Come!" and she led the way slowly, looking back with infinite archness and tenderness.
"You almost frighten me," said Josephine; "it is not like you to be all joy when I am sad.

Three whole weeks more!" "That is it.

Why are you sad?
because the doctor would not let you go to Frejus.

And why am I not sad?
because I had already thought of a way to let you see Edouard without going so far." "Rose! O Rose! O Rose!" "This way--come!" and she smiled and beckoned with her finger, while Josephine followed like one under a spell, her bosom heaving, her eye glancing on every side, hoping some strange joy, yet scarce daring to hope.
Rose drew back the screen, and there was a sweet little berceau that had once been Josephine's own, and in it, sunk deep in snow-white lawn, was a sleeping child, that lay there looking as a rose might look could it fall upon new-fallen snow.
At sight of it Josephine uttered a little cry, not loud but deep--ay, a cry to bring tears into the eye of the hearer, and she stood trembling from head to foot, her hands clasped, and her eye fascinated and fixed on the cradle.
"My child under this roof! What have you done ?" but her eye, fascinated and fixed, never left the cradle.
"I saw you languishing, dying, for want of him." "Oh, if anybody should come ?" But her eye never stirred an inch from the cradle.
"No, no, no! the door is locked.

Jacintha watches below; there is no dan--Ah, oh, poor sister!" For, as Rose was speaking, the young mother sprang silently upon her child.