So Josephine was a beleagured fortress, attacked with one will, and defended by troops, one-third of which were hot on the side of the besiegers. When singleness attacks division, you know the result beforehand. Why then should I spin words? I will not trace so ill-matched a contest step by step, sentence by sentence: let me rather hasten to relate the one peculiarity that arose out of this trite contest, where, under the names of Camille and Josephine, the two great sexes may 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 another person. She said to Camille before Rose,-- “Even if I could bring myself to snatch at happiness in this indelicate way--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 her lovely face to hide it, and so no more. But some two minutes after she delivered 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 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 we have, 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: it is double mine: but if we all went on our knees to her, the doctor and all, she would 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 much akin to veneration to propose to you a clandestine marriage.” “Oh, thank you! bless you for respecting as well as loving me, dear Camille,” said Josephine. These words, uttered with gentle warmth, were some consolation to Camille, and confirmed him, as they were intended to do, in the above 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 very stupid, but he could not conceive what. He looked from one sister to the other alternately. Rose was smiling ironically, Josephine had her eyes bent demurely on a handkerchief she was embroidering. That evening Camille drew Rose aside, and asked for an explanation of her “maladroit.” “So it was,” replied Rose, sharply. But as this did not make the matter quite clear, Camille begged a little further explanation. “Was it your part to make difficulties?” “No, indeed.”