Do
not reproach her, if you are a man."
He waved her out of his way as if she had been some idle feather, and
almost staggered up to Josephine.
"It is for you to speak, my betrothed: are you married?"
The poor creature, true to her nature, was thinking more of him than
herself. Even in her despair it flashed across her, "If he knew all, he
too would be wretched for life. If I let him think ill of me he may be
happy one day." She cowered the picture of sorrow and tongue-tied guilt.
"Are you a wife?"
"Yes."
He winced and quivered as if a bullet had pierced him.
"This is how I came to be suspected; she I loved was false."
"Yes, Camille."
"No, no!" cried Rose; "don't believe HER: she never suspected you. We
have brought her to this, we alone."
"Be silent, Rose! oh, be silent!" gasped Josephine.
"I lived for you: I would have died for you; you could not even wait for
me."
A low moan, but not a word of excuse.
"What can I do for you now?"
"Forget me, Camille," said she despairingly, doggedly.
"Forget you? never, never! there is but one thing I can do to show you
how I loved you: I will forgive you, and begone.
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