ife you gave to pass
with me, do you understand that?"

"Ah!" And she turned pale.

"Can you read my riddle?"

She looked him in the face. "I can read your eyes, and I know you love
me. I think you mean to kill me. I have heard men kill the thing they
love."

"Of course they do; sooner than another should have it, they kill
it--they kill it."

"God has not made them patient like us women. Poor Camille!"

"Patience dies when hope dies. Come, Madame Raynal, say a prayer, for
you are going to die."

"God bless you, Camille!" said the poor girl, putting her hands together
in her last prayer. At this sweet touch of affection, Camille hung his
head, and sobbed. Then suddenly lashing himself into fury, he cried,--

"You are my betrothed! you talk of duty; but you forget your duty to me.
Are you not my betrothed this four years? Answer me that."

"Yes, Camille, I was."

"Did I not suffer death a hundred times for you, to keep faith with you,
you cold-blooded traitress with an angel's face?"

"Ah, Camille! can you speak so bitterly to me? Have I denied your right
to kill me? You shall never dishonor me, but you shall kill me, if it is
your pleasure. I do not resist. Why, then, speak to me like that; must
the last words I hear from your mouth be words of anger, cruel Camille?"

"I was wrong. But it is so hard to kill her I love in cold blood. I want
anger as well as despair to keep me to it. Come, turn your head away
from me, and all our troubles shall end."

"No, Camille, let me look at you. Then you will be the last thing I
shall see on earth."

At this he hesitated a moment; then, with a fierce stamp at what he
thought was weakness, he levelled a pistol at her.

She put up her hands with a piteous cry, "Oh! not my face, Camille! pray
do not disfigure my face. Here--kill me here--in my bosom--my heart that
loved you well, when it was no sin to love you."

"I can't shoot you. I can't spill your blood. The river will end all,
and not disfigure your beauty, that has driven me mad, and cost you,
poor wretch, your life."

"Thank you, dear Camille. The water does not frighten me as a pistol
does; it will not hurt me; it will only kill me."

"No, it is but a plunge, and you will be at peace forever; and so shall
I. Come, take my hand, Madame Raynal, Madame Raynal."

She gave him her hand with a look of infinite love. She only said, "My
poor mother!" That word did not fall to the ground. It flashed like
lightni