P0 
 
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3231 
 
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 .D32 
 1856b 
 Copy 1 
 
 FRENCH'S 
 
 STt)e Stctinn. fBmion 
 No. CXXIX. 
 
 C A M I L L E , 
 
 om 
 
 THE FATE OF A COQUETTE 
 
 ADAPTED FROM TIIE FRENCH OF 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS JR. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 
 
 « Doeoription of ,„. Co.,um.-Ca s , of , h . Character-Entrances and E,i» 
 
 Stage Business. 
 
 A« PERFORMED AT THE AMERICAN THEATRE* 
 
 **« ONLY CORRECT EDITION. 
 
 New York 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 26 W. 22D Street 
 
 London 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
 
 26 Southampton St. 
 Strand. London. W. C. 
 
 Monofirrapfc 
 
Curt of tfce Characters. — Camill* 
 
 Gamilie, 
 
 Armand Duval, 
 
 Mons. Duval, (his father,) 
 
 Gaston Eieux, 
 
 Count De VarviUe, 
 
 Qustave, - 
 
 Messenger, 
 
 Arthur, - 
 
 Madams Prudence. 
 
 Bichette, - 
 
 Nanine, - 
 
 Olympe, - 
 
 <4<rt l*f — March. 
 Act 2d— April. 
 Act 3d — August. - 
 ^ic* 4*A — October. 
 Act 5th — Winter. - 
 
 National Theatre, 
 
 Cincinnati, 1856. 
 Miss Matilda Heron 
 Mr. Keeble. 
 
 " Gregory. 
 
 " Watkins. 
 
 " Stetson. 
 
 " Donnelly. 
 
 " Watson. 
 
 M Ward. 
 
 Mrs. Gregory. 
 
 Miss Melissa. 
 
 " Stevens. 
 
 11 Greener. 
 
 St. Louis 
 Theatre, 1866. 
 
 Miss Matilda Herou 
 Mr G. Pauncefort 
 
 11 McMillan. 
 
 ( S. E. Browne 
 
 11 C. Waliis. 
 
 " Collier. 
 
 11 Jacques 
 
 " Matthews. 
 Mrs Silsbee. 
 
 " Harris. 
 Mrs. W. W. Alien 
 Miss Stewart. 
 
 The Supper Scene. 
 
 The Pledge of Love. 
 
 - The Sacrifice. 
 
 - The Fete. 
 
 The Eleventh Ho\ir. 
 
 The Costumes are of the present day, but the characters should change 
 for each act. 
 
 THE TRUE CAMILLE. 
 
 Astor Housk. June 23, 1850. 
 
 £a.mi. French, Esq. — Sir: While in Paris, a year ago, I translated and adapted 
 for my own use, the play of "Camille." A few months since, I published this play 
 In Cincinnati, with notice of copyright attached. On my return Nonh, I am handed 
 a copy of it republished by you. By this act I am deprived of the profit which should 
 alone accrue hi me. But this is not the injury of which I complain, for while yoi 
 retain my text, word for word, untouched, you have dropped my name from the title 
 page, and ;n its place inserted a line, (The only correct edition) which implies that 
 every copy Dearing my name, le spurious ; indeed, that I, in claiming its authorship 
 have assumed a merit not belonging to me The false position in which this series 
 of wrongs has placed me requires redress. Waiting which, 
 
 I remain, your obedient servant, MATILDA HERON 
 
 Nbw-Yori, June 24. 185©V 
 
 Miss Matilda Hrror— Mada.n: Your favor of the 23d is at hand, and I reply Id 
 .11 frankness, that since receiving your book I have carefully compared the same wit k 
 any edition of "Camille," and And, to my surprise, that in the text there is no material 
 difference. I was told by the party who prepared ray copy for the press that It was 
 iiflentnt from the edition then published. I regret I was deceived. My copy has dons 
 vou gre;t 1 'njustics. I freely admit it. and will cheerfully correct. In my nextedl 
 Hon of your pby, I will restore fhf original title pflge, the names of characters, «nd, 
 with \ our permission, retain the line tint so justly belongs »o It — (tub only co'rrecv 
 ■ ditiow). Your*. v«r« respectfully SAML. FUHNCH, 121 Nassau-street. 
 
•H32. 
 '5t f- 
 
 CAMILLE. 
 
