"Do not say anything to me, madame," she said, wiping away her tears; "you could find no words to say that would not cause me pain. Your interest and your kisses are enough to prove your generous affection; my heart is as much relieved as it can be. I will go now; I do not need your urging to realize what I have to do."
"But I did not come to send you away, but to comfort you," said Madame de Ramière.
"I cannot be comforted," she replied, kissing her once more; "love me, that will help me a little; but do not speak to me. Adieu, madame; you believe in God—pray for me."
"You shall not go alone!" cried Madame de Ramière; "I will myself go with you to your husband, to justify you, defend you and protect you."
"Generous woman!" said Indiana, embracing her warmly, "you cannot do it. You alone are ignorant of Raymon's secret; all Paris will be talking about it to-night, and you would play an incongruous part in such a story. Let me bear the scandal of it alone; I shall not suffer long."
"What do you mean? would you commit the crime of taking your own life? Dear child! you too believe in God, do you not?"
"And so, madame, I start for Ile Bourbon in three days."
"Come to my arms, my darling child! come and let me bless you! God will reward your courage."
"I trust so," said Indiana, looking up at the sky.
Madame de Ramière insisted on sending for a carriage; but Indiana resisted. She was resolved to return alone and without causing a sensation. In vain did Raymon's mother express her alarm at the idea of her undertaking so long a journey on foot in her exhausted, agitated condition.