Josephine took it to Camille.
"Drink with me, then," said he, "or I will not touch it." Josephine took the glass.

"I drink to your health, Camille, and to your glory; laurels to your brow, and some faithful woman to your heart, who will make you forget this folly: it is for her I am saving you." She put the glass with well-acted spirit to her lips; but in the very action a spasm seized her throat and almost choked her; she lowered her head that he might not see her face, and tried again; but the tears burst from her eyes and ran into the liquid, and her lips trembled over the brim, and were paralyzed.
"No, no! give it me!" he cried; "there is a tear of yours in it." He drank off the bitter remedy now as if it had been nectar.
Josephine blushed.
"If you wanted me to live, why did you not come here before ?" "I did not think you would be so foolish, so wicked, so cruel as to do what you have been doing." "Come and shine upon me every day, and you shall have no fresh cause of complaint; things flourish in the sunshine that die in the dark: Rose, it is as if the sun had come into my prison; you are pale, but you are beautiful as ever--more beautiful; what a sweet dress! so quiet, so modest, it sets off your beauty instead of vainly trying to vie with it." With this he put out his hand and took her gray silk dress, and went to kiss it as a devotee kisses the altar steps.
She snatched it away with a shudder.
"Yes, you are right," said she; "thank you for noticing my dress; it is a beautiful dress--ha! ha! A dress I take a pride in wearing, and always shall, I hope.

I mean to be buried in it.

Come, Rose.

Thank you, Camille; you are very good, you have once more promised me to live.