the prospect of
amusement it afforded her.

And I think I have many readers who at this moment are awaiting unmixed
enjoyment and hilarity from the same source.

I wish them joy of their prospect.

Edouard called the next day: he wore a gloomy air. Rose met this with
a particularly cheerful one; on this, Edouard's face cleared up, and
he was himself again; agreeable as this was, Rose felt a little
disappointed. "I am afraid he is not very jealous after all," thought
she.

Josephine left her room this day and mingled once more with the family.
The bare sight of her was enough for Camille at first, but after awhile
he wanted more. He wanted to be often alone with her; but several causes
co-operated to make her shy of giving him many such opportunities:
first, her natural delicacy, coupled with her habit of self-denial; then
her fear of shocking her mother, and lastly her fear of her own heart,
and of Camille, whose power over her she knew. For Camille, when he did
get a sweet word alone with her, seemed to forget everything except that
she was his betrothed, and that he had come back alive to marry her.
He spoke to her of his love with an ardor and an urgency that made her
thrill with happiness, but at the same time shrink with a certain fear
and self-reproach. Possessed with a feeling no stronger than hers, but
single, he did not comprehend the tumult, the trouble, the daily contest
in her heart. The wind seemed to him to be always changing, and hot and
cold the same hour. Since he did not even see that she was acting in
hourly fear of her mother's eye, he was little likely to penetrate
her more hidden sentiments; and then he had not touched her
key-note,--self-denial.

Women are self-denying and uncandid. Men are self-indulgent and
outspoken.

And this is the key to a thousand double misunderstandings; for believe
me, good women are just as stupid in misunderstanding men as honest men
are in misunderstanding women.

To Camille, Josephine's fluctuations, joys, tremors, love, terror,
modesty, seemed one grand total, caprice. The component parts of it he
saw not; and her caprice tortured him almost to madness. Too penitent
to give way again to violent passion, he gently fretted. His health
retrograded and his temper began to sour. The eye of timid love that
watched him with maternal anxiety from under its long lashes saw this
with dismay, and Rose, who looked into her sister's bosom, devoted
herself once more to