Is it a dream? no! this was written since the date of
his death."
"No, doctor," said Rose, "you deceive yourself."
"Why, what was the date of the Moniteur, then?" asked Aubertin, in great
agitation.
"Considerably later than this," said Camille.
"I don't think so; the journal! where is it?"
"My mother has it locked up. I'll run."
"No, Rose; no one but me. Now, Josephine, do not you go and give way to
hopes that may be delusive. I must see that journal directly. I will go
to the baroness. I shall excuse her less than you would."
He was scarcely gone when a cry of horror filled the room, a cry as of
madness falling like a thunderbolt on a human mind. It was Josephine,
who up to this had not uttered one word. But now she stood, white as
a corpse, in the middle of the room, and wrung her hands. "What have
I done? What shall I do? It was the 3d of May. I see it before me in
letters of fire; the 3d of May! the 3d of May!--and he writes the 15th."
"No! no!" cried Camille wildly. "It was long, long after time 3d."
"It was the 3d of May," repeated Josephine in a hoarse voice that none
would have known for hers.
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