“Hardly; but it was my last chance of finding you, so I came. Where is Madame Raynal?”
“Come into this room, dear friend. I will go and find her.”
Full twenty minutes was the doctor kept waiting, and then in came Rose, gayly crying, “I have hunted her high and low, and where do you think my lady was? sitting out in the garden—come.”
Sure enough, they found Josephine in the garden, seated on a low chair. She smiled when the doctor came up to her, and asked after her mother. There was an air of languor about her; her color was clear, delicate, and beautiful.
“You have been unwell, my child.”
“A little, dear friend; you know me; always ailing, and tormenting those I love.”
“Well! but, Josephine, you know this place and this sweet air always set you up. Look at her now, doctor; did you ever see her look better? See what a color. I never saw her look more lovely.”
“I never saw her look SO lovely; but I have seen her look better. Your pulse. A little languid?”
“Yes, I am a little.”
“Do you stay at Beaurepaire?” inquired Rose; “if so, we will come home.”