“I will visit him one of these days,” said Josephine, coldly.

“One of these days,” said the baroness, shocked.  “You used not to be so hard-hearted.  A soldier, an old comrade of your husband’s, wounded and sick, and you alone never go to him, to console him with a word of sympathy or encouragement.”

Josephine looked at her mother with a sort of incredulous stare.  Then, after a struggle, she replied with a tone and manner so spiteful and icy that it would have deceived even us who know her had we heard it.  “He has plenty of nurses without me.”  She added, almost violently, “My husband, if he were wounded, would not have so many, perhaps not have one.”

With this she rose and went out, leaving them aghast.  She sat down in the passage on a window-seat, and laughed hysterically.  Rose heard her and ran to her.  Josephine told her what her mother had said to her.  Rose soothed her.  “Never mind, you have your sister who understands you:  don’t you go back till they have got some other topic.”

Rose out of curiosity went in, and found a discussion going on.  The doctor was fathoming Josephine, for the benefit of his companion.

“It is a female jealousy, and of a mighty innocent kind.  We are so taken up with this poor fellow, she thinks her soldier is forgotten.”

“Surely, doctor, our Josephine would not be so unreasonable, so unjust,” suggested her mother.

“She belongs to a sex, be it said without offending you, madame, among whose numberless virtues justice does not fill a prominent place.”

The baroness shook her head.  “That is not it.  It is a piece of prudery.  This young gentleman was a sort of admirer of hers, though she did not admire him much, as far as I remember.  But it was four years ago; and she is married to a man she loves, or is going to love.”

“Well, but, mamma, a trifling excess of delicacy is surely excusable.”  This from Rose.

“No, no; it is not delicacy; it is prudery.  And when people are sick and suffering, an honest woman should take up her charity and lay down her prudery, or her coquetry:  two things that I suspect are the same thing in different shapes.”

Here Jacintha came in.  “Mademoiselle, here is the colonel’s broth; Madame Raynal has flavored it for him, and you are to take it up to him, and keep him company while he eats it.”

“Come,” cried the baroness, “my lecture has not been lost.”

Rose followed Jacintha up-stairs.

Rose was heart and head on Raynal’s side.

She had deceived him about Josephine’s attachment, and felt all the more desirous to guard him against any ill consequences of it.  Then he had been so generous to her:  he had left her her sister, who would have gone to Egypt, and escaped this misery, but for her.

But on the other hand,

                                         —­Gentle pity
     Tugged at her heartstrings with complaining cries.