whatever friendly feeling you have for me."

"Am I so changeable? I am not considered so," remonstrated Rose, gently.

Riviere explained; "I am not vain," said he, with that self-knowledge
which is so general an attribute of human beings; "no man less so, nor
am I jealous; but I respect myself, and I could never be content to
share your time and your regard with Colonel Dujardin, nor with a much
better man. See now; he has made me arrogant. Was I ever so before?"

"No! no! no! and I forgive you now, my poor Edouard."

"He has made you cold as ice to me."

"No! that was my own wickedness and spitefulness."

"Wickedness, spitefulness! they are not in your nature. It is all that
wretch's doing."

Rose sighed, but she said nothing; for she saw that to excuse Camille
would only make the jealous one more bitter against him.

"Will you deign to write to me at my new post? once a month? in answer
to my letters?"

"Yes, dear. But you will ride over sometimes to see us."

"Oh, yes; but for some little time I shall not be able. The duties of a
new post."

"Perhaps in a month--a fortnight?"

"Sooner perhaps; the moment I hear that man is out of the house."

Edouard went away, dogged and sad; Rose shut herself up in her room and
had a good cry. In the afternoon Josephine came and remonstrated with
her. "You have not walked with him at all to-day."

"No; you must pet him yourself for once. I hate the sight of him; it
has made mischief between Edouard and me, my being so attentive to him.
Edouard is jealous, and I cannot wonder. After all, what right have I to
mystify him who honors me with his affection?"

Then, being pressed with questions by Josephine, she related to her all
that had passed between Edouard and her, word for word.

"Poor Camille!" sighed Josephine the just.

"Oh, dear, yes! poor Camille! who has the power to make us all
miserable, and who does it, and will go on doing it until he is happy
himself."

"Ah! would to Heaven I could make him as happy as he deserves to be."

"You could easily make him much happier than that. And why not do it?"

"O Rose," said Josephine, shocked, "how can you advise me so?"

She then asked her if she thought it possible that Camille could be
ignorant of her heart.

"Josephine," replied Rose, angrily, "these men are absurd: they believe
only what they see. I have done what I can for you and Camille, but it
is useless. Would you have him believe you love him, you