 ACTL 
 
 krwn I.-— u4 handsome apartment in the house of Camillb — eleganttf 
 furnished with large mirrors, vases of flowers on the table — Tete-i-tette, 
 chairs, tables, dec. A fireplace with afire in it l. 2 e. A piano a. H. 
 A large mirror L. u. e. A large window r. 2. e. with handsome cur- 
 tains, large folding doors in c. leading to the hall. De Var villi 
 stated in an easy chair l. at the fire. Najjine discovered arranging 
 the furniture. As the curtain rises, the door-bell is heard off R. a 
 
 Var. Some one has rung the bell. 
 
 Nan. Yes, I hear; Louis will attend to the door. 
 
 Var. Perhaps it is Camille. 
 
 Nan. No, not yet She said she would return at half-past ten, and 
 t is not ten yet. [Nichette speaks without] Ah, it is Mademoiselle 
 Miehette'e voice. 
 
 Nich. ] Entering a D.] Oh, excuse me I I thought Mademoiselk 
 Ijiuoille was here. 
 
 bTu?i. No, Nichette, she is not in. Do you wish to see her? 
 
 Nich. I was merely passing the door, and I felt like coming up U 
 •ay good night to her. But since she is not here, you will ple*e# 
 \e\\ her that I called. 
 
 San. Will you wait awhile? She will soon be in. 
 
 Nich. No, thank you 1 Gustave is at I he door. Is she weL ? 
 
 Nan. Ah, always the same. 
 
 Xich. Did she leave with you the little bundle that I requ«*Ud <A 
 
 1 the other day ? 
 
 Son. Yes : [ Pointing to a bundle on the table,'] but you are not go 
 11, g to garry it? 
 
 Nich. Why not? It is not heavy. 
 
 Nan. You Dad better let me send it to you and tave you tin 
 .rouble, 
 
# 0AMILL1. 
 
 Ntch. /thank you. [Taking bundle.] But nothing is a tro&b!# 
 that I do for Camille. Please tell her that I will do these very nicely, 
 and bring them to her in a few days, and that I left my love for her 
 Adieu, Nanine ! Adieu, Monsieur. [Exit, c. d. and off b. 
 
 Var. Umph ! A very pretty girl ! Who is she 1 
 
 Nan. That is Mademoiselle Nichette. 
 
 Var. Nichette 1 That's the name of a cat, not a woman. 
 
 Nan It is a pet name that Mademoiselle Camille gave her. They 
 we very fond of each other. They used to be companions and worked 
 together in the same room. 
 
 Var What 1 Worked 1 Did Mademoiselle Camilla ever work 1 
 
 Nan Yes — she was an embroidress. 
 
 Var. Why, I never knew that before. 
 
 Nan. It was your own fault, Monsieur, for Mademoiselle has madt 
 ao secret of it. 
 
 Var. This little puss-puss — what's her name 1 Ah ! this NicketU 
 as you call her, is rather pretty. 
 
 Nan. And more — she is wise. 
 
 Var. Wise ! Ah, yes — well, wise is a good word. But who is thii 
 Monsieur Gustave who was waiting for her below 1 
 
 Nan. L.W is her husband 
 
 Var. Oh, then he is Monsieur Nichette ! 
 
 Nan. That is, he is not her husband yet ; but he will be, and thai 
 is the same thing. 
 
 Var. I understand. She is wise as the world goes. But she has a 
 lover. 
 
 Nan. Who loves but her, and who will marry her, and make her a 
 good husband. And take my word for it she is a good girl, and de 
 serves all the happiness he can bestow upon her. 
 
 Var. So thrives every body's suit but mina Nanine, do you think 
 Mademoiselle Camille cares any more for me than she used to ? That 
 is, do you think she really loves me ? 
 
 Nan. Not the least bit in the world ! 
 
 Var. What 1 Pheugh ! [Aside.] A strange way of answering a 
 civil question that girl's got! [To Nanine.] But it must be said 
 that she has strange taste, or she never could endure the tediou* 
 visits of that old Monsieur de Meuriac. They must be very annoy 
 tug 
 
 Nan. You would not think so if you could hear how Madam speaks 
 jf him. Besides poor old man, it is the only happiness he has, and 
 be regards her as his own child. 
 
