“If you hoped that,” replied Rose in the same language, “you do not love your poor sister who so loves you.”

While the Italian was going on, Jacintha’s dark eyes glanced suspiciously on each speaker in turn.  But her suspicions were all wide of the mark.

“Now may I go and tell mamma?” asked Rose.

“No, mademoiselle, you shall not,” said Jacintha.  “Madame Raynal, do take my side, and forbid her.”

“Why, what is it to you?” said Rose, haughtily.

“If it was not something to me, should I thwart my dear young lady?”

“No.  And you shall have your own way, if you will but condescend to give me a reason.”

This to some of us might appear reasonable, but not to Jacintha:  it even hurt her feelings.

“Mademoiselle Rose,” she said, “when you were little and used to ask me for anything, did I ever say to you, ’Give me a reason first’?”

“There! she is right,” said Josephine.  “We should not make terms with tried friends.  Come, we will pay her devotion this compliment.  It is such a small favor.  For my part I feel obliged to her for asking it.”

Josephine’s health improved steadily from that day.  Her hollow cheeks recovered their plump smoothness, and her beauty its bloom, and her person grew more noble and statue-like than ever, and within she felt a sense of indomitable vitality.  Her appetite had for some time been excessively feeble and uncertain, and her food tasteless; but of late, by what she conceived to be a reaction such as is common after youth has shaken off a long sickness, her appetite had been not only healthy but eager.  The baroness observed this, and it relieved her of a large portion of her anxiety.  One day at dinner her maternal heart was so pleased with Josephine’s performance that she took it as a personal favor, “Well done, Josephine,” said she; “that gives your mother pleasure to see you eat again.  Soup and bouillon:  and now twice you have been to Rose for some of that pate, which does you so much credit, Jacintha.”

Josephine colored high at this compliment.

“It is true,” said she, “I eat like a pig;” and, with a furtive glance at the said pate, she laid down her knife and fork, and ate no more of anything.  The baroness had now a droll misgiving.

“The doctor will be angry with me,” said she:  “he will find her as well as ever.”

“Madame,” said Jacintha hastily, “when does the doctor come, if I may make so bold, that I may get his room ready, you know?”

“Well thought of, Jacintha.  He comes the day after to-morrow, in the afternoon.”

At night when the young ladies went up to bed, what did they find but a little cloth laid on a little table in Josephine’s room, and the remains of the pate she had liked.  Rose burst out laughing.  “Look at that dear duck of a goose, Jacintha!  Our mother’s flattery sank deep:  she thinks we can eat her pates at all hours of the day and night.  Shall I send it away?”