honest Sir John Burgoyne peeping out at the corner.  Kind and beneficent as she was, her temper deteriorated considerably, for it came down from angelic to human.  Rose and Jacintha were struck with the change, assented to everything she said, and encouraged her in everything it pleased her caprice to do.  Meantime the baroness lived on her son Raynal’s letters (they came regularly twice a month).  Rose too had a correspondence, a constant source of delight to her.  Edouard Riviere was posted at a distance, and could not visit her; but their love advanced rapidly.  Every day he wrote down for his Rose the acts of the day, and twice a week sent the budget to his sweetheart, and told her at the same time every feeling of his heart.  She was less fortunate than he; she had to carry a heavy secret; but still she found plenty to tell him, and tender feelings too to vent on him in her own arch, shy, fitful way.  Letters can enchain hearts; it was by letters that these two found themselves imperceptibly betrothed.  Their union was looked forward to as certain, and not very distant.  Rose was fairly in love.

One day, Dr. Aubertin, coming back from Paris to Beaurepaire rather suddenly, found nobody at home but the baroness.  Josephine and Rose were gone to Frejus; had been there more than a week.  She was ailing again; so as Frejus had agreed with her once, Rose thought it might again.  “She would send for them back directly.”

“No,” said the doctor, “why do that?  I will go over there and see them.”  Accordingly, a day or two after this, he hired a carriage, and went off early in the morning to Frejus.  In so small a place he expected to find the young ladies at once; but, to his surprise, no one knew them nor had heard of them.  He was at a nonplus, and just about to return home and laugh at himself and the baroness for this wild-goose chase, when he fell in with a face he knew, one Mivart, a surgeon, a young man of some talent, who had made his acquaintance in Paris.  Mivart accosted him with great respect; and, after the first compliments, informed him that he had been settled some months in this little town, and was doing a fair stroke of business.

“Killing some, and letting nature cure others, eh?” said the doctor; then, having had his joke, he told Mivart what had brought him to Frejus.

“Are they pretty women, your friends?  I think I know all the pretty women about,” said Mivart with levity.  “They are not pretty,” replied Aubertin.  Mivart’s interest in them faded visibly out of his countenance.  “But they are beautiful.  The elder might pass for Venus, and the younger for Hebe.”

“I know them then!” cried he; “they are patients of mine.”

The doctor colored.  “Ah, indeed!”

“In the absence of your greater skill,” said Mivart, politely; “it is Madame Aubertin and her sister you are looking for, is it not?”

Aubertin groaned.  “I am rather too old to be looking for a Madame Aubertin,” said he; “no; it is Madame Raynal, and Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire.”