 Var. Oh, yes ! By the way, I heard of that very pathetic and in 
 toresting story ; but unhappily I cannot believe it 
 
 Nan. Then listen to me, and I will endeavor to convince you 
 There are many evil things said of Madam, and with truth ; but thai 
 is the very reason why things that are not true should not be said. 
 About two years ago, Mademoiselle Camille, after a long illness, deter- 
 mined to visit the celebrated waters of Bagneres, to recover, if pos- 
 sible her health. I accompanied her. Among the invalids at th« 
 hotel there was a lovely young girl, the *ame age as Mademoiselle 
 
CAMILLE. ■ 
 
 "Janulle, Buffering from the same complaint, and bearing such strong 
 resemblance to her, that wherever they went, thev were called the 
 twin sisters. This young girl was Mademoiselle ae Meuriac, daugh 
 ter of the Duke. 
 
 Var. Mademoiselle de Meuriac died* 
 
 #cul She did. 
 
 Var. Oh, yes ! I have heard this story before ; and the Duk« 
 adopted her as his child, made her his heiress, and introduced hei 
 into society, where she is loved and honored. This was not twt 
 years since ; and to-night she is at the opera, the Queen of the Came 
 has, fifty thousand francs in debt — 
 
 &an. Which you have kindly offered to pay. Yes, you are right, 
 Monsieur de Varville. Mademoiselle is gtyer now than she ever wa# 
 before ; but no one knows her heart. Ah, sir, you would have pitied 
 her had you seen her efforts to please the world in which the Duke 
 de Meuriac sought to gain her a position. She was so gentle, sc 
 child-like, it seemed as if the spirit of the dead girl had left its inno- 
 cence with her. Day by day all who knew her grew to love her. 
 The Duke was called away. In his absence her story reached the 
 circle in which she moved. From that moment it was closed against 
 her. She was shunned; and in their cruel sneers they told her to go 
 back to Paris and wear Camelias. She did return to Paris — met old 
 friends, who gave a warm welcome to her. [Door-bell rings, o. r.] 
 Ah, here she is ! Shall I tell her what you were saying ? 
 Var. No, Nanine — you are too amiable to make mischief! 
 
 Emitter Camille, c. from a., throwing her cloak on chair a. 
 
 Cam, \To Nurura.] Order supper. Olimpe and Gaston will 
 be here presently. I met them at the opera. [M/xit Nanine, o. a. 
 Seeing Varville, who rises and bows.] Ah, you are there! 
 
 Var. Yes, it is my destiny to await you. 
 
 Cam. And it is my destiny to find you ever here on my return. 
 
 Var. And it shall continue to be until you forbid me your door. 
 
 Cam. Indeed I am I never to enter this house without finding you 
 here before me f What have you got to say, now that you are here I 
 
 Var. You know the only subject of my heart 
 
 Can. Heart I I am sick of that 
 
 Var. Is it my fault if I love you too well f 
 
 Cam. There it is again 1 My good friend, if 1 were to lister, tc 
 ^very man who tells me he loves me, I would net have time tc 
 breakfast For the hundredth time, I repeat, Mon. de Varville, it 
 will not do! You are losing time. You are ever welcome to entej 
 here — when I go out, and to leave when 1 enter ; but if you will *n 
 •ist on speaking to me of your love, you must not come at *1L 
 
 Var. A year ago, at Bagneres, Mademoiselle Camille, yon th« ught 
 differently. 
 
 Cam. Yes ; but that was a year ago. At Bagneres. A vo-* Jul) 
 place. I was sick. Things have changed. This is Paris. mi 
 better now. 
 
 Var, Especially since f Jie Duke de Meuriac has adopted you 
 
I CAlilLLE 
 
 Cam You ara a fool ! 
 
 Var. Or, perhaps, since the Count de Giray has been the Jtosaj 
 one. 
 
 Cam. Monsieur de Varville, I am at liberty to love whom I please. 
 That is purely my affair— certainly not yours. And if you havi 
 nothing else to say, go home. Good night. 
 
 [He goes up and sits at the fire. She goes to the piano and plays. 
 
 R. H. 
 
 Var. Bravo ! Bravo ! 
 
 Cam. Are you not gone yet ? 
 
 Var. No, not yet ; I am waiting your better humor. [She coughs. 
 He runs to her.] You are ill, Mademoiselle Camille. What's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Cam. Nothing ; I will be better — when you are gone. 
 
 Var Ah, I see my star is not propitious. So, I will say good oight 
 Camille, shall I call to-morrow at one ? 
 
 Cam. Yes, do. [Aside.] I shall be out from twelve till five. 
 
 Var. Adieu. [ Goes up. 
 
 Enter Nanine, c. d. from r. — Naninb, Mademoiselle Olimpb and 
 Monsieur Gaston. 
 
