To their surprise they found the baroness walking up and down the room with unusual alacrity for a person of her years. She no sooner caught sight of Josephine than she threw her arms open to her with joyful vivacity, and kissed her warmly. “My love, you have saved us. I am a happy old woman. If I had all France to pick from I could not have found a man so worthy of my Josephine. He is brave, he is handsome, he is young, he is a rising man, he is a good son, and good sons make good husbands--and--I shall die at Beaurepaire, shall I not, Madame the Commandante?” Josephine held her mother round the neck, but never spoke. After a silence she held her tighter, and cried a little. “What is it?” asked the baroness confidentially of Rose, but without showing any very profound concern. “Mamma! mamma! she does not love him.” “Love him? She would be no daughter of mine if she loved a man at sight. A modest woman loves her husband only.” “But she scarcely knows Monsieur Raynal.” “She knows more of him than I knew of your father when I married him. She knows his virtues and appreciates them. I have heard her, have I not, love? Esteem soon ripens into love when they are once fairly married.” “Mother, does her silence then tell you nothing? Her tears--are they nothing to you?” “Silly child! These are tears that do not scald. The sweet soul weeps because she now for the first time sees she will have to leave her mother. Alas! my eldest, it is inevitable. Mothers are not immortal. While they are here it is their duty to choose good husbands for their daughters. My youngest, I believe, has chosen for herself--like the nation. But for my eldest I choose. We shall see which chooses the best. Meantime we stay at Beaurepaire, thanks to my treasure here.” “Josephine! Josephine! you don’t say one word,” cried Rose in dismay. “What CAN I say? I love my mother and I love you. You draw me different ways. I want you to be both happy.” “Then if you will not speak out I must. Mother, do not deceive yourself: it is duty alone that keeps her silent: this match is odious to her.” “Then we are ruined. Josephine, is this match odious to you?” “Not exactly odious: but I am very, very indifferent.” “There!” cried Rose triumphantly. “There!” cried the baroness in the same breath, triumphantly. “She esteems his character; but his person is indifferent to her: in other words, she is a modest girl, and my daughter; and let me tell you, Rose, that but for the misfortunes of our house, both my daughters would be married as I was, without knowing half as much of their husbands as Josephine knows of this brave, honest, generous, filial gentleman.” “Well, then, since she will not speak out, I will. Pity me: I love her so. If this stranger, whom she does not love, takes her away from us, he will kill me. I shall die; oh!” Josephine left her mother and went to console Rose.