“That will never be. Whose? Not his whom I despise. Esteem might ripen into love, but what must contempt end in?”
This reply gave Rose great satisfaction. To exhaust all awkward contingencies, she said, “One question more, and I have done. Suppose Camille should turn out—be not quite—what shall I say—inexcusable?”
At this unlucky gush, Josephine turned pale, then red, then pale again, and cried eagerly, “Then all the world should not part us. Why torture me with such a question? Ah! you have heard something.” And in a moment the lava of passion burst wildly through its thin sheet of ice. “I was blind. This is why you would save me from this unnatural marriage. You are breaking the good news to me by degrees. There is no need. Quick—quick—let me have it. I have waited three years; I am sick of waiting. Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you tell me? Then I will tell YOU. He is alive—he is well—he is coming. It was not he those soldiers saw; they were so far off. How could they tell? They saw a uniform but not a face. Perhaps he has been a prisoner, and so could not write; could not come: but he is coming now. Why do you groan? why do you turn pale? ah! I see; I have once more deceived myself. I was mad. He I love is still a traitor to France and me, and I am wretched forever. Oh! that I were dead! oh! that I were dead! No; don’t speak to me: never mind me; this madness will pass as it has before, and leave me a dead thing among the living. Ah! sister, why did you wake me from my dream? I was drifting so calmly, so peacefully, so dead, and painless, drifting over the dead sea of the heart towards the living waters of gratitude and duty. I was going to make more than one worthy soul happy; and seeing them happy, I should have been content and useful—what am I now?—and comforted other hearts, and died joyful—and young. For God is good; he releases the meek and patient from their burdens.”
With this came a flood of tears; and she leaned against a bough with her forehead on her arm, bowed like a wounded lily.
“Accursed be that man’s name, and MY tongue if ever I utter it again in your hearing!” cried Rose, weeping bitterly. “You are wiser than I, and every way better. O my darling, dry your tears! Here he comes: look! riding across the park.”
“Rose,” cried Josephine, hastily, “I leave all to you. Receive Monsieur Raynal, and decline his offer if you think proper. It is you who love me best. My mother would give me up for a house; for an estate, poor dear.”
“I would not give you for all the world.”
“I know it. I trust all to you.”
“Well, but don’t go; stay and hear what I shall say.”
“Oh, no; that poor man is intolerable to me NOW. Let me avoid his sight, and think of his virtues.”