“We saved it amongst us, madame.”
“What is the matter, Rose?” said Edouard.
“Nothing: give me the salts, quick.”
She only passed them, as it were, under her own nostrils; then held them to Josephine, who was now observed to be trembling all over. Rose contrived to make it appear that this was mere sympathy on Josephine’s part.
“Don’t be silly, girls,” cried the baroness, cheerfully; “there is nobody killed that we care about.”
Dr. Aubertin read the rest to himself.
Edouard fell into a gloomy silence and tortured himself about Camille, and Rose’s anxiety and agitation.
By and by the new servant brought in a letter. It was the long-expected one from Egypt.
“Here is something better than salts for you. A long letter, Josephine, and all in his own hand; so he is safe, thank Heaven! I was beginning to be uneasy again. You frightened me for that poor Camille: but this is worth a dozen Camilles; this is my son; I would give my old life for him.”—“My dear Mother—(‘Bless him!’), my dear wife, and my dear sister—(‘Well! you sit there like two rocks!’)—We have just gained a battle—fifty colors. (‘What do you think of that?’) All the enemy’s baggage and ammunition are in our hands. (‘This is something like a battle, this one.’) Also the Pasha of Natolie. (‘Ah! the Pasha of Natolie; an important personage, no doubt, though I never had the honor of hearing of him. Do you hear?—you on the sofa. My son has captured the Pasha of Natolie. He is as brave as Caesar.’) But this success is not one of those that lead to important results (‘Never mind, a victory is a victory’), and I should not wonder if Bonaparte was to dash home any day. If so, I shall go with him, and perhaps spend a whole day with you, on my way to the Rhine.”
At this prospect a ghastly look passed quick as lightning between Rose and Josephine.