Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

"When will it change colour?"

"To-morrow night between eleven and twelve. Are you satisfied?"

"Need you ask me?"

"Not a word of this either to your friend or to Prudence, or to anybody

whatever."

"I promise."

"Now, kiss me, and we will go back to the dining-room."

She held up her lips to me, smoothed her hair again, and we went out of

the room, she singing, and I almost beside myself.

In the next room she stopped for a moment and said to me in a low voice: "It must seem strange to you that I am ready to take you at a moment's

notice. Shall I tell you why? It is," she continued, taking my hand

and placing it against her heart so that I could feel how rapidly and

violently it palpitated; "it is because I shall not live as long as

others, and I have promised myself to live more quickly."

"Don't speak to me like that, I entreat you."

"Oh, make yourself easy," she continued, laughing; "however short a time

I have to live, I shall live longer than you will love me!"

And she went singing into the dining-room.

"Where is Nanine?" she said, seeing Gaston and Prudence alone.

"She is asleep in your room, waiting till you are ready to go to bed,"

replied Prudence.

"Poor thing, I am killing her! And now gentlemen, it is time to go."

Ten minutes after, Gaston and I left the house. Marguerite shook hands

with me and said good-bye. Prudence remained behind.

"Well," said Gaston, when we were in the street, "what do you think of

Marguerite?"

"She is an angel, and I am madly in love with her." "So I guessed; did

you tell her so?"

"Yes."

"And did she promise to believe you?"

"No."

"She is not like Prudence."

"Did she promise to?"

"Better still, my dear fellow. You wouldn't think it; but she is still

not half bad, poor old Duvernoy!"