Josephine had no longer the power or the wish to fly. “Better so,” she thought, and she stood cowering.
The great passions that had spoken so loud were struck dumb, and a deep silence fell upon the place. Madame Raynal’s quivering eye turned slowly and askant towards Camille, but stopped in terror ere it could see him. For she knew by this fearful stillness that the truth was creeping on Camille. And so did Rose.
At last Camille spoke one word in a low whisper.
“Madame?”
Dead silence.
“White? both in white?”
Rose came between him and Josephine, and sobbed out, “Camille, it was our doing. We drove her to it. O sir, look how afraid of you she is. Do not reproach her, if you are a man.”
He waved her out of his way as if she had been some idle feather, and almost staggered up to Josephine.
“It is for you to speak, my betrothed: are you married?”
The poor creature, true to her nature, was thinking more of him than herself. Even in her despair it flashed across her, “If he knew all, he too would be wretched for life. If I let him think ill of me he may be happy one day.” She cowered the picture of sorrow and tongue-tied guilt.