do not deny it, Rose; there was a time you loved
me. And that makes it worse: to have given me such sweet hopes, only to
crush both them and me. And is not this cruel of you to weep so and let
me see your penitence--when it is too late?"

"Alas! how can I help my regrets? I have insulted so good a friend."

There was a sad silence. Then as he looked at her, her looks belied the
charge her own lips had made against herself.

A light seemed to burst on Edouard from that high-minded,
sorrow-stricken face.

"Tell me it is false!" he cried.

She hid her face in her hands--woman's instinct to avoid being read.

"Tell me you were misled then, fascinated, perverted, but that your
heart returned to me. Clear yourself of deliberate deceit, and I will
believe and thank you on my knees."

"Heaven have pity on us both!" cried poor Rose.

"On us! Thank you for saying on us. See now, you have not gained
happiness by destroying mine. One word--do you love that man?--that
Dujardin?"

"You know I do not."

"I am glad of that; since his life is forfeited; if he escapes my friend
Raynal, he shall not escape me."

Rose uttered a cry of terror. "Hush! not so loud. The life of Camille!
Oh! if he were to die, what would become of--oh, pray do not speak so
loud."

"Own then that you DO love him," yelled Edouard; "give me truth, if you
have no love to give. Own that you love him, and he shall be safe. It is
myself I will kill, for being such a slave as to love you still."

Rose's fortitude gave way.

"I cannot bear it," she cried despairingly; "it is beyond my strength;
Edouard, swear to me you will keep what I tell you secret as the grave!"

"Ah!" cried Edouard, all radiant with hope, "I swear."

"Then you are under a delirium. I have deceived, but never wronged you;
that unhappy child is not--Hush! HERE SHE COMES."

The baroness came smiling out, and Josephine's wan, anxious face was
seen behind her.

"Well," said the baroness, "is the war at an end? What, are we still
silent? Let me try then what I can do. Edouard, lend me your hand."

While Edouard hesitated, Josephine clasped her hands and mutely
supplicated him to consent. Her sad face, and the thought of how often
she had stood his friend, shook his resolution. He held out his hand,
but slowly and reluctantly.

"There is my hand," he groaned.

"And here is mine, mamma," said Rose, smiling to please her mother.

Oh! the mixture of feeling, when her soft warm pa