led all over.

She whispered, "I am come to you to beg your pity; to appeal to your
generosity; to ask a favor; I who deserve so little of you."

"You have waited a long time," said Camille, agitated greatly; "and so
have I."

"Camille, you are torturing one who loved you once, and who has been
very weak and faithless, but not so wicked as she appears."

"How am I torturing you?"

"With remorse; do I not suffer enough? Would you make me a murderess?"

"Why have you never been near me?" retorted Camille. "I could forgive
your weakness, but not your heartlessness."

"It is my duty. I have no right to seek your society. If you really want
mine, you have only to get well, and so join us down-stairs a week or
two before you leave us."

"How am I to get well? My heart is broken."

"Camille, be a man. Do not fling away a soldier's life because a fickle,
worthless woman could not wait for you. Forgive me like a man, or else
revenge yourself like a man. If you cannot forgive me, kill me. See, I
kneel at your feet. I will not resist you. Kill me."

"I wish I could. Oh! if I could kill you with a look and myself with a
wish! No man should ever take you from me, then. We would be together in
the grave at this hour. Do not tempt me, I say;" and he cast a terrible
look of love, and hatred, and despair upon her. Her purple eye never
winced; it poured back tenderness and affection in return. He saw and
turned away with a groan, and held out his hand to her. She seized it
and kissed it. "You are great, you are generous; you will not strike me
as a woman strikes; you will not die to drive me to despair."

"I see," said he, more gently, "love is gone, but pity remains. I
thought that was gone, too."

"Yes, Camille," said Josephine, in a whisper, "pity remains, and remorse
and terror at what I have done to a man of whom I was never worthy."

"Well, madame, as you have come at last to me, and even do me the
honor to ask me a favor--I shall try--if only out of courtesy--to--ah,
Josephine! Josephine! when did I ever refuse you anything?"

At this Josephine sank into a chair, and burst out crying. Camille, at
this, began to cry too; and the two poor things sat a long way from one
another, and sobbed bitterly.

The man, weakened as he was, recovered his quiet despair first.

"Don't cry so," said he. "But tell me what is your will, and I shall
obey you as I used before any one came between us."

"Then, live, Camille. I implor