“has not been—so fortunate. He”—
“Go on! go on!”
The wretched man could now scarcely utter Raynal’s words; they came from him in a choking groan.
“he was killed, poor fellow! while heading a gallant charge upon the enemy’s flank.”
He ground the letter convulsively in his hand, then it fell all crumpled on the floor.
“Bless you, Camille!” cried the baroness, “bless you! bless you! I have a son still.”
She stooped with difficulty, took up the letter, and, kissing it again and again, fell on her knees, and thanked Heaven aloud before them all. Then she rose and went hastily out, and her voice was heard crying very loud, “Jacintha! Jacintha!”
The doctor followed in considerable anxiety for the effects of this violent joy on so aged a person. Three remained behind, panting and pale like those to whom dead Lazarus burst the tomb, and came forth in a moment, at a word. Then Camille half kneeled, half fell, at Josephine’s feet, and, in a voice choked with sobs, bade her dispose of him.
She turned her head away. “Do not speak to me; do not look at me; if we look at one another, we are lost. Go! die at your post, and I at mine.”
He bowed his head, and kissed her dress, then rose calm as despair, and white as death, and, with his knees knocking under him, tottered away like a corpse set moving.