“Ah!”

“I crossed the frontier in the night, and got to Bayonne; and thence, day and night, to Paris.  There I met a reward for all my anguish.  They gave me the epaulets of a colonel.  See, here they are.  France does not give these to traitors, young lady.”  He held them out to her in both hands.  She eyed them half stupidly; all her thoughts were on the oak-tree hard by.  She began to shudder.  Camille was telling the truth.  She felt that; she saw it; and Josephine was hearing it.  “Ay! look at them, you naughty girl,” said Camille, trying to be jocose over it all with his poor trembling lip.  He went on to say that from the moment he had left dark Spain, and entered fair France everybody was so kind, so sympathizing.  “They felt for the poor worn soldier coming back to his love.  All but you, Rose.  You told me I was a traitor to her and to France.”

“I was told so,” said Rose, faintly.  She was almost at her wits’ end what to say or do.

“Well, are you sorry or not sorry for saying such a cruel thing to a poor fellow?”

“Sorry, very sorry,” whispered Rose.  She could not persist in injustice, yet she did not want Josephine to hear.

“Then say no more about it; there’s my hand.  You are not a soldier, and did not know what you were talking about.”

“I am very sorry I spoke so harshly to you.  But you understand.  How you look; how you pant.”

“There, I will show you I forgive you.  These epaulets, dear, I have never put them on.  I said, no; Josephine shall put them on for me.  I will take honor as well as happiness from her dear hand.  But you are her sister, and what are epaulets compared with what she will give me?  You shall put them on, dear.  Come, then you will be sure I bear no malice.”

Rose, faint at heart, consented in silence, and fastened on the epaulets.  “Yes, Camille!” she cried, with sudden terror, “think of glory, now; nothing but glory.”

“No one thinks of it more.  But to-day how can I think of it, how can I give her a rival?  To-day I am all love.  Rose, no man ever loved a human creature as I love Josephine.  Your mother is well, dear?  All are well at Beaurepaire?  Oh, where is she all this time? in the house?” He was moving quickly towards the house; but Rose instinctively put out her hand to stop him.  He recoiled a little and winced.

“What is the matter?” cried she.

“Nothing, dear girl; you put your hand on my wound, that is all.  What is that noise in the tree?  Anybody listening to us?”

“I’ll see,” said Rose, with all a woman’s wit, and whipped hastily round to hinder Camille from going.  She found Josephine white as death, apparently fainting, and clutching at the tree convulsively with her nails.  Such was the intensity of the situation that she left her beloved sister in that piteous state, and even hoped she would faint dead away, and so hear no more.  She came back white, and told Camille it was only a bird got into the tree.  “And to think you should be wounded,” said she, to divert his attention from the tree.