She looked down with tender pity on him, and heard his cries of penitence and shame.
“Rise, Camille, and go home with me,” said she faintly.
“Yes, Josephine.”
They went slowly and in silence. Camille was too ashamed and penitent to speak; too full of terror too at the abyss of crime from which he had been saved. The ancients feigned that a virgin could subdue a lion; perhaps they meant that a pure gentle nature can subdue a nature fierce but generous. Lion-like Camille walked by Josephine’s side with his eyes bent on the ground, the picture of humility and penitence.
“This is the last walk you and I shall take together,” said Josephine solemnly.
“I know it,” said he humbly. “I have forfeited all right to be by your side.”
“My poor, lost love,” sighed Josephine, “will you never understand me? You never stood higher in my esteem than at this moment. It is the avowal you have forced from ME that parts us. The man to whom I have said ‘I’—must not remain beneath my husband’s roof. Does not your sense of honor agree with mine?”
“It does,” faltered he.
“To-morrow you must leave the chateau.”
“I will obey you.”