Mivart became confidential.  “Madame Aubertin and her sister,” said he, “are so lovely they make me ill to look at them:  the deepest blue eyes you ever saw, both of them; high foreheads; teeth like ivory mixed with pearl; such aristocratic feet and hands; and their arms—­oh!” and by way of general summary the young surgeon kissed the tips of his fingers, and was silent; language succumbed under the theme.  The doctor smiled coldly.

Mivart added, “If you had come an hour sooner, you might have seen Mademoiselle Rose; she was in the town.”

“Mademoiselle Rose? who is that?”

“Why, Madame Aubertin’s sister.”

At this Dr. Aubertin looked first very puzzled, then very grave.

“Hum!” said he, after a little reflection, “where do these paragons live?”

“They lodge at a small farm; it belongs to a widow; her name is Roth.”  They parted.  Dr. Aubertin walked slowly towards his carriage, his hands behind him, his eyes on the ground.  He bade the driver inquire where the Widow Roth lived, and learned it was about half a league out of the town.  He drove to the farmhouse; when the carriage drove up, a young lady looked out of the window on the first floor.  It was Rose de Beaurepaire.  She caught the doctor’s eye, and he hers.  She came down and welcomed him with a great appearance of cordiality, and asked him, with a smile, how he found them out.

“From your medical attendant,” said the doctor, dryly.

Rose looked keenly in his face.

“He said he was in attendance on two paragons of beauty, blue eyes, white teeth and arms.”

“And you found us out by that?” inquired Rose, looking still more keenly at him.

“Hardly; but it was my last chance of finding you, so I came.  Where is Madame Raynal?”

“Come into this room, dear friend.  I will go and find her.”

Full twenty minutes was the doctor kept waiting, and then in came Rose, gayly crying, “I have hunted her high and low, and where do you think my lady was? sitting out in the garden—­come.”

Sure enough, they found Josephine in the garden, seated on a low chair.  She smiled when the doctor came up to her, and asked after her mother.  There was an air of languor about her; her color was clear, delicate, and beautiful.

“You have been unwell, my child.”

“A little, dear friend; you know me; always ailing, and tormenting those I love.”

“Well! but, Josephine, you know this place and this sweet air always set you up.  Look at her now, doctor; did you ever see her look better?  See what a color.  I never saw her look more lovely.”

“I never saw her look so lovely; but I have seen her look better.  Your pulse.  A little languid?”

“Yes, I am a little.”

“Do you stay at Beaurepaire?” inquired Rose; “if so, we will come home.”

“On the contrary, you will stay here another fortnight,” said the doctor, authoritatively.