heart."

"No! for I believe he has forgotten my very name; don't you think so?"

"Dear Josephine, can you doubt it? Come, you do doubt it."

"Sometimes."

"But why? for what reason?"

"Because of what he said to me as we parted at that gate; the words and
the voice seem still to ring like truth across the weary years. He said,
'I am to join the army of the Pyrenees, so fatal to our troops; but say
to me what you never yet have said, Camille, I love you: and I swear
I will come back alive.' So then I said to him, 'I love you,'--and he
never came back."

"How could he come here? a deserter, a traitor!"

"It is not true; it is not in his nature; inconstancy may be. Tell me
that he never really loved me, and I will believe you; but not that he
is a traitor. Let me weep over my past love, not blush for it."

"Past? You love him to-day as you did three years ago."

"No," said Josephine, "no; I love no one. I never shall love any one
again."

"But him. It is that love which turns your heart against others.
Oh, yes, you love him, dearest, or why should you fancy our secret