ing. "Josephine," said
he after a pause, and a little peevishly, "how much longer are we to
lower our voices, and turn away our eyes from each other, and be ashamed
of our happiness?"

"Five months longer, is it not?" answered Josephine quietly.

"Five months longer!"

Josephine was hurt at this, and for once was betrayed into a serious and
merited remonstrance.

"Is this just?" said she. "Think of two months ago: yes, but two months
ago, you were dying. You doubted my love, because it could not overcome
my virtue and my gratitude: yet you might have seen it was destroying my
life. Poor Raynal, my husband, my benefactor, died. Then I could do more
for you, if not with delicacy, at least with honor; but no! words, and
looks, and tender offices of love were not enough, I must give stronger
proof. Dear Camille, I have been reared in a strict school: and perhaps
none of your sex can know what it cost me to go to Frejus that day with
him I love."

"My own Josephine!"

"I made but one condition: that you would not rob me of my mother's
respect: to her our hasty marriage would appear monstrous, heartless.
You consented to be secretly happy for six months. One fortnight has
passed, and you are discontented again."

"Oh, no! do not think so. It is every word true. I am an ungrateful
villain."

"How dare you say so? and to me! No! but you are a man."

"So I have been told; but my conduct to you, sweet one, has not been
that of a man from first to last. Yet I could die for you, with a smile
on my lips. But when I think that once I lifted this sacrilegious hand
against your life--oh!"

"Do not be silly, Camille. I love you all the better for loving me well
enough to kill me. What woman would not? I tell you, you foolish thing,
you are a man: monseigneur is one of the lordly sex, that is accustomed
to have everything its own way. My love, in a world that is full of
misery, here are two that are condemned to be secretly happy a few
months longer: a hard fate for one of your sex, it seems: but it is so
much sweeter than the usual lot of mine, that really I cannot share your
misery," and she smiled joyously.

"Then share my happiness, my dear wife."

"I do; only mine is deep, not loud."

"Why, Dard is gone, and we are out of doors; will the little birds
betray us?"

"The lower windows are open, and I saw Jacintha in one of the rooms."

"Jacintha? we are in awe of the very servants. Well, if I must not
say it loud I