White Lies [70]
and turned away with a groan, and held out his hand to her. She seized it and kissed it. "You are great, you are generous; you will not strike me as a woman strikes; you will not die to drive me to despair."
"I see," said he, more gently, "love is gone, but pity remains. I thought that was gone, too."
"Yes, Camille," said Josephine, in a whisper, "pity remains, and remorse and terror at what I have done to a man of whom I was never worthy."
"Well, madame, as you have come at last to me, and even do me the honor to ask me a favor--I shall try--if only out of courtesy--to-- ah, Josephine! Josephine! when did I ever refuse you anything?"
At this Josephine sank into a chair, and burst out crying. Camille, at this, began to cry too; and the two poor things sat a long way from one another, and sobbed bitterly.
The man, weakened as he was, recovered his quiet despair first.
"Don't cry so," said he. "But tell me what is your will, and I shall obey you as I used before any one came between us."
"Then, live, Camille. I implore you to live."
"Well, Josephine, since you care about it, I will try and live. Why did not you come before and ask me? I thought I was in your way. I thought you wanted me dead."
Josephine cast a look of wonder and anguish on Camille, but she said nothing. She rang the bell, and, on Jacintha coming up, despatched her to Dr. Aubertin for the patient's medicine.
"Tell the doctor," said she, "Colonel Dujardin has let fall the glass." While Jacintha was gone, she scolded Camille gently. "How could you be so unkind to the poor doctor who loves you so? Only think: to throw away his medicines! Look at the ashes; they are wet. Camille, are you, too, becoming disingenuous?"
Jacintha came in with the tonic in a glass, and retired with an obeisance. Josephine took it to Camille.
"Drink with me, then," said he, "or I will not touch it." Josephine took the glass. "I drink to your health, Camille, and to your glory; laurels to your brow, and some faithful woman to your heart, who will make you forget this folly: it is for her I am saving you." She put the glass with well-acted spirit to her lips; but in the very action a spasm seized her throat and almost choked her; she lowered her head that he might not see her face, and tried again; but the tears burst from her eyes and ran into the liquid, and her lips trembled over the brim, and were paralyzed.
"No, no! give it me!" he cried; "there is a tear of yours in it." He drank off the bitter remedy now as if it had been nectar.
Josephine blushed.
"If you wanted me to live, why did you not come here before?"
"I did not think you would be so foolish, so wicked, so cruel as to do what you have been doing."
"Come and shine upon me every day, and you shall have no fresh cause of complaint; things flourish in the sunshine that die in the dark: Rose, it is as if the sun had come into my prison; you are pale, but you are beautiful as ever--more beautiful; what a sweet dress! so quiet, so modest, it sets off your beauty instead of vainly trying to vie with it." With this he put out his hand and took her gray silk dress, and went to kiss it as a devotee kisses the altar steps.
She snatched it away with a shudder.
"Yes, you are right," said she; "thank you for noticing my dress; it is a beautiful dress--ha! ha! A dress I take a pride in wearing, and always shall, I hope. I mean to be buried in it. Come, Rose. Thank you, Camille; you are very good, you have once more promised me to live. Get well; come down-stairs; then you will see me every day, you know--there is a temptation. Good-by, Camille!--are you coming, Rose? What are you loitering for? God bless you, and comfort you, and help you to forget what it is madness to remember!"
With these wild words she literally fled; and in one moment the room seemed to darken to Camille.
Outside the door Josephine caught hold of Rose. "Have I committed myself?"
"Over and over again. Do not look so terrified; I mean to me, but not to him. How blind he is!
"I see," said he, more gently, "love is gone, but pity remains. I thought that was gone, too."
"Yes, Camille," said Josephine, in a whisper, "pity remains, and remorse and terror at what I have done to a man of whom I was never worthy."
"Well, madame, as you have come at last to me, and even do me the honor to ask me a favor--I shall try--if only out of courtesy--to-- ah, Josephine! Josephine! when did I ever refuse you anything?"
At this Josephine sank into a chair, and burst out crying. Camille, at this, began to cry too; and the two poor things sat a long way from one another, and sobbed bitterly.
The man, weakened as he was, recovered his quiet despair first.
"Don't cry so," said he. "But tell me what is your will, and I shall obey you as I used before any one came between us."
"Then, live, Camille. I implore you to live."
"Well, Josephine, since you care about it, I will try and live. Why did not you come before and ask me? I thought I was in your way. I thought you wanted me dead."
Josephine cast a look of wonder and anguish on Camille, but she said nothing. She rang the bell, and, on Jacintha coming up, despatched her to Dr. Aubertin for the patient's medicine.
"Tell the doctor," said she, "Colonel Dujardin has let fall the glass." While Jacintha was gone, she scolded Camille gently. "How could you be so unkind to the poor doctor who loves you so? Only think: to throw away his medicines! Look at the ashes; they are wet. Camille, are you, too, becoming disingenuous?"
Jacintha came in with the tonic in a glass, and retired with an obeisance. Josephine took it to Camille.
"Drink with me, then," said he, "or I will not touch it." Josephine took the glass. "I drink to your health, Camille, and to your glory; laurels to your brow, and some faithful woman to your heart, who will make you forget this folly: it is for her I am saving you." She put the glass with well-acted spirit to her lips; but in the very action a spasm seized her throat and almost choked her; she lowered her head that he might not see her face, and tried again; but the tears burst from her eyes and ran into the liquid, and her lips trembled over the brim, and were paralyzed.
"No, no! give it me!" he cried; "there is a tear of yours in it." He drank off the bitter remedy now as if it had been nectar.
Josephine blushed.
"If you wanted me to live, why did you not come here before?"
"I did not think you would be so foolish, so wicked, so cruel as to do what you have been doing."
"Come and shine upon me every day, and you shall have no fresh cause of complaint; things flourish in the sunshine that die in the dark: Rose, it is as if the sun had come into my prison; you are pale, but you are beautiful as ever--more beautiful; what a sweet dress! so quiet, so modest, it sets off your beauty instead of vainly trying to vie with it." With this he put out his hand and took her gray silk dress, and went to kiss it as a devotee kisses the altar steps.
She snatched it away with a shudder.
"Yes, you are right," said she; "thank you for noticing my dress; it is a beautiful dress--ha! ha! A dress I take a pride in wearing, and always shall, I hope. I mean to be buried in it. Come, Rose. Thank you, Camille; you are very good, you have once more promised me to live. Get well; come down-stairs; then you will see me every day, you know--there is a temptation. Good-by, Camille!--are you coming, Rose? What are you loitering for? God bless you, and comfort you, and help you to forget what it is madness to remember!"
With these wild words she literally fled; and in one moment the room seemed to darken to Camille.
Outside the door Josephine caught hold of Rose. "Have I committed myself?"
"Over and over again. Do not look so terrified; I mean to me, but not to him. How blind he is!