 Cam. Come in Olimpe, I thought you were never coming to see me 
 any more. 
 
 Oli. It was all his fault. 
 
 Gas. Yes, all my fault ! It always is, you know. Ah, how art 
 you, Varville? 
 
 Var. How are you, Gaston ? Glad to see you. 
 
 Gas. You sup with us to-night; do you not? 
 
 Var. Do I, Mademoiselle Camille ? 
 
 Cam. No — no ! Why, I thought you bid me good night just now. 
 
 Var. So I did ; but I thought you called me back. 
 
 Gas. Well, my little girl, how have you been all this time? 
 
 Cam. Oh, very well. 
 
 Gas. So much the better. In passing the Cafe de Paris, I ordered 
 some fine oysters and a basket of champagne of a certain brand, 
 which they keep expressly for my use. It is excellent, I assure you t 
 80 vive la joi ! — there will be no scarcity of amusement 
 
 Oli. There never is when you are about. 
 
 Gas. Mademoiselle Olimpe, you are a wicked woman. 
 
 Oli. No wonder, I keep bad company. [To Camille.] Will Madam* 
 Prudence be here ? 
 
 Cam. Yes, she should be here by this time [Calls at window, B.] 
 Madame Prudence ! 
 
 Oli. Oh, Madame Prudence is your neighbour, is she ? 
 
 Cam. Yes, she lives just opposite. It is very convenient When I 
 want her, I have only to open the window and call. [Cans.] Ma- 
 iame Prudence ! 
 
 Gas. Who is Madame Prudenc€ ? 
 
 Oli. She i« a milliner, and has but one customer — Made iioiftelU 
 
 Camilla 
 
OAMTLLB. 1 
 
 Gas. What, Mademoiselle Camille, do yon wea* all her bcnne\« 1 
 
 Cam. Oh no — heaven forbid ! It is bad enough to have to pay for 
 Inem. But she is a good soul, with a heart as light as her purse 
 [Calls.] Madame Prudence ! I 
 
 Mad. P. [ Without, b. 2 b.] Here I am. 
 
 Cam. Well, here we are waiting for you. Why do you not come 1 
 
 Mad. P. I cannot just now, 
 
 Cam What detains you 1 
 
 Mad. P. A young man whom I have not seen for a long time hat 
 |ust stepped in to see me, and I cannot leave him alone. 
 
 Cam. Then bring him along. Quick ! Quick ! Ugh ! how cold it 
 Is ! Monsieur de Varville, do pray put some wood on that fire, 1 ana 
 frozen here. Make yourself useful, for you are not agreeable. 
 
 [ Varville fixes fir§. 
 
 Enter Naninb, o. d. from b. 
 
 Nan. Madame Prudence and Monsieur Armand Duval. 
 
 Cam. Bid them enter. [Sits e.] [Exit Namn* 
 
 Enter Armand and Madame Pbttdbncb, o. from b. 
 
 Mad. P. My dear Camille, allow me to present to you Monsieur 
 Armand Duval. 
 
 Cam. Must I rise 1 
 
 Arm. No, Mademoiselle ; it is not necessary. 
 
 [ Goes and speaks to others. 
 
 Cam. [To Mad P.] Who is your friend 1 
 
 Mad. P. The man of all Paris who loves you the most. 
 
 Cam. Indeed ! Tell Nanine to place another knife and fork upon 
 the supper table ; for I dare say that love will never take away his 
 appetite. 
 
 Mad. P. Camille, I am serious. That young man loves you almost 
 to madness. 
 
 Cam. Tes ! But he will not go mad. 
 
 Olimpb presents Abman d to Gaston. 
 
 Gas. Duval 1 Oh, yes ; I heard that name before. Are you any 
 relation to Monsieur Duval, that gruff, crusty old gentleman, who 
 was sometime Keceiver-General at Tours 7 
 
 Arm. (o.) Oh, yes; he is my father. Do you know him 1 
 
 Gas. I have had that pleasure. I met him at the house of the 
 Baroness de Nersay. Also your mother, Madam Duval, who was a 
 very beautiful and charming lady. 
 
 Arm. Alas, sir ! she has been dead for three years. 
 
 Gas. Pardon me, sir ! I was not aware of it, or I should not hav« 
 recalled her memory. 
 
 Arm. Oh, sir ! you can never offend by reminding me of my mo 
 ther ; for next to possessing affections so beautiful and pure as hers 
 •* the remembrance of them when they are beyond our reach. 
 
