Josephine confined herself for some days to her own room, leaving it only to go to the chapel in the park, where she spent hours in prayers for the dead and in self-humiliation.  Her “tender conscience” accused herself bitterly for not having loved this gallant spirit more than she had.

Camille realized nothing at first; he looked all confused in the doctor’s face, and was silent.  Then after awhile he said, “Dead?  Raynal dead?”

“Killed in action.”

A red flush came to Camille’s face, and his eyes went down to the ground at his very feet, nor did he once raise them while the doctor told him how the sad news had come.  “Picard the notary brought us the Moniteur, and there was Commandant Raynal among the killed in a cavalry skirmish.”  With this, he took the journal from his pocket, and Camille read it, with awe-struck, and other feelings he would have been sorry to see analyzed.  He said not a word; and lowered his eyes to the ground.

“And now,” said Aubertin, “you will excuse me.  I must go to my poor friend the baroness.  She had a mother’s love for him who is no more:  well she might.”

Aubertin went away, and left Dujardin standing there like a statue, his eyes still glued to the ground at his feet.

The doctor was no sooner out of sight, than Camille raised his eyes furtively, like a guilty person, and looked irresolutely this way and that:  at last he turned and went back to the place where he had meditated suicide and murder; looked down at it a long while, then looked up to heaven—­then fell suddenly on his knees:  and so remained till night-fall.  Then he came back to the chateau.

He whispered to himself, “And I am afraid it is too late to go away to-night.”  He went softly into the saloon.  Nobody was there but Rose and Aubertin.  At sight of him Rose got up and left the room.  But I suppose she went to Josephine; for she returned in a few minutes, and rang the bell, and ordered some supper to be brought up for Colonel Dujardin.

“You have not dined, I hear,” said she, very coldly.

“I was afraid you were gone altogether,” said the doctor:  then turning to Rose, “He told me he was going this evening.  You had better stay quiet another day or two,” added he, kindly.

“Do you think so?” said Camille, timidly.

He stayed upon these terms.  And now he began to examine himself.  “Did I wish him dead?  I hope I never formed such a thought!  I don’t remember ever wishing him dead.”  And he went twice a day to that place by the stream, and thought very solemnly what a terrible thing ungoverned passion is; and repented—­not eloquently, but silently, sincerely.

But soon his impatient spirit began to torment itself again.  Why did Josephine shun him now?  Ah! she loved Raynal now that he was dead.  Women love the thing they have lost; so he had heard say.  In that case, the very sight of him would of course be odious to her:  he could understand that.  The absolute, unreasoning faith he once had in her had been so rudely shaken by her marriage with Raynal, that now he could only believe just so much as he saw, and he saw that she shunned him.