“It is cruel.  But to deceive my mother!”

“Do not say deceive our mother; that is such a shocking phrase.”

Rose then reminded Josephine that their confessor had told them a wise reticence was not the same thing as a moral deceit.  She reminded her, too, how often they had acted on his advice and always with good effect; how many anxieties and worries they had saved their mother by reticence.  Josephine assented warmly to this.

Was there not some reason to think they had saved their mother’s very life by these reticences?  Josephine assented.  “And, Josephine, you are of age; you are your own mistress; you have a right to marry whom you please:  and, sooner or later, you will certainly marry Camille.  I doubt whether even our mother could prevail on you to refuse him altogether.  So it is but a question of time, and of giving our mother pain, or sparing her pain.  Dear mamma is old; she is prejudiced.  Why shock her prejudices?  She could not be brought to understand the case:  these things never happened in her day.  Everything seems to have gone by rule then.  Let us do nothing to worry her for the short time she has to live.  Let us take a course between pain to her and cruelty to you and Camille.”

These arguments went far to convince Josephine:  for her own heart supported them.  She went from her solid objections to untenable ones—­a great point gained.  She urged the difficulty, the impossibility of a secret marriage.

Camille burst in here:  he undertook at once to overcome these imaginary difficulties.  “They could be married at a distance.”

“You will find no priest who will consent to do such a wicked thing as marry us without my mother’s knowledge,” objected Josephine.

“Oh! as to that,” said Rose, “you know the mayor marries people nowadays.”

“I will not be married again without a priest,” said Josephine, sharply.

“Nor I,” said Camille.  “I know a mayor who will do the civil forms for me, and a priest who will marry me in the sight of Heaven, and both will keep it secret for love of me till it shall please Josephine to throw off this disguise.”

“Who is the priest?” inquired Josephine, keenly.

“An old cure:  he lives near Frejus:  he was my tutor, and the mayor is the mayor of Frejus, also an old friend of mine.”

“But what on earth will you say to them?”

“That is my affair:  I must give them some reasons which compel me to keep my marriage secret.  Oh!  I shall have to tell them some fibs, of course.”

“There, I thought so!  I will not have you telling fibs; it lowers you.”

“Of course it does; but you can’t have secrecy without a fib or two.”

“Fibs that will injure no one,” said Rose, majestically.

From this day Camille began to act as well as to talk.  He bought a light caleche and a powerful horse, and elected factotum Dard his groom.  Camille rode over to Frejus and told a made-up story to the old cure and the mayor, and these his old friends believed every word he said, and readily promised their services and strict secrecy.