He hesitated a single moment:  a moment of intense anxiety to the smiling Josephine.

“Yes! he would come:  it was a great temptation, he saw so little of her.”

“Well, you will see more of me now.”

“Shall I see you every day—­alone, I mean?”

“Oh, yes, if you wish it,” replied Josephine, in an off-hand, indifferent way.

He seized her hand and devoured it with kisses.  “Foolish thing!” murmured she, looking down on him with ineffable tenderness.  “Should I not be always with you if I consulted my inclination?—­let me go.”

“No! consult your inclination a little longer.”

“Must I?”

“Yes; that shall be your punishment.”

“For what?  What have I done?” asked she with an air of great innocence.

“You have made me happy, me who adore you,” was the evasive reply.

Josephine came in from her walk with a high color and beaming eyes, and screamed, “Run, Rose!”

On this concise, and to us not very clear instruction, Rose slipped up the secret stair.  She saw Camille come in and gravely unpack his little portmanteau, and dispose his things in the drawers with soldier-like neatness, and hum an agreeable march.  She came and told Josephine.

“Ah!” said Josephine with a little sigh of pleasure, and a gentle triumph in her eyes.

She had not only got her desire, but had arrived at it her way,—­woman’s way, round about.

This adroit benevolence led to more than she bargained for.  She and Camille were now together every day:  and their hearts, being under restraint in public, melted together all the more in their stolen interviews.

At the third delicious interview the modest Camille begged Josephine to be his wife directly.

Have you noticed those half tame deer that come up to you in a park so lovingly, with great tender eyes, and, being now almost within reach, stop short, and with bodies fixed like statues on pedestals, crane out their graceful necks for sugar, or bread, or a chestnut, or a pocket-handkerchief?  Do but offer to put your hand upon them, away they bound that moment twenty yards, and then stand quite still, and look at your hand and you, with great inquiring, suspicious, tender eyes.

So Josephine started at Camille’s audacious proposal.  “Never mention such a thing to me again:  or—­or, I will not walk with you any more:”  then she thrilled with pleasure at the obnoxious idea, “she Camille’s wife!” and colored all over—­with rage, Camille thought.  He promised submissively not to renew the topic:  no more he did till next day.  Josephine had spent nearly the whole interval in thinking of it; so she was prepared to put him down by calm reasons.  She proceeded to do so, gently, but firmly.

Lo and behold! what does he do, but meets her with just as many reasons, and just as calm ones:  and urges them gently, but firmly.

Heaven had been very kind to them:  why should they be unkind to themselves?  They had had a great escape:  why not accept the happiness, as, being persons of honor, they had accepted the misery? with many other arguments, differing in other things, but agreeing in this, that they were all sober, grave, and full of common-sense.