LUCILE. Poor Camille! Were you so very unhappy?
CAMILLE. Yes, I have had a hard time, and for so long—six years. Without money, without friends, without even hope. I was disowned by my own people, I had to engage in the lowest professions, and turn my hand to anything to earn a few sous—and often not getting them after all. More than once I went to bed without supper. But I don't want to tell you that. Later on—It was wrong of me.
LUCILE. Is it possible? Heavens, why didn't you come to—?
CAMILLE. You would, I know, have divided your bread with me! That wasn't the worst, Lucile. I could do without supper, but to doubt myself, to see no future before me! And then, the sight of you, with your dear yellow curls and brown eyes, in the window opposite mine. How I followed you, at a distance, through the Luxembourg Gardens, admiring your grace, your movements! Ah, my dear little Lucile, you often made me forget my misery, and sometimes made it seem heavier. You were so far from me! How could I hope that some day—? But that some day is here—now! It can't escape me! I have you. I kiss your hands! For they have brought me all the happiness in the world! The world that is freed through me! How happy I am! [They kiss, and for a moment say nothing.]
CAMILLE. You're crying?
LUCILE [smiling']. So are you. [The lights in the windows are extinguished.] The lights are out; see the dawn! [The Crowd is heard outside.]
CAMILLE [after a moment's pause]. Do you remember that old English story we read together? About the two children in Verona who were in love in that town?
LUCILE [nodding]. Why do you ask?
CAMILLE. I don't know. Who knows what the future holds in store for us?
LUCILE [putting her hand over his mouth], Camille!