“Depend on it, Josephine, we are wrong,” said Rose, firmly: “these wretches will not stand our nonsense above a certain time: they are not such fools. We are mismanaging: one gone, the other going; both losing faith in us.” Josephine’s color returned to her cheek, and then mounted high. Presently she smiled, a smile full of conscious power and furtive complacency, and said quietly, “He will not go.” Rose was pleased, but not surprised, to hear her sister speak so confidently, 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 stay directly.” “No: I should blush all my life before you and him. I COULD not. I should let him go sooner, almost. Oh, no! I will never ask a man to stay who wishes to leave me. But just you go to him, and say Madame Raynal is going to take a little walk: will he do her the honor 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 in unusually good spirits, and overflowing with kindness and innocent affection. On this his high gloomy brow relaxed, and all his prospects brightened as by magic. Then she communicated to him a number of little plans for next week and the week after. Among the rest 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 the smiling Josephine. “Yes! he would come: it was a great temptation, he saw so little of her.” “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?--let me 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 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, and screamed, “Run, Rose!” On this concise, and to us not very clear instruction, Rose slipped up the secret stair. She saw Camille come in and gravely unpack his little portmanteau, and dispose his things in the drawers with soldier-like neatness, and hum an agreeable march. She came and told Josephine. “Ah!” said Josephine with a little sigh of pleasure, and a gentle triumph in her eyes. She had not only got her desire, but had arrived at it her way,--woman’s way, round about.