half-past eleven o'clock, to their great relief, up came thediligence. The doctor prepared to take his place in the interior, whenthe conductor politely informed him that the vehicle stopped there aquarter 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 to postponematters to another day--meaning forever. "My ARDOR is chilled," saidshe, and showed symptoms of crying at what she had gone through.

  Camille replied by half dragging them to the mayor. That worthy receivedthem with profound, though somewhat demure respect, and invited them toa table sumptuously served. The ladies, out of politeness, were about toassent, but Camille begged permission to postpone that part until afterthe ceremony.

  At last, to their astonishment, they were married. Then, with a promiseto 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 a long time forthem," said the servant.

  Josephine was much disconcerted, and showed a disposition to cry again.The servant, a good-natured girl, nosed a wedding, and offered to runand bring his reverence in a minute.

  Presently there came an old silvery-haired man, who addressed them allas his children. He took them to the church, and blessed their union;and for the first time Josephine felt as if Heaven consented. They tooka gentle farewell of him, and went back to the mayor's to dine; andat this stage of the business Rose and Josephine at last effected adownright simultaneous cry, apropos of nothing that was then occurring.

  This refreshed them mightily, and they glowed at the mayor's table likeroses 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, the reinsin his right hand, nearly turned his back on the horse, and leaned backover to them and purred to Rose and his wife with ineffable triumph andtenderness.

  The lovers were in Elysium, and Rose was not a little proud of her goodmanagement in ending all their troubles. Their mother received themback with great, and as they fancied, with singular, affection. She wasbeginning to be anxious about them, she said. Then her kindness gavethese happy souls a pang it never gave them before.

  Since the above events scarce a fortnight had elapsed; but sucha change! 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 a softhalo of love and happiness shone around her head; a new and indefinableattraction bloomed on her face. She was a wife. Her eye, that used toglance furtively on Camille, now dwelt demurely on him; dwelt with asort of gentle wonder and admiration as well as affection, and, whenhe came or passed very near her, a keen observer might have seen herthrill.

  She kept a good deal out of her mother's way; for she felt within thather face must be too happy. She feared to shock her mother's grief withher radiance. She was ashamed of feeling unmixed heaven. But the floodof secret bliss she floated in bore all misgivings away. The pair wereforever stealing away together for hours, and on these occasions Roseused to keep out of her mother's sight, until they should return. Sothen the new-married couple could wander hand in hand through the thickwoods of Beaurepaire, whose fresh green leaves were now just out, andhear the distant cuckoo, and sit on mossy banks, and pour love intoone another's eyes, and plan ages of happiness, and murmur their deeppassion and their bliss almost more than mortal; could do all this andmore, without shocking propriety. These sweet duets passed for trios:for on their return Rose would be out looking for them, or would go andmeet them at some distance, and all three would go up together to thebaroness, as from a joint excursion. And when they went up to theirbedrooms, Josephine would throw her arms round her sister's neck, andsigh, "It is not happiness, it is beatitude!"

  Meantime, the baroness mourned for Raynal. Her grief showed no decrease.Rose even fancied at times she wore a gloomy and discontented look aswell; but on reflection she attributed that to her own fancy, or to thecontrast that had now sprung up in her sister's beaming complacency.

  Rose, when she found herself left day after day alone for hours, was sadand thought of Edouard. And this feeling gained on her day by day.

  At last, one afternoon, she locked herself in her own room, and, after along contest with her pride, which, if not indomitable, was next door toit, she sat down to write him a little letter. Now, in this letter,in the place devoted by men to their after-thoughts, by women to theirpretended after-thoughts; i. e., to what they have been thinking ofall through the letter, she dropped a careless hint that all the partymissed him very much, "even the obnoxious colonel, who, by-the-by, hastransferred his services elsewhere. I have forgiven him that, because hehas 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 came Jacintha,excited.

  "He is come, mademoiselle," cried she, and nodded her head like amandarin, only more knowingly; then she added, "So you may burn that."For her quick eye had glanced at the table.

  "Who is come?" inquired Rose, eagerly.

  "Why, your one?"

  "My one?" asked the youn
g lady, reddening, "my what?"

  "The little one--Edouard--Monsieur Riviere."

  "Oh, Monsieur Riviere," said Rose, acting nonchalance. "Why could younot say so? you use such phrases, who can conjecture what you mean? Iwill come to Monsieur Riviere directly; mamma will be so glad."

  Jacintha gone, Rose tore up the letter and locked up the pieces, thenran to the glass. Etc.

  Edouard had been so profoundly miserable he could stand it no longer; inspite of his determination not to visit Beaurepaire while it containeda rival, he rode over to see whether he had not tormented 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 in hand,and wondered how he should be received--if at all.

  In glides Rose all sprightliness and good-humor, and puts out her handto 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, the obnoxiouscolonel?"

  No answer.

  "Transferred his attentions. Fancy!"

  "Who to?"

  "To Josephine and mamma. But such are the military. He only wanted toget rid of you: this done (through your want of spirit), he scorns therich prize; so now I scorn HIM. Will you come for a walk?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  "We will go and look for my deserter. I say, tell me now; cannot I writeto the commander-in-chief about this? a soldier has no right to be adeserter, has he? tell me, you are a public man, and know everythingexcept 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 so dullwithout you to tease."

  Formal permission to tease being conceded, she went that instant on theopposite tack, and began to tell him how she had missed him, and howsorry she had been anything should have occurred to vex their kind goodfriend. In short, Edouard spent a delightful day, for Rose took him oneway to meet Josephine, who, she knew, was coming another. At night thelast embers of jealousy got quenched, for Josephine was a wife now, andhad already begun to tell Camille all her little innocent secrets; andshe told him all about Edouard and Rose, and gave him his orders; so hetreated Rose with great respect before Edouard; but paid her no markedattention; also he was affable to Riviere, who, having ceased tosuspect, began to like him.

  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 not presshim to stay, but treated his departure as a matter of course. Riviererode 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 his nephew'sfuneral was an era in his harmless life.

  The said nephew was a rich man and an oddity; one of those who love tosurprise folk. Moreover, he had no children, and detected his nephewsand nieces being unnaturally civil to him. "Waiting to cut me up," washis generous reading of them. So with this he made a will, and theredefied, as far as in him lay, the laws of nature; for he set his wealtha-flowing backwards instead of forwards; he handed his property up to anancestor, 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 well asadversity. Yet one natural regret escaped him; that all this wealth,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 and threepersons of another sex, is one of the best treasures of the human heart.Poverty had strengthened it; yet now wealth could not weaken it. Withno tie of blood it yet was filial, sisterly, brotherly, national,chivalrous; happy, unalloyed sentiment, free from ups and downs, fromheats and chills, from rivalry, from caprice; and, indeed, from allmortal accidents but one--and why say one? methinks death itself doesbut suspend these gentle, rare, unselfish amities a moment, then waftthem upward to their abiding home.