All at Beaurepaire knew what their dear old friend meant.

His other news to them was that they might expect him any moment.

So here was another cause of rejoicing.

“I am so glad,” said Josephine.  “Now, perhaps, he will be able to publish his poor dear entomology, that the booksellers were all so unkind, so unfeeling about.”

I linger on the brink of painful scenes to observe that a sweet and loving friendship, such as this was between the good doctor and three persons of another sex, is one of the best treasures of the human heart.  Poverty had strengthened it; yet now wealth could not weaken it.  With no tie of blood it yet was filial, sisterly, brotherly, national, chivalrous; happy, unalloyed sentiment, free from ups and downs, from heats and chills, from rivalry, from caprice; and, indeed, from all mortal accidents but one—­and why say one? methinks death itself does but suspend these gentle, rare, unselfish amities a moment, then waft them upward to their abiding home.

CHAPTER XV.

It was a fair morning in June:  the sky was a bright, deep, lovely, speckless blue:  the flowers and bushes poured perfume, and sprinkled song upon the balmy air.  On such a day, so calm, so warm, so bright, so scented, so tuneful, to live and to be young is to be happy.  With gentle hand it wipes all other days out of the memory; it smiles, it smells, it sings, and clouds and rain and biting wind seem as far off and impossible as grief and trouble.

Camille and Josephine had stolen out, and strolled lazily up and down close under the house, drinking the sweet air, fragrant with perfume and melody; the blue sky, and love.

Rose was in the house.  She had missed them; but she thought they must be near; for they seldom took long walks early in the day.  Meeting Jacintha on the landing of the great staircase, she asked her where her sister was.

“Madame Raynal is gone for a walk.  She has taken the colonel with her.  You know she always takes the colonel out with her now.”

“That will do.  You can finish your work.”

Jacintha went into Camille’s room.

Rose, who had looked as grave as a judge while Jacintha was present, bubbled into laughter.  She even repeated Jacintha’s words aloud, and chuckled over them.  “You know she always takes the colonel out with her now—­ha, ha, ha!”

“Rose!” sighed a distant voice.

She looked round, and saw the baroness at some distance in the corridor, coming slowly towards her, with eyes bent gloomily on the ground.  Rose composed her features into a settled gravity, and went to meet her.

“I wish to speak with you,” said the baroness; “let us sit down; it is cool here.”

Rose ran and brought a seat without a back, but well stuffed, and set it against the wall.  The old lady sat down and leaned back, and looked at Rose in silence a good while; then she said,—­