'
He would have given me half of his prosperity, and of his glory. I
will share, whether he wishes it or not, half of his shame and of his
misfortune. Between two, the burden will be less heavy to bear. Strike!
I will cling so closely to him that no blow shall touch him without
reaching me, too. You counsel me to forget him. Teach me, then, how to.
I forget him? Could I, even if I wished? But I do not wish it. I love
him. It is no more in my power to cease loving him than it is to
arrest, by the sole effort of my will, the beating of my heart. He is a
prisoner, accused of murder. So be it. I love him. He is guilty! What
of that? I love him. You will condemn him, you will dishonour him.
Condemned and dishonoured, I shall love him still. You will send him
to a convict prison. I will follow him; and in the prison, under the
convict's dress, I will yet love him. If he falls to the bottom of the
abyss, I will fall with him. My life is his, let him dispose of it. No,
nothing will separate me from him, nothing short of death! And, if he
must mount the scaffold, I shall die, I know it, from the blow which
kills him."
M. Daburon had buried his face in his hands.
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