, you won't let me die--won't you? THEN I'LL DO
WORSE--I'LL TELL."

"He who is dead; you have murdered him amongst you, and I'll follow
him in spite of you all--he was my betrothed. He struggled wounded,
bleeding, to my feet. He found me married. News came of my husband's
death; I married my betrothed."

"Married him!" exclaimed the baroness.

"Ah, my poor mother. And she kissed me so kindly just now--she will kiss
me no more. Oh, I am not ashamed of marrying him. I am only ashamed
of the cowardice that dared not do it in face of all the world. We had
scarce been happy a fortnight, when a letter came from Colonel Raynal.
He was alive. I drove my true husband away, wretch that I was. None
but bad women have an atom of sense. I tried to do my duty to my legal
husband. He was my benefactor. I thought it was my duty. Was it? I don't
know: I have lost the sense of right and wrong. I turned from a living
creature to a lie. He who had scattered benefits on me and all this
house; he whom it was too little to love; he ought to have been adored:
this man came here one night to wife proud, joyous, and warm-hearted. He
found a cradle, and two women watching it. Now Edouard, now MONSIEUR, do
you see that life is IMPOSSIBLE to me? One bravely accused herself: she
was innocent. One swooned away like a guilty coward."

Edouard uttered an exclamation.

"Yes, Edouard, you shall not be miserable like me; she was guilty. You
do not understand me yet, my poor mother--and she was so happy this
morning--I was the liar, the coward, the double-faced wife, the
miserable mother that denied her child. Now will you let me die? Now do
you see that I can't and won't live upon shame and despair? Ah, Monsieur
Raynal, my dear friend, you were always generous: you will pity and
kill me. I have dishonored the name you gave me to keep: I am neither
Beaurepaire nor Raynal. Do pray kill me, monsieur--Jean, do pray release
me from my life!"

And she crawled to his knees and embraced them, and kissed his hand, and
pleaded more piteously for death, than others have begged for life.

Raynal stood like a rock: he was pale, and drew his breath audibly,
but not a word. Then came a sight scarce less terrible than Josephine's
despair. The baroness, looking and moving twenty years older than an
hour before, tottered across the room to Raynal.

"Sir, you whom I have called my son, but whom I will never presume so
to call again, I thought I had lived long enoug