“Is this just?” said she. “Think of two months ago: yes, but two months ago, you were dying. You doubted my love, because it could not overcome my virtue and my gratitude: yet you might have seen it was destroying my life. Poor Raynal, my husband, my benefactor, died. Then I could do more for you, if not with delicacy, at least with honor; but no! words, and looks, and tender offices of love were not enough, I must give stronger proof. Dear Camille, I have been reared in a strict school: and perhaps none of your sex can know what it cost me to go to Frejus that day with him I love.” “My own Josephine!” “I made but one condition: that you would not rob me of my mother’s respect: to her our hasty marriage would appear monstrous, heartless. You consented to be secretly happy for six months. One fortnight has passed, and you are discontented again.” “Oh, no! do not think so. It is every word true. I am an ungrateful villain.” “How dare you say so? and to me! No! but you are a man.” “So I have been told; but my conduct to you, sweet one, has not been that of a man from first to last. Yet I could die for you, with a smile on my lips. But when I think that once I lifted this sacrilegious hand against your life--oh!” “Do not be silly, Camille. I love you all the better for loving me well enough to kill me. What woman would not? I tell you, you foolish thing, you are a man: monseigneur is one of the lordly sex, that is accustomed to have everything its own way. My love, in a world that is full of misery, here are two that are condemned to be secretly happy a few months longer: a hard fate for one of your sex, it seems: but it is so much sweeter than the usual lot of mine, that really I cannot share your misery,” and she smiled joyously. “Then share my happiness, my dear wife.” “I do; only mine is deep, not loud.” “Why, Dard is gone, and we are out of doors; will the little birds betray us?” “The lower windows are open, and I saw Jacintha in one of the rooms.” “Jacintha? we are in awe of the very servants. Well, if I must not say it loud I will say it often,” and putting his mouth to her ear, he poured a burning whisper of love into it--“My love! my angel! my wife! my wife! my wife!” She turned her swimming eyes on him. “My husband!” she whispered in return. Rose came out, and found them billing and cooing. “You MUST not be so happy, you two,” said she authoritatively. “How can we help it?” asked Camille. “You must and shall help it, somehow,” retorted this little tyrant. “Mamma suspects. She has given me such a cross-examination, my blood runs cold. No, on second thoughts, kiss her again, and you may both be as happy as you like; for I am going to tell mamma all, and no power on earth shall hinder me.” “Rose,” said Camille, “you are a sensible girl; and I always said so.” But Josephine was horrified. “What! tell my mother that within a month of my husband’s death?”--