“Then tell me all,” said he.
She consented almost eagerly, and told him—nearly all. The old man was deeply affected. He murmured in a broken voice, “Your story is the story of your sex, self-sacrifice, first to your mother, then to Camille, now to your husband.”
“And he is well worthy of any sacrifice I can make,” said Josephine. “But oh, how hard it is to live!”
“I hope to make it less hard to you ere long,” said the doctor quietly. He then congratulated himself on having forced Josephine to confide in him. “For,” said he, “you never needed an experienced friend more than at this moment. Your mother will not always be so blind as of late. Edouard is suspicious. Jacintha is a shrewd young woman, and very inquisitive.”
Josephine was not at the end of her concealments: she was ashamed to let him know she had made a confidant of Jacintha and not of him. She held her peace.
“Then,” continued Aubertin, “there is the terrible chance of Raynal’s return. But ere I take on me to advise you, what are your own plans?”
“I don’t know,” said Josephine helplessly.
“You—don’t—know!” cried the doctor, looking at her in utter amazement.
“It is the answer of a mad woman, is it not? Doctor, I am little better. My foot has slipped on the edge of a precipice. I close my eyes, and let myself glide down it. What will become of me?”
“All shall be well,” said Aubertin, “provided you do not still love that man.”