She gave a sigh, a little shiver. I felt it. But she said:
“Silly, big thing, how can you talk so? You are going to be so happy!”
“Why, yes,” I replied; “that’s true.”
Poor little Constance! To-day I may say it, to-day she is still the poorer. Soon ’twill be poor Emilia.
July 11th.—To-day they met again. I am not schooled, I have not learned my lesson, and now I know that I shall never learn it. We were out together; again I let them walk ahead, and kept far behind them, saying to myself: “This is my life!” But it was unendurable. I rejoined them, and slipped in between them; I cannot yet look upon them side by side, neither actually nor in my imagination.
This does not mean that I shall not abide by my decision. Only three days more; I must hasten. Yet these are the last days I have to live; mingled with my pain is the last drop of joy I may taste upon this earth. And yet, having their love, I dare not think of death.
It dawned upon me to-day that Constance knows; she is pale, and much troubled. Poor little one.
July 12th.—To-morrow it must be. I meant to tell him to-night, but I could not.
It is half-past ten. Aunt Caroline has just been to my room, bless her! I thought she was in bed.
“Have you room for this in your trunk, Milly?” she said. “I should like you to hang it up in your room wherever you go.”