g her own resolutions oozing away, Josephine caught at another
person.

She said to Camille before Rose,--

"Even if I could bring myself to snatch at happiness in this indelicate
way--scarce a month after, oh!" And there ended the lady's sentence.
In the absence of a legitimate full stop, she put one hand before her
lovely face to hide it, and so no more. But some two minutes after she
delivered the rest in the form and with the tone of a distinct remark,
"No: my mother would never consent."

"Yes, she would if you could be brought to implore her as earnestly as I
implore you."

"Now would she?" asked Josephine, turning quickly to her sister.

"No, never. Our mother would look with horror on such a proposal. A
daughter of hers to marry within a twelvemonth of her widowhood!"

"There, you see, Camille."

"And, besides, she loved Raynal so; she has not forgotten him as we
have, almost."

"Ungrateful creature that I am!" sighed Josephine!

"She mourns for him every day. Often I see her eyes suddenly fill; that
is for him. Josephine's influence with mamma is very great: it is double
mine: but if we all went on our knees to her, the doctor and all, she
would never consent."

"There you see, Camille: and I could not defy my mother, even for you."

Camille sighed.

"I see everything is against me, even my love: for that love is too much
akin to veneration to propose to you a clandestine marriage."

"Oh, thank you! bless you for respecting as well as loving me, dear
Camille," said Josephine.

These words, uttered with gentle warmth, were some consolation to
Camille, and confirmed him, as they were intended to do, in the above
good resolution. He smiled.

"Maladroit!" muttered Rose.

"Why maladroit?" asked Camille, opening his eyes.

"Let us talk of something else," replied Rose, coolly.

Camille turned red. He understood that he had done something very
stupid, but he could not conceive what. He looked from one sister to the
other alternately. Rose was smiling ironically, Josephine had her eyes
bent demurely on a handkerchief she was embroidering.

That evening Camille drew Rose aside, and asked for an explanation of
her "maladroit."

"So it was," replied Rose, sharply.

But as this did not make the matter quite clear, Camille begged a little
further explanation.

"Was it your part to make difficulties?"

"No, indeed."

"Was it for you to tell her a secret marriage would not be delicate?
Do you