At last the great day arrived on which Camille and Josephine were to be married at Frejus. The mayor awaited them at eleven o’clock. The cure at twelve. The family had 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 enough to take us to Frejus tomorrow. It is a long way, and we must breakfast early or we shall not be back to dinner.” “Do so, my child. I hope you will have a fine day: and mind you take plenty of wraps with you in case of a shower.” At seven o’clock the next morning Camille and the two ladies took a hasty cup of coffee together instead of breakfast, and then Dard brought 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 the vehicle before the party had recovered their surprise. The ladies managed to keep their countenances, but Dujardin’s discomfiture was evident. He looked piteously at Josephine, and then asked Aubertin if they were 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 lashed the horse and away they went. It was a silent party. The doctor seemed in a reverie. The others did not know what to think, much less to say. Aubertin sat by Camille’s side; so the latter could hold no secret communication with either lady. Now it was not the doctor’s habit to rise 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 some imprudence of Camille? Camille was terribly uneasy. He concluded the secret had transpired through female indiscretion. Then they all tortured themselves as to the old man’s intention. But what seemed most likely was, that he was with them to prevent a clandestine marriage by his bare presence, without making a scene and shocking Josephine’s pride: and if so, was he there by his own impulse? No, it was rather to be feared that all this was done by order of the baroness. There was a finesse about it that smacked of a feminine origin, and the baroness was very capable of adopting such a means as this, to spare her own pride and her favorite daughter’s. “The clandestine” is not all sugar. A more miserable party never went along, even to a wedding.