Confidence was gone between them.

Suspicion took its place.
Rose was right in her misgivings.

The moment Josephine saw that Edouard's happiness and Rose's were to be sacrificed for her whom nothing could make happy, the poor thing said to herself, "I CAN DIE." And that was the happy thought that made her smile.
The doctor gave her laudanum: he found she could not sleep: and he thought it all-important that she should sleep.
Josephine, instead of taking these small doses, saved them all up, secreted them in a phial, and so, from the sleep of a dozen nights, collected the sleep of death: and now she was tranquil.

This young creature that could not bear to give pain to any one else, prepared her own death with a calm resolution the heroes of our sex have not often equalled.

It was so little a thing to her to strike Josephine.