She rose hastily and stood up. Her face was beautiful as the face
of a marble Niobe, but as pale and as full of anguish.
"My loving bridesmaids," said she, "it is now all over with poor
Amelie de Repentigny; tell Pierre," and here she sobbed, almost
choking in her grief, "tell Pierre not to hate me for this blood
that lies on the threshold of our house! Tell him how truly and
faithfully I was preparing to devote myself to his happiness as his
bride and wife; tell him how I loved him, and I only forsake him
because it is the inexorable decree of my sad fate; not my will, but
my cruel misfortune. But I know his noble nature; he will pity, not
hate me. Tell him it will even rejoice me where I am going to know
that Pierre Philibert still loves me. I cannot, dare not ask him to
pardon Le Gardeur! I dare not pardon him myself! But I know Pierre
will be just and merciful to my poor brother, even in this hour of
doom."
"And now," continued she, speaking with a terrible energy, "put away
these bridal deceits; they will never be worn by me! I have a garb
more becoming the bridal of death; more fitting to wear by the
sister of--O God! I was going to say, of a murderer!"
Amelie, with a wild desperation, gathered up the gay robes and
garlands and threw them in a heap in the corner of the chamber.
Pages:
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066