White Lies [76]
purity and goodness? I alone am to blame. What right had I to doubt your heart? I knew the whole story of your marriage; I saw your sweet pale face; but I was not pure enough to comprehend angelic virtue and unselfishness. Well, I am brought to my senses. There is but one thing for me to do--you bade me leave you to-morrow."
"I was very cruel."
"No! not cruel, wise. But I will be wiser. I shall go to-night."
"To-night, Camille?" said Josephine, turning pale.
"Ay! for to-night I am strong; to-morrow I may be weak. To-night everything thrusts me on the right path. To-morrow everything will draw me from it. Do not cry, beloved one; you and I have a hard fight. We must be true allies; whenever one is weak, then is the time for the other to be strong. I have been weaker than you, to my shame be it said; but this is my hour of strength. A light from heaven shows me my path. I am full of passion, but like you I have honor. You are Raynal's wife, and--Raynal saved my life."
"Ah! is it possible? When? where? may Heaven bless him for it!"
"Ask HIM; and say I told you of it--I have not strength to tell it you, but I will go to-night."
Then Josephine, who had resisted till all her strength was gone, whispered with a blush that it was too late to get a conveyance.
"I need none to carry my sword, my epaulets, and my love for you. I shall go on foot."
Josephine said nothing, but she began to walk slower and slower. And so the unfortunate pair came along creeping slowly with drooping heads towards the gate of the Pleasaunce. There their last walk in this world must end. Many a man and woman have gone to the scaffold with hearts less heavy and more hopeful than theirs.
"Dry your eyes, Josephine," said Camille with a deep sigh. "They are all out on the Pleasaunce."
"No, I will not dry my eyes," cried Josephine, almost violently. "I care for nothing now."
The baroness, the doctor, and Rose, were all in the Pleasaunce: and as the pair came in, lo! every eye was bent on Josephine.
She felt this, and her eyes sought the ground: benumbed as she was with despondency, she began now to dread some fresh stroke or other.
Camille felt doubly guilty and confused. How they all look at us, he thought. Do they know what a villain I have been? He determined to slip away, and pack up, and begone. However, nobody took any notice of him. The baroness drew Josephine apart. And Rose followed her mother and sister with eyes bent on the ground.
There was a strange solemnity about them all.
Aubertin remained behind. But even he took no notice of Camille, but walked up and down with his hands behind him, and a sad and troubled face. Camille felt his utter desolation. He was nothing to any of them. He resolved to go at once, and charge Aubertin with his last adieus to the family. It was a wise and manly resolve. He stopped Aubertin in the middle of his walk, and said in a faint voice of the deepest dejection,--
"Doctor, the time is come that I must once more thank you for all your goodness to me, and bid you all farewell."
"What, going before your strength is re-established?" said the doctor politely, but not warmly.
"I am out of all danger, thanks to your skill."
"Colonel, at another time I should insist upon your staying a day or two longer; but now I think it would be unadvisable to press you to stay. Ah, colonel, you came to a happy house, but you leave a sad one. Poor Madame Raynal!"
"Sir!"
"You saw the baroness draw her aside."
"Y-yes."
"By this time she knows it."
"In Heaven's name what do you mean?" asked Camille.
"I forgot; you are not aware of the calamity that has fallen upon our beloved Josephine; on the darling of the house."
Camille turned cold with vague apprehension. But he contrived to stammer out, "No; tell me! for Heaven's sake tell me."
The doctor thus pressed revealed all in a very few words. "My poor friend," said he solemnly, "her husband--is dead."
CHAPTER XIV.
The baroness, as I have said, drew Josephine aside,
"I was very cruel."
"No! not cruel, wise. But I will be wiser. I shall go to-night."
"To-night, Camille?" said Josephine, turning pale.
"Ay! for to-night I am strong; to-morrow I may be weak. To-night everything thrusts me on the right path. To-morrow everything will draw me from it. Do not cry, beloved one; you and I have a hard fight. We must be true allies; whenever one is weak, then is the time for the other to be strong. I have been weaker than you, to my shame be it said; but this is my hour of strength. A light from heaven shows me my path. I am full of passion, but like you I have honor. You are Raynal's wife, and--Raynal saved my life."
"Ah! is it possible? When? where? may Heaven bless him for it!"
"Ask HIM; and say I told you of it--I have not strength to tell it you, but I will go to-night."
Then Josephine, who had resisted till all her strength was gone, whispered with a blush that it was too late to get a conveyance.
"I need none to carry my sword, my epaulets, and my love for you. I shall go on foot."
Josephine said nothing, but she began to walk slower and slower. And so the unfortunate pair came along creeping slowly with drooping heads towards the gate of the Pleasaunce. There their last walk in this world must end. Many a man and woman have gone to the scaffold with hearts less heavy and more hopeful than theirs.
"Dry your eyes, Josephine," said Camille with a deep sigh. "They are all out on the Pleasaunce."
"No, I will not dry my eyes," cried Josephine, almost violently. "I care for nothing now."
The baroness, the doctor, and Rose, were all in the Pleasaunce: and as the pair came in, lo! every eye was bent on Josephine.
She felt this, and her eyes sought the ground: benumbed as she was with despondency, she began now to dread some fresh stroke or other.
Camille felt doubly guilty and confused. How they all look at us, he thought. Do they know what a villain I have been? He determined to slip away, and pack up, and begone. However, nobody took any notice of him. The baroness drew Josephine apart. And Rose followed her mother and sister with eyes bent on the ground.
There was a strange solemnity about them all.
Aubertin remained behind. But even he took no notice of Camille, but walked up and down with his hands behind him, and a sad and troubled face. Camille felt his utter desolation. He was nothing to any of them. He resolved to go at once, and charge Aubertin with his last adieus to the family. It was a wise and manly resolve. He stopped Aubertin in the middle of his walk, and said in a faint voice of the deepest dejection,--
"Doctor, the time is come that I must once more thank you for all your goodness to me, and bid you all farewell."
"What, going before your strength is re-established?" said the doctor politely, but not warmly.
"I am out of all danger, thanks to your skill."
"Colonel, at another time I should insist upon your staying a day or two longer; but now I think it would be unadvisable to press you to stay. Ah, colonel, you came to a happy house, but you leave a sad one. Poor Madame Raynal!"
"Sir!"
"You saw the baroness draw her aside."
"Y-yes."
"By this time she knows it."
"In Heaven's name what do you mean?" asked Camille.
"I forgot; you are not aware of the calamity that has fallen upon our beloved Josephine; on the darling of the house."
Camille turned cold with vague apprehension. But he contrived to stammer out, "No; tell me! for Heaven's sake tell me."
The doctor thus pressed revealed all in a very few words. "My poor friend," said he solemnly, "her husband--is dead."
CHAPTER XIV.
The baroness, as I have said, drew Josephine aside,