Josephine shook her head with a sad smile:  but Rose delivered herself thus, after a sob, “La, yes; I forgot:  we have got a gentleman now; that’s one comfort.”

Edouard rose to the situation:  he saw that Perrin would lose no time; and that every day, or even hour, might be precious.  He told them that the first thing he must do for them was to leave the company he loved best on earth, and run down to the town to consult Picard the rival notary:  he would be back by supper-time, when he hoped they would do him the honor, in a matter of such importance, to admit him to a family council.

Josephine assented with perfect simplicity; Rose with a deep blush, for she was too quick not to see all the consequences of admitting so brisk a wooer into a family council.

It was a wet evening, and a sad and silent party sat round a wood fire in the great dining-hall.  The baroness was almost prostrated by the scene with Perrin; and a sombre melancholy and foreboding weighed on all their spirits, when presently Edouard Riviere entered briskly, and saluted them all profoundly, and opened the proceedings with a little favorite pomposity.  “Madame the baroness, and you Monsieur Aubertin, who honor me with your esteem, and you Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire, whom I adore, and you Mademoiselle Rose, whom I hoped to be permitted—­you have this day done me the honor to admit me as your adviser.  I am here to lay my plans before you.  I believe, madame, I have already convinced you that your farms are under-let, and your property lowered in value by general mismanagement; this was doubtless known to Perrin, and set him scheming.  Well, I rely on the same circumstance to defeat him.  I have consulted Picard and shown him the rent-roll and balance-sheet I had already shown you.  He has confessed that the estate is worth more than its debts, so capitalists can safely advance the money.  To-morrow morning, then, I ride to Commandant Raynal for a week’s leave of absence; then, armed with Picard’s certificate, shall proceed to my uncle and ask him to lend the money.  His estate is very small compared with Beaurepaire, but he has always farmed it himself.  ’I’ll have no go-between,’ says he, ‘to impoverish both self and soil.’  He is also a bit of a misanthrope, and has made me one.  I have a very poor opinion of my fellow-creatures, very.”

“Well, but,” said Rose, “if he is all that, he will not sympathize with us, who have so mismanaged Beaurepaire.  Will he not despise us?”

Edouard was a little staggered, but Aubertin came to his aid.

“Permit me, Josephine,” said he.  “Natural history steps in here, and teaches by me, its mouth-piece.  A misanthrope hates all mankind, but is kind to every individual, generally too kind.  A philanthrope loves the whole human race, but dislikes his wife, his mother, his brother, and his friends and acquaintances.  Misanthrope is the potato:  rough and repulsive outside, but good to the core.  Philanthrope is a peach:  his manner all velvet and bloom, his words sweet juice, his heart of hearts a stone.  Let me read Philanthrope’s book, and fall into the hands of Misanthrope.”