"I am afraid he is not very jealous after all," thought
she.
Josephine left her room this day and mingled once more with the family.
The bare sight of her was enough for Camille at first, but after awhile
he wanted more. He wanted to be often alone with her; but several causes
co-operated to make her shy of giving him many such opportunities:
first, her natural delicacy, coupled with her habit of self-denial; then
her fear of shocking her mother, and lastly her fear of her own heart,
and of Camille, whose power over her she knew. For Camille, when he did
get a sweet word alone with her, seemed to forget everything except that
she was his betrothed, and that he had come back alive to marry her.
He spoke to her of his love with an ardor and an urgency that made her
thrill with happiness, but at the same time shrink with a certain fear
and self-reproach. Possessed with a feeling no stronger than hers, but
single, he did not comprehend the tumult, the trouble, the daily contest
in her heart. The wind seemed to him to be always changing, and hot and
cold the same hour.
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