"Go and tell them I am coming, Rose."
"No, Josephine, I will not leave you till this terrible meeting is over.
We will encounter him hand in hand, as we used to go when our hearts
were one, and we deceived others, but never each other."
At this tender reproach Josephine fell upon her neck and wept.
"I will not deceive you," she said. "I am worse than the poor doctor
thinks me. My life is but a little candle that a breath may put out any
day."
Rose said nothing, but trembled and watched her keenly.
"My little Henri," said Josephine imploringly, "what would you do with
him--if anything should happen to me?"
"What would I do with him? He is mine. I should be his mother. Oh! what
words are these: my heart! my heart!"
"No, dearest; some day you will be married, and owe all the mother to
your children; and Henri is not ours only: he belongs to some one I have
seemed unkind to. Perhaps he thinks me heartless. For I am a foolish
woman; I don't know how to be virtuous, yet show a man my heart. But
THEN he will understand me and forgive me. Rose, love, you will write
to him.
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