White Lies | Page 6

between two
guerillas; then he rode back and told the others, who then came up and
satisfied themselves it was so: that if any of the party had entertained a
doubt, it was removed in an unpleasant way; he, Marcellus, disgusted at
the sight of a French uniform drinking among Spaniards, took down his
carabine and fired at the group as carefully as a somewhat restive horse
permitted: at this, as if by magic, a score or so of guerillas poured out
from Heaven knows where, musket in hand, and delivered a volley; the
officer in command of the party fell dead, Jean Jacques here got a
broken arm, and his own horse was wounded in two places, and fell
from loss of blood a few furlongs from the French camp, to the
neighborhood of which the vagabonds pursued them, hallooing and
shouting and firing like barbarous banditti as they were.
"However, here I am," concluded Marcellus, "invalided for awhile, my
lady, but not expended yet: we will soon dash in among them again for
death or glory. Meantime," concluded he, filling both glasses, "let us
drink to the eyes of beauty (military salute); and to the renown of
France; and double damnation to all her traitors, like that Captain
Dujardin; whose neck may the devil twist."
Ere they could drink to this energetic toast, a low wail at the door, like
a dying hare's, arrested the glasses on their road, and the rough soldiers
stood transfixed, and looked at one another in some dismay. Rose flew
to the door with a face full of concern.
Josephine was gone.
Then Rose had the tact and resolution to say a few kind, encouraging
words to the soldiers, and bid Jacintha be hospitable to them. This done
she darted up-stairs after Josephine; she reached the main corridor just
in time to see her creep along it with the air and carriage of a woman of
fifty, and enter her own room.
Rose followed softly with wet eyes, and turned the handle gently. But
the door was locked.
"Josephine! Josephine!"
No answer.
"I want to speak to you. I am frightened. Oh, do not be alone."
A choking voice answered, "Give me a little while to draw my breath."
Rose sank down at the door, and sat close to it, with her head against it,
sobbing bitterly. She was hurt at not being let in; such a friend as she

had proved herself. But this personal feeling was only a fraction of her
grief and anxiety.
A good half hour elapsed ere Josephine, pale and stern as no one had
ever seen her till that hour, suddenly opened the door. She started at
sight of Rose couched sorrowful on the threshold; her stern look
relaxed into tender love and pity; she sank, blushing, on her knees, and
took her sister's head quickly to her bosom. "Oh, my little love, have
you been here all this time?"--"Oh! oh! oh!" was all the little love could
reply. Then the deserted one, still kneeling, took Rose in her lap, and
caressed and comforted her, and poured words of gratitude and
affection over her like a warm shower.
They rose hand in hand.
Then Rose suddenly seized Josephine, and looked long and anxiously
down into her eyes. They flashed fire under the scrutiny. "Yes, it is all
over; I could not despise and love. I am dead to him, as he is dead to
France."
This was joyful news to Rose. "I hoped it would be so," said she; "but
you frightened me. My noble sister, were I ever to lose your esteem, I
should die. Oh, how awful yet how beautiful is your scorn. For worlds I
would not be that Cam"-- Josephine laid her hand imperiously on
Rose's mouth. "To mention his name to me will be to insult me; De
Beaurepaire I am, and a Frenchwoman. Come, dear, let us go down and
comfort our mother."
They went down; and this patient sufferer, and high minded conqueror,
of her own accord took up a commonplace book, and read aloud for
two mortal hours to her mother and Aubertin. Her voice only wavered
twice.
To feel that life is ended; to wish existence, too, had ceased; and so to
sit down, an aching hollow, and take a part and sham an interest in
twaddle to please others; such are woman's feats. How like nothing at
all they look!
A man would rather sit on the buffer of a steam-engine and ride at the
Great Redan.
Rose sat at her elbow, a little behind her, and turned the leaves, and on
one pretence or other held Josephine's hand nearly all the rest of the
day. Its delicate fibres remained tense, like a greyhound's sinews after a
race,