CHAPTER XIII.
There lie the dead corpses of those words on paper; but my art ispowerless to tell you how they were uttered, those words, potent as aking's, for they saved a life.
They were a cry of terror and a cry of reproach and a cry of loveunfathomable.
The weapon shook in his hand. He looked at her with growing astonishmentand joy; she at him fixedly and anxiously, her hands clasped insupplication.
"As you used to love me?"
"More, far more. Give me the pistol. I love you, dearest. I love you."
At these delicious words he lost all power of resistance, she saw;and her soft and supple hand stole in and closed upon his, and gentlywithdrew the weapon, and threw it into the water. "Good Camille! nowgive me the other."
"How do you know there is another?"
"I know you are not the man to kill a woman and spare yourself. Come."
"Josephine, have pity on me, do not deceive me; pray do not take this,my only friend, from me, unless you really love me."
"I love you; I adore you," was her reply.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, but with her hand she sought his,and even as she uttered those loving words she coaxed the weapon fromhis now unresisting grasp.
"There, it is gone; you are saved from death--saved from crime." Andwith that, the danger was over, she trembled for the first time, andfell to sobbing hysterically.
He threw himself at her knees, and embraced them again and again, andbegged her forgiveness in a transport of remorse and self-reproach.
She looked down with tender pity on him, and heard his cries ofpenitence and shame.
"Rise, Camille, and go home with me," said she faintly.
"Yes, Josephine."
They went slowly and in silence. Camille was too ashamed and penitentto speak; too full of terror too at the abyss of crime from which hehad been saved. The ancients feigned that a virgin could subdue a lion;perhaps they meant that a pure gentle nature can subdue a nature fiercebut generous. Lion-like Camille walked by Josephine's side with his eyesbent on the ground, the picture of humility and penitence.
"This is the last walk you and I shall take together," said Josephinesolemnly.
"I know it," said he humbly. "I have forfeited all right to be by yourside."
"My poor, lost love," sighed Josephine, "will you never understandme? You never stood higher in my esteem than at this moment. It is theavowal you have forced from ME that parts us. The man to whom I havesaid 'I'--must not remain beneath my husband's roof. Does not your senseof honor agree with mine?"
"It does," faltered he.
"To-morrow you must leave the chateau."
"I will obey you."
"What, you do not resist, you do not break my heart by complaints, byreproaches?"
"No, Josephine, all is changed. I thought you unfeeling: I thought youwere going to be HAPPY with him; that was what maddened me."
"I pray daily YOU may be happy, no matter how. But you and I are notalike, dear as we are to one another. Well, do not fear: I shall neverbe happy--will that soothe you, Camille?"
"Yes, Josephine, all is changed; the words you have spoken have driventhe fiends out of my heart. I have nothing to do now but to obey, you tocommand: it is your right. Since you love me a little still, disposeof me. Bid me live: bid me die: bid me stay: bid me go. I shall neverdisobey the angel who loves me, my only friend upon the earth."
A single deep sob from Josephine was all the answer.
Then he could not help asking her why she had not trusted him?
"Why did you not say to me long ago, 'I love you, but I am a wife; myhusband is an honest soldier, absent, and fighting for France: I am theguardian of his honor and my own; be just, be generous, be self-denying;depart and love me only as angels love'? Perhaps this might have helpedme to show you that I too am a man of honor."
"Perhaps I was wrong," sighed Josephine. "I think I should have trustedmore to you. But then, who would have thought you could really doubt mylove? You were ill; I could not bear you to go till you were well, quitewell. I saw no other way to keep you but this, to treat you with feignedcoldness. You saw the coldness, but not what it cost me to maintain it.Yes, I was unjust; and inconsiderate, for I had many furtive joys tosustain me: I had you in my house under my care--that thought was alwayssweet--I had a hand in everything that was for your good, for yourcomfort. I helped Jacintha make your soup and your chocolate every day.I had the delight of lining the dressing-gown you were to wear. I hadalways some little thing or other to do for you. These kept me up: Iforgot in my selfishness that you had none of these supports, and thatI was driving you to despair. I am a foolish, disingenuous woman: I havebeen very culpable. Forgive me!"
"Forgive you, angel of purity and goodness? I alone am to blame.What right had I to doubt your heart? I knew the whole story of yourmarriage; I saw your sweet pale face; but I was not pure enough tocomprehend angelic virtue and unselfishness. Well, I am brought tomy senses. There is but one thing for me to do--you bade me leave youto-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-nighteverything thrusts me on the right path. To-morrow everything will drawme from it. Do not cry, beloved one; you and I have a hard fight. Wemust be true allies; whenever one is weak, then is the time for theother 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. Ishall go on foot."
Josephine said nothing, but she began to walk slower and slower. Andso the unfortunate pair came along creeping slowly with drooping headstowards the gate of the Pleasaunce. There their last walk in this worldmust end. Many a man and woman have gone to the scaffold with heartsless heavy and more hopeful than theirs.
"Dry your eyes, Josephine," said Camille with a deep sigh. "They are allout on the Pleasaunce."
"No, I will not dry my eyes," cried Josephine, almost violently. "I carefor nothing now."
The baroness, the doctor, and Rose, were all in the Pleasaunce: and asthe pair came in, lo! every eye was bent on Josephine.
She felt this, and her eyes sought the ground: benumbed as she was withdespondency, she began now to dread some fresh stroke or other.
Camille felt doubly guilty and confused. How they all look at us, hethought. Do they know what a villain I have been? He determined to slipaway, and pack up, and begone. However, nobody took any notice of him.The baroness drew Josephine apart. And Rose followed her mother andsister 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, butwalked up and down with his hands behind him, and a sad and troubledface. 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 tothe family. It was a wise and manly resolve. He stopped Aubertin inthe middle of his walk, and said in a faint voice of the deepestdejection,--
"Doctor, the time is come that I must once more thank you for all yourgoodness to me, and bid you all farewell."
"What, going before your strength is re-established?" said the doctorpolitely, 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 twolonger; 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. PoorMadame 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 ourbeloved Josephine; on the darling of the house."
Camille turned cold with vague apprehension. But he contrived to stammerout, "No; tell me! for Heaven's sake tell me."
The doctor thus pressed revealed all in a very few words. "My poorfriend," said he solemnly, "her husband--is dead."