But Josephine stood fascinated, and pale as ashes; for now the cocked hat stopped, and a pale face with eyes whose eager fire shone even at that distance, rose above the palings.  Josephine crouched behind Rose, and gasped out, “Something terrible is coming, terrible! terrible!”

“Say something hateful,” said Rose, trembling in her turn, but only with anger.  “The heartless selfish traitor!  He never notices you till you are married to the noblest of mankind; and then he comes here directly to ruin your peace.  No; I have altered my mind.  He shall not see you, of course; but you shall hear him.  I’ll soon make you know the wretch and loathe him as I do.  There, now he has turned the corner; hide in the oak while he is out of sight.  Hide, quick, quick.”  Josephine obeyed mechanically; and presently, through that very aperture whence her sister had smiled on her lover she hissed out, in a tone of which one would not have thought her capable, “Be wise, be shrewd; find out who is the woman that has seduced him from me, and has brought two wretches to this.  I tell you it is some wicked woman’s doing.  He loved me once.”

“Not so loud!—­one word:  you are a wife.  Swear to me you will not let him see you, come what may.”

“Oh! never! never!” cried Josephine with terror.  “I would rather die.  When you have heard what he has to say, then tell him I am dead.  No, tell him I adore my husband, and went to Egypt this day with him.  Ah! would to God I had!”

“Sh! sh!”

“Sh!”

Camille was at the little gate.

Rose stood still, and nerved herself in silence.  Josephine panted in her hiding-place.

Rose’s only thought now was to expose the traitor to her sister, and restore her peace.  She pretended not to see Camille till he was near her.  He came eagerly towards her, his pale face flushing with great joy, and his eyes like diamonds.

“Josephine!  It is not Josephine, after all,” said he.  “Why, this must be Rose, little Rose, grown up to a fine lady, a beautiful lady.”

“What do you come here for, sir?” asked Rose in a tone of icy indifference.

“What do I come here for? is that the way to speak to me? but I am too happy to mind.  Dear Beaurepaire! do I see you once again!”

“And madame?”

“What madame?”

“Madame Dujardin that is or was to be.”

“This is the first I have ever heard of her,” said Camille, gayly.

“This is odd, for we have heard all about it.”

“Are you jesting?”

“No.”

“If I understand you right, you imply that I have broken faith with Josephine?”

“Certainly.”

“Then you lie, Mademoiselle Rose de Beaurepaire.”

“Insolent!”

“No.  It is you who have insulted your sister as well as me.  She was not made to be deserted for meaner women.  Come, mademoiselle, affront me, and me alone, and you shall find me more patient.  Oh! who would have thought Beaurepaire would receive me thus?”