aid Josephine; then she
turned to Rose, "Is it possible you do not see Monsieur Raynal's strange
proposal in its true light? and you so shrewd in general. He has no
personal feeling whatever in this eccentric proceeding: he wants to make
us all happy, especially my mother, without seeming to lay us under too
great an obligation. Surely good-nature was never carried so far before;
ha, ha! Monsieur, I will encumber you with my friendship forever, if you
permit me, but farther than that I will not abuse your generosity."

"Now look here, mademoiselle," began Raynal bluntly, "I did start with
a good motive at first, that there's no denying. But, since I have been
every day in your company, and seen how good and kind you are to all
about you, I have turned selfish; and I say to myself, what a comfort
such a wife as you would be to a soldier! Why, only to have you to
write letters home to, would be worth half a fellow's pay. Do you know
sometimes when I see the fellows writing their letters it gives me a
knock here to think I have no one at all to write to."

Josephine sighed.

"So you see I am not so mighty disinterested. Now, mademoiselle, you
speak so charmingly, I can't tell what you mean: can't tell whether
you say 'no' because you could never like me, or whether it is out of
delicacy, and you only want pressing. So I say no more at present: it is
a standing offer. Take a day to consider. Take two if you like. I must
go to the barracks; good-day."

"Oh! this must be put an end to at once," said Rose.

"With all my heart," replied Josephine; "but how?"

"Come to our mother, and settle that," said the impetuous sister, and
nearly dragged the languid one into the drawing-room.

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 wi