aurepaire, but he has always farmed it himself. 'I'll have no
go-between,' says he, 'to impoverish both self and soil.' He is also a
bit of a misanthrope, and has made me one. I have a very poor opinion of
my fellow-creatures, very."

"Well, but," said Rose, "if he is all that, he will not sympathize with
us, who have so mismanaged Beaurepaire. Will he not despise us?"

Edouard was a little staggered, but Aubertin came to his aid.

"Permit me, Josephine," said he. "Natural history steps in here, and
teaches by me, its mouth-piece. A misanthrope hates all mankind, but is
kind to every individual, generally too kind. A philanthrope loves the
whole human race, but dislikes his wife, his mother, his brother, and
his friends and acquaintances. Misanthrope is the potato: rough and
repulsive outside, but good to the core. Philanthrope is a peach: his
manner all velvet and bloom, his words sweet juice, his heart of hearts
a stone. Let me read Philanthrope's book, and fall into the hands of
Misanthrope."

Edouard admitted the shrewdness of this remark.

"And so," said he, "my misanthrope will say plenty of biting
words,--which, by-the-by, will not hurt you, who will not hear them,
only me,--and then he'll lend us the money, and Beaurepaire will be
free, and I shall have had a hand in it. Hurrah!"

Then came a delicious hour to Edouard Riviere. Young and old poured out
their glowing thanks and praises upon him till his checks burned like
fire.

The baroness was especially grateful, and expressed a gentle regret that
she could see no way of showing her gratitude except in words. "What can
we do for this little angel?" said she, turning to Josephine.

"Leave that to me, mamma," replied Josephine, turning her lovely eyes
full on Edouard, with a look the baroness misunderstood directly.

She sat and watched Josephine and Edouard with comical severity all the
rest of the time she was there; and, when she retired, she kissed Rose
affectionately, but whispered her eldest daughter, "I hope you are not
serious. A mere boy compared with you."

"But such a sweet one," suggested Josephine, apologetically.

"What will the world come to?" said the baroness out loud, and retreated
with a sour glance at all of them--except Rose.

She had not been gone five minutes when a letter came by messenger to
Edouard. It was from Picard. He read it out.

"Perrin has been with me, to raise money. He wants it in forty-eight
hours. Promises g