"Yes, I should have taken her with me," he said. He sat gloomy and
dogged like a dangerous maniac in his cell; never moved, scarce thought
for more than half an hour; but his deadly purpose grew in him. Suddenly
he started. A lady was at the style, about a hundred yards distant. He
trembled. It was Josephine.
She came towards him slowly, her eyes bent on the ground in a deep
reverie. She stopped about a stone's throw from him, and looked at the
river long and thoughtfully; then casting her eye around, she caught
sight of Camille. He watched her grimly. He saw her give a little start,
and half turn round; but if this was an impulse to retreat, it was
instantly suppressed; for the next moment she pursued her way.
Camille stood gloomy and bitter, awaiting her in silence. He planted
himself in the middle of the path, and said not a word.
She looked him all over, and her color came and went.
"Out so far as this," she said kindly; "and without your cap."
He put his hand to his head, and discovered that he was bareheaded.
"You will catch your death of cold.
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