He again urged her to watch over her herself. She laughingly told him his countenance was too long. When he asked if she had a heart, she said ’twas the only thing left to such as her to throw away.
He looked so sad at her jesting, that she grew grave herself, and she said, “So, this passion is real?”
He told her he had followed her from place to place, and when she lay ill, inquired each day after her health.
“Why did you not ask to see me?”
“What right had I to ask?”
“Right! Do men stand on ceremony with me? So, you say you love me? Now, let me be your friend, and give you this advice—shake me by the hand, and let us part good friends, and for ever.”
“As you will—as you will, good friend, and for ever.”
“Ah! you are so far gone as that, my friend! Many men have told me they would not return, but have come back on the morrow.”
He was going towards the door, when she called him back. “See you, I shall not have long to live, and ’tis but right I should live as I choose through my short span. But I tell you, if I believed your protestations, they would live even for a shorter time than I myself shall. Well, well, perhaps you have a good heart—who knows? Not I. And you seem sincere; perhaps you are for the moment. For this you should have some reward; take this flower. You know they call me the Lady of the Camelias, because I always carry a bouquet of those beautiful flowers. Oh! I give it you that you may return it to me. When? When it is faded.”
“And in how short a time will that be?”