In the morning Rose lifted the cover and found the plate cleared, polished.

She was astounded.
The large tapestried chamber, once occupied by Camille Dujardin, was now turned into a sitting-room, and it was a favorite on account of the beautiful view from the windows.
One day Josephine sat there alone with some work in her hand; but the needle often stopped, and the fair head drooped.

She heaved a deep sigh.
To her surprise it was echoed by a sigh that, like her own, seemed to come from a heart full of sighs.
She turned hastily round and saw Jacintha.
Now Josephine had all a woman's eye for reading faces, and she was instantly struck by a certain gravity in Jacintha's gaze, and a flutter which the young woman was suppressing with tolerable but not complete success.
Disguising the uneasiness this discovery gave her, she looked her visitor full in the face, and said mildly, but a little coldly, "Well, Jacintha ?" Jacintha lowered her eyes and muttered slowly,-- "The doctor--comes--to-day," then raised her eyes all in a moment to take Josephine off her guard; but the calm face was impenetrable.
So then Jacintha added, "to our misfortune," throwing in still more meaning.
"To our misfortune?
A dear old friend--like him ?" Jacintha explained.

"That old man makes me shake.

You are never safe with him.