"Camille," she almost screamed, "there is but one thing for you to do; leave Beaurepaire on the instant: fly from it; it is no place for you." "She is dead," said Camille, very quietly.
When he said that, with an unnatural and monotonous calm such as precedes deliberate suicide, it flashed in one moment across Rose that it was much best he should think so.
She did not reply; but she drooped her head and let him think it.
"She would have come to me ere this if she was alive," said he.

"You are all in white: they mourn in white for angels like her, that go to heaven, virgins.

Oh! I was blind.

You might have told me at once; you see I can bear it.

What does it matter to one who loves as I love?
It is only to give her one more proof I lived only for her.