Josephine's room. She
crept slowly to a wardrobe, and took out a gray silk dress.

"Oh, never mind for to-day," cried Rose.

"Help me, Rose. It is for myself as well; to remind me every moment I am
Madame Raynal."

They put the gray gown on her, both weeping patiently. It will be known
at the last day, all that honest women have suffered weeping silently in
this noisy world.

Camille soon recovered his senses and a portion of his strength: then
the irritation of his wound brought on fever. This in turn retired
before the doctor's remedies and a sound constitution, but it left
behind it a great weakness and general prostration. And in this state
the fate of the body depends greatly on the mind.

The baroness and the doctor went constantly to see him, and soothe him:
he smiled and thanked them, but his eager eyes watched the door for one
who came not.

When he got well enough to leave his bed the largest couch was sent up
to him from the saloon; a kind hand lined the baron's silk dressing-gown
for him warm and soft and nice; and he would sit or lie on his couch, or
take two turns in the room leaning upon Rose's shoulder, and glad of the
support; and he looked piteously in her eyes when she came and when she
went. Rose looked down; she could do nothing, she could say nothing.

With his strength, Camille lost a portion of his pride: he pined for a
sight of her he no longer respected; pined for her, as the thirsty pine
for water in Sahara.

At last one day he spoke out. "How kind you are to me, Rose! how kind
you all are--but one."

He waited in hopes she would say something, but she held her tongue.

"At least tell me why it is. Is she ashamed? Is she afraid?"

"Neither."

"She hates me: it is true, then, that we hate those whom we have
wounded. Cruel, cruel Josephine! Oh, heart of marble against which my
heart has wrecked itself forever!"

"No, no! She is anything but cruel: but she is Madame Raynal."

"Ah! I forgot. But have I no claim on her? Nearly four years she has
been my betrothed. What have I done? Was I ever false to her? I could
forgive her for what she has done to me, but she cannot forgive me. Does
she mean never to see me again?"

"Ask yourself what good could come of it."

"Very well," said Camille, with a malicious smile. "I am in her way. I
see what she wants; she shall have it."

Rose carried these words to Josephine. They went through her like a
sword.

Rose pitied her. Rose had