then darted down on the child; and the young noble
kissed the beggar's brat as if she would eat it.

This won the mother's heart more than even the gifts.

"Blessings on you, my lady!" she cried. "I pray the Lord not to forget
this when a woman's trouble comes on you in your turn! It is a small
child, mademoiselle, but it is not an unhealthy one. See." Inspection
was offered, and eagerly accepted.

Edouard stood looking on at some distance in amazement, mingled with
disgust.

"Ugh!" said he, when she rejoined him, "how could you kiss that nasty
little brat?"

"Dear Edouard, don't speak so of a poor little innocent. Who would pity
them if we women did not? It had lovely eyes."

"Like saucers."

"Yes."

"It is no compliment when you are affectionate to anybody; you overflow
with benevolence on all creation, like the rose which sheds its perfume
on the first-comer."

"If he is not going to be jealous of me next," whined Josephine.

She took him to Rose, and she said, "There, whenever good friends
quarrel, it is understood they were both in the wrong. Bygones are to be
bygones; and when your time comes round to quarrel again, please consult
me first, since it is me you will afflict." She left them together, and
went and tapped timidly at the doctor's study.

Aubertin received her with none of that reserve she had seen in him. He
appeared both surprised and pleased at her visit to his little sanctum.
He even showed an emotion Josephine was at a loss to account for. But
that wore off during the conversation, and, indeed, gave place to a sort
of coldness.

"Dear friend," said she, "I come to consult you about Rose and Edouard."
She then told him what had happened, and hinted at Edouard's one fault.
The doctor smiled. "It is curious. You have come to draw my attention to
a point on which it has been fixed for some days past. I am preparing a
cure for the two young fools; a severe remedy, but in their case a sure
one."

He then showed her a deed, wherein he had settled sixty thousand francs
on Rose and her children. "Edouard," said he, "has a good place. He is
active and rising, and with my sixty thousand francs, and a little purse
of ten thousand more for furniture and nonsense, they can marry next
week, if they like. Yes, marriage is a sovereign medicine for both of
these patients. She does not love him quite enough. Cure: marriage. He
loves her a little too much. Cure: marriage."

"O doctor!"

"Can't help