This awkward, embarrassing delirium was interrupted by Josephine’s return. She now held another purse in her hand, and quietly poured the rest of the coin into it. She then, with a blush, requested him to take back the money. At that he found his tongue. “No, no,” he cried, and put up his hands in supplication. “Ladies, do let me speak ONE word to you. Do not reject my friendship. You are alone in the world; your father is dead; your mother has but you to lean on. After all, I am your neighbor, and neighbors should be friends. And I am your debtor; I owe you more than you could ever owe me; for ever since I came into this neighborhood I have been happy. No man was ever so happy as I, ever since one day I was walking, and met for the first time an angel. I don’t say it was you, Mademoiselle Rose. It might be Mademoiselle Josephine.” “How pat he has got our names,” said Rose, smiling. “A look from that angel has made me so good, so happy. I used to vegetate, but now I live. Live! I walk on wings, and tread on roses. Yet you insist on declining a few miserable louis d’or from him who owes you so much. Well, don’t be angry; I’ll take them back, and throw them into the nearest pond, for they are really no use to me. But then you will be generous in your turn. You will accept my devotion, my services. You have no brother, you know; well, I have no sisters; let me be your brother, and your servant forever.” At all this, delivered in as many little earnest pants as there were sentences, the water stood in the fair eyes he was looking into so piteously. Josephine was firm, but angelical. “We thank you, Monsieur Riviere,” said she, softly, “for showing us that the world is still embellished with hearts like yours. Here is the money;” and she held it out in her creamy hand. “But we are very grateful,” put in Rose, softly and earnestly. “That we are,” said Josephine, “and we beg to keep the purse as a souvenir of one who tried to do us a kindness without mortifying us. And now, Monsieur Riviere, you will permit us to bid you adieu.” Edouard was obliged to take the hint. “It is I who am the intruder,” said he. “Mesdemoiselles, conceive, if you can, my pride and my disappointment.” He then bowed low; they courtesied low to him in return; and he retired slowly in a state of mixed feeling indescribable. With all their sweetness and graciousness, he felt overpowered by their high breeding, their reserve, and their composure, in a situation that had set his heart beating itself nearly out of his bosom. He acted the scene over again, only much more adroitly, and concocted speeches for past use, and was very hot and very cold by turns. I wish he could have heard what passed between the sisters as soon as ever he was out of earshot. It would have opened his eyes, and given him a little peep into what certain writers call “the sex.” “Poor boy,” murmured Josephine, “he has gone away unhappy.”