The silence lasted long. Jules, thinking her asleep, went to question
Josephine as to her mistress's condition.
"Madame came home half-dead, monsieur. We sent at once for Monsieur
Haudry."
"Did he come? What did he say?"
"He said nothing, monsieur. He did not seem satisfied; gave orders
that no one should go near madame except the nurse, and said he should
come back this evening."
Jules returned softly to his wife's room and sat down in a chair
before the bed. There he remained, motionless, with his eyes fixed on
those of Clemence. When she raised her eyelids she saw him, and
through those lids passed a tender glance, full of passionate love,
free from reproach and bitterness,--a look which fell like a flame of
fire upon the heart of that husband, nobly absolved and forever loved
by the being whom he had killed. The presentiment of death struck both
their minds with equal force. Their looks were blended in one anguish,
as their hearts had long been blended in one love, felt equally by
both, and shared equally. No questions were uttered; a horrible
certainty was there,--in the wife an absolute generosity; in the
husband an awful remorse; then, in both souls the same vision of the
end, the same conviction of fatality.
There came a moment when, thinking his wife asleep, Jules kissed her
softly on the forehead; then after long contemplation of that
cherished face, he said:--
"Oh God! leave me this angel still a little while that I may blot out
my wrong by love and adoration.
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