Perrin had replied at first in a few civil lines; but his present letter was a long and friendly one.  It made both the daughters of Beaurepaire shudder at the peril they had so narrowly escaped.  For by it they now learned for the first time that one Jaques Bonard, a small farmer, to whom they owed but five thousand francs, had gone to the mayor and insisted, as he had a perfect right, on the estate being put up to public auction.  This had come to Perrin’s ears just in time, and he had instantly bought Bonard’s debt, and stopped the auction; not, however, before the very bills were printed; for which he, Perrin, had paid, and now forwarded the receipt.  He concluded by saying that the government agent was personally inert, and would never move a step in the matter unless driven by a creditor.

“But we have so many,” said Rose in dismay.  “We are not safe a day.”

Aubertin assured her the danger was only in appearance.  “Your large creditors are men of property, and such men let their funds lie unless compelled to move them.  The small mortgagee, the petty miser, who has, perhaps, no investment to watch but one small loan, about which he is as anxious and as noisy as a hen with one chicken, he is the clamorous creditor, the harsh little egoist, who for fear of risking a crown piece would bring the Garden of Eden to the hammer.  Now we are rid of that little wretch, Bonard, and have Perrin on our side; so there is literally nothing to fear.”

The sisters thanked him warmly, and Rose shared his hopes; and said so; but Josephine was silent and thoughtful.  Nothing more worth recording passed that night.  But the next day was the first of May, Josephine’s birthday.

Now they always celebrated this day as well as they could; and used to plant a tree, for one thing.  Dard, well spurred by Jacintha, had got a little acacia; and they were all out in the Pleasaunce to plant it.  Unhappily, they were a preposterous time making up their feminine minds where to have it set; so Dard turned rusty and said the park was the best place for it.  There it could do no harm, stick it where you would.

“And who told you to put in your word?” inquired Jacintha.  “You’re here to dig the hole where mademoiselle chooses; not to argufy.”

Josephine whispered Rose, “I admire the energy of her character.  Could she be induced to order once for all where the poor thing is to be planted?”

“Then where will you have it, mademoiselle?” asked Dard, sulkily.

“Here, I think, Dard,” said Josephine sweetly.

Dard grinned malignantly, and drove in his spade.  “It will never be much bigger than a stinging nettle,” thought he, “for the roots of the oak have sucked every atom of heart out of this.”  His black soul exulted secretly.

Jacintha stood by Dard, inspecting his work; the sisters intertwined, a few feet from him.  The baroness turned aside, and went to look for a moment at the chaplet she had placed yesterday on the oak-tree bough.  Presently she uttered a slight ejaculation; and her daughters looked up directly.