“Don’t cry so,” said he. “But tell me what is your will, and I shall obey you as I used before any one came between us.”
“Then, live, Camille. I implore you to live.”
“Well, Josephine, since you care about it, I will try and live. Why did not you come before and ask me? I thought I was in your way. I thought you wanted me dead.”
Josephine cast a look of wonder and anguish on Camille, but she said nothing. She rang the bell, and, on Jacintha coming up, despatched her to Dr. Aubertin for the patient’s medicine.
“Tell the doctor,” said she, “Colonel Dujardin has let fall the glass.” While Jacintha was gone, she scolded Camille gently. “How could you be so unkind to the poor doctor who loves you so? Only think: to throw away his medicines! Look at the ashes; they are wet. Camille, are you, too, becoming disingenuous?”
Jacintha came in with the tonic in a glass, and retired with an obeisance. Josephine took it to Camille.
“Drink with me, then,” said he, “or I will not touch it.” Josephine took the glass. “I drink to your health, Camille, and to your glory; laurels to your brow, and some faithful woman to your heart, who will make you forget this folly: it is for her I am saving you.” She put the glass with well-acted spirit to her lips; but in the very action a spasm seized her throat and almost choked her; she lowered her head that he might not see her face, and tried again; but the tears burst from her eyes and ran into the liquid, and her lips trembled over the brim, and were paralyzed.
“No, no! give it me!” he cried; “there is a tear of yours in it.” He drank off the bitter remedy now as if it had been nectar.
Josephine blushed.
“If you wanted me to live, why did you not come here before?”