“Am I cold-hearted, Camille?”
“As marble.”
She looked him in the face; the water came into her eyes; after awhile she whispered, sorrowfully, “Well, Camille, I am.”
“But with all your wisdom and all your coldness,” he went on to say, “you have made a mistake; you have driven me to madness and despair.”
“Heaven forbid!” said she.
“Your prayer comes too late; you have done it.”
“Camille, let me go to the oratory, and pray for you. You terrify me.”
“It is no use. Heaven has no mercy for me. Take my advice; stay where you are; don’t hurry; for what remains of your life you gave to pass with me, do you understand that?”
“Ah!” And she turned pale.
“Can you read my riddle?”