“Oh, no! do not think so. It is every word true. I am an ungrateful villain.”
“How dare you say so? and to me! No! but you are a man.”
“So I have been told; but my conduct to you, sweet one, has not been that of a man from first to last. Yet I could die for you, with a smile on my lips. But when I think that once I lifted this sacrilegious hand against your life—oh!”
“Do not be silly, Camille. I love you all the better for loving me well enough to kill me. What woman would not? I tell you, you foolish thing, you are a man: monseigneur is one of the lordly sex, that is accustomed to have everything its own way. My love, in a world that is full of misery, here are two that are condemned to be secretly happy a few months longer: a hard fate for one of your sex, it seems: but it is so much sweeter than the usual lot of mine, that really I cannot share your misery,” and she smiled joyously.
“Then share my happiness, my dear wife.”
“I do; only mine is deep, not loud.”
“Why, Dard is gone, and we are out of doors; will the little birds betray us?”
“The lower windows are open, and I saw Jacintha in one of the rooms.”
“Jacintha? we are in awe of the very servants. Well, if I must not say it loud I will say it often,” and putting his mouth to her ear, he poured a burning whisper of love into it—“My love! my angel! my wife! my wife! my wife!”
She turned her swimming eyes on him.