mission to fix his quarters in the little village
near Beaurepaire, and though this plan could not be carried out for
three months, yet the prospect of it was joyful all that time--joyful to
both lovers. Rose needed this consolation, for she was very unhappy: her
beloved sister, since their return from Frejus, had gone back. The flush
of health was faded, and so was her late energy. She fell into
deep depression and languor, broken occasionally by fits of nervous
irritation.

She would sit for hours together at one window languishing and fretting.
Can the female reader guess which way that window looked?

Now, Edouard was a favorite of Josephine's; so Rose hoped he would help
to distract her attention from those sorrows which a lapse of years
alone could cure.

On every account, then, his visit was looked forward to with hope and
joy.

He came. He was received with open arms. He took up his quarters at
his old lodgings, but spent his evenings and every leisure hour at the
chateau.

He was very much in love, and showed it. He adhered to Rose like a
leech, and followed her about like a little dog.

This would have made her very happy if there had been nothing great to
distract her attention and her heart; but she had Josephine, whose deep
depression and fits of irritation and terror filled her with anxiety;
and so Edouard was in the way now and then. On these occasions he was
too vain to see what she was too polite to show him offensively.

But on this she became vexed at his obtuseness.

"Does he think I can be always at his beck and call?" thought she.

"She is always after her sister," said he.

He was just beginning to be jealous of Josephine when the following
incident occurred:--

Rose and the doctor were discussing Josephine. Edouard pretended to be
reading a book, but he listened to every word.

Dr. Aubertin gave it as his opinion that Madame Raynal did not make
enough blood.

"Oh! if I thought that!" cried Rose.

"Well, then, it is so, I assure you."

"Doctor," said Rose, "do you remember, one day you said healthy blood
could be drawn from robust veins and poured into a sick person's?"

"It is a well-known fact," said Aubertin.

"I don't believe it," said Rose, dryly.

"Then you place a very narrow limit to science," said the doctor,
coldly.

"Did you ever see it done?" asked Rose, slyly.

"I have not only seen it done, but have done it myself."

"Then do it for us. There's my arm; tak