"And must you leave me? must you risk your life again so soon; the life
on which mine depends?"
"My dear, that letter I received from headquarters two days ago, that
inquiry whether my wound was cured. A hint, Josephine--a hint too broad
for any soldier not to take."
"Camille, you are very proud," said Josephine, with an accent of
reproach, and a look of approval.
"I am obliged to be. I am the husband of the proudest woman in France."
"Hush! not so loud: there is Dard on the grass."
"Dard!" muttered the soldier with a word of meaning. "Josephine," said
he after a pause, and a little peevishly, "how much longer are we to
lower our voices, and turn away our eyes from each other, and be ashamed
of our happiness?"
"Five months longer, is it not?" answered Josephine quietly.
"Five months longer!"
Josephine was hurt at this, and for once was betrayed into a serious and
merited remonstrance.
"Is this just?" said she. "Think of two months ago: yes, but two months
ago, you were dying. You doubted my love, because it could not overcome
my virtue and my gratitude: yet you might have seen it was destroying my
life.
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