Josephine winced and held up her hand deprecatingly.  The baroness paled:  it was a terrible stroke of language to come from her daughter.  She said sternly, “There is no answer to that.  We were born nobles, let us die farmers:  only permit me to die first.”

“Forgive me, mother,” said Rose, kneeling.  “I was wrong; it is for me to obey you, not to dictate.  I speak no more.”  And, after kissing her mother and Josephine, she crept away, but she left her words sticking in both their consciences.

“His uncle,” said the shrewd old lady.  “She is no longer a child; and she says his uncle.  This makes me half suspect it is her that dear boy—­Josephine, tell me the truth, which of you is it?”

“Dear mother, who should it be? they are nearly of an age:  and what man would not love our sweet Rose, that had eyes or a heart?”

The baroness sighed deeply; and was silent.  After awhile she said, “The moment they have a lover, he detaches their hearts from their poor old mother.  She is no longer what my Josephine is to me.”

“Mamma, she is my superior.  I see it more and more every day.  She is proud:  she is just; she looks at both sides.  As for me, I am too apt to see only what will please those I love.”

“And that is the daughter for me,” cried the poor baroness, opening her arms wide to her.

The next morning when they were at breakfast, in came Jacintha to say the officer was in the dining-room and wanted to speak with the young lady he talked to yesterday.  Josephine rose and went to him.  “Well, mademoiselle,” said he gayly, “the old woman was right.  Here I have just got my orders to march:  to leave France in a month.  A pretty business it would have been if I had turned your mother out.  So you see there is nothing to hinder you from living here.”

“In your house, sir?”

“Why not, pray?”

“Forgive us.  But we feel that would be unjust to you, humiliating to us:  the poor are sometimes proud.”

“Of course they are,” said Raynal:  “and I don’t want to offend your pride.  Confound the house:  why did I go and buy it?  It is no use to me except to give pain to worthy people.”  He then, after a moment’s reflection, asked her if the matter could not be arranged by some third party, a mutual friend.  “Then again,” said he, “I don’t know any friend of yours.”

“Yes, sir,” said Josephine; “we have one friend, who knows you, and esteems you highly.”

She wanted to name Edouard; but she hesitated, and asked her conscience if it was fair to name him:  and while she blushed and hesitated, lo and behold a rival referee hove in sight.  Raynal saw him, suddenly opened a window, and shouted, “Hallo come in here:  you are wanted.”

Perrin had ridden up to complete the exodus of the De Beaurepaires, and was strolling about inspecting the premises he had expelled them from.

Here was a pretty referee!