Ratcliff had not yet come down. He had rung the bell, and given orders for an early breakfast. Madame went up to her dressing-room, and put on her most becoming morning attire. We have called her a quadroon; but her complexion was of that clear golden hue, mixed with olive and a dash of carnation, which so many Southern amateurs prefer to the pure red and white of a light-haired Anglo-Saxon. When Ratcliff came down, he complimented her on her good looks, and kissed her. “I’ve been to confession,” she said, as she touched the tap of a splendid silver urn, and let hot water into the cups. “And what have you been confessing, Josy?” “I’ve been confessing how very foolish I’ve been the last few months.” “Foolish in what, Josephine?” “Foolish in my jealousy of _you_.” “Jealousy? What cause have I given you for jealousy? I’ve been too much bothered about public matters to have time to think of any woman but you.” “That’s partly true. But don’t I know what you most desire of earthly things?” “Of course! You know I desire the success of the Southern Confederacy, corner-stone and all.” “No, not that. You covet one thing even more than that.” “Indeed! What is it?” “A legitimate child who may inherit your wealth, and transmit your name.” “Yes, I’d like a child. But we must take things as they come along. You mustn’t be jealous because now and then I may have dropped a hint of regret that I’ve no direct heir to my estate.” “You’ve not confined yourself to hints. You’ve been provident in act as well as in thought.” “What the deuce do you mean?” “Don’t be angry when I tell you, you haven’t planned a plan, the last three months, of which I haven’t been aware.” “Well, I’ve always thought you the keenest woman of my acquaintance; but I’d like to have it put through my hair what you’re exactly driving at now. What is it?” “This: I know your scheme in regard to Miss Murray, and, what is more, I highly approve of it.” “You’re the Devil!” exclaimed Ratcliff, starting up from his seat. Then, seeing Josephine’s unaffected smile and evident good humor, he sat down. “At first I was a little chagrined,” she said, “especially when I found Mademoiselle so very pretty. But I’ve reflected much on it since, and talked with my confessor about it.” “The deuce you have! Talked with your confessor, eh?” “Yes, with my confessor. And the result is, that, so far from opposing you in your plan, I’ve concluded to give it my support.” “And what do you understand to be my plan?” “Perhaps ’ tis vague even in your own mind as yet. But I’ll tell you what I mean. Your wife is not likely to live many weeks longer. You’ll inherit from her a large estate. You’ll wish to marry again, and this time with a view to offspring. Both taste and policy will lead you to choose a young and accomplished woman. Who more suitable than Miss Murray?” “Why, Josephine, she’s a slave!”