 '/as. You are a: only child. 
 
 Arm. Oh, no ! 1 have a dear sister. [They go up 
 
• OAXILXA. 
 
 Cam [To Mad. P.] I begin to like your friend 
 
 Mad P. I guessed it would be so, and so I told him bt fore we i 
 
 Cam. And did he really tell you he loves me I 
 
 Mad. P. To be sure he did and more ; I knew it long ago. But yoi 
 laugh so at the idea of love, that I did not dare to say so. 
 
 OH. What are you two whispering about there f 
 
 Cam, (l.) Listen and you Bhall know. [ Varville drumming on iht 
 pianOy b.] Monsieur de Varville, will you ever cease that ncis6 f 
 
 [He stops 
 
 Vat. Noise I Why you told me to plav all the time. 
 
 Cam. That was when I was alone with you ; but I need no pas 
 time now. 
 
 Mad. P. Well, as I was saying, for two \ears you have been his only 
 thought You may remember when you were ill a year ago, before 
 you went to Bagneres, that during the three months you were con- 
 fined to bed, you were told a young man called every day to learn 
 how you were ; but never left his name. 
 
 Gam. Oh, I remember. 
 
 Mad P. It was he. 
 
 Cam. Monsieur DuvaL 
 
 Arm. Madam! 
 
 Cam, Do you know what they are telling me here : — that when 
 I was ill a year ago, you called each day to learn how I was. 
 
 Arm, It is true, Mademoiselle. 
 
 Cam. Ah, Monsieur Varville, do you hear that f 
 
 Var. (r, o.) Why I haven't known you a whole year. 
 
 Cam. And Monsieur Duval has known me ]VL$t five minutes. 
 
 Najtikb and servants bring in supper table from o. d. and place *l 
 in front a Set chairs. 
 
 Mad r. That's right, Nanine you are a sensible girl I certain- 
 ly should have died of hunger if that table had not appeared. 
 
 Var, Adieu, Camille, I am going. 
 
 Jam. I don't believe you. 
 
 Var. You may, for I am off. 
 
 Cam. When shall I see you again f 
 
 Var. Whenever you please. 
 
 Cam. Well, that is the most agreeable thing you have said to-nig'ut 
 Adieu I [Exit Varvillb, a n. of t 
 
 N 01% Adieu, Monsieur de Varville ; don t forget your promise. 
 
 Gas Here, save your politeness ; you will want it presently. 
 
 Cam. Now, my friends, to supper. Come, be seated. Armani 
 you will sit next to me. [They sit at tahU 
 
 Mad P. Well, Camille, I think you treat that poor Count de Var 
 rille very badly. 
 
 Cam. Poor? You would not think him poor if you heard La 
 •ounling over his revenue. 
 
 01% 1 wish he would count some of it over to me. 
 
 (Jus Are you not satisfied, madam, with your present choioe 9 
 
 OU Well, 1 oiurht to be, after th*t beautiful present you made » u 
 
OAMtLLM. I 
 
 the other day. Camille, you cannot guess * uat he gave me on m$ 
 birth day. 
 
 Cam. No, what was it 1 
 
 Oli A carriage. 
 
 Cam. A carriage ! I am sure that was a very handsome present 
 
 Oli. But I have no horses, and he wont buy me any. 
 
 Cam. Never mind — they will follow. Keep the carriage. 
 
 Oli. Alas ! it is only a candy one. 
 
 Gas. My dear girl, if you desire to prove the sincerity of yo* 
 affections, love me for myself alone. 
 
 Oli. There's a modest request. 
 
 Mad. P. What is that dish 1 
 
 Gas. Partridges. 
 
 Mad. P. Give me some of them. 
 
 Gas. A wing you mean. 
 
 Mad. P. Monsieur Gaston, you are a boy. 
 
 Gas. You must forgive me, I was not aware that ladies' appotita 
 grew with their age. 
 
 Mad. P. Age ! And what age do you suppose I ami 
 
 Gas. I do not know. Indeed I never studied ancient history. Bui 
 you do not look more than forty, upon my honor. 
 
 Mad. P. Forty Thirty-six, if you please. 
 
 Gas. Forty and thirty-six.— Seventy— well, it does look more liki 
 that, I confess. 
 
 Mad P. Camille, will you speak to Monsieur Gaston 1 He is do- 
 ing all he can to take away my appetite. And what are you doing 
 there ? You are not eating at all. Hand me some oysters, dear, and 
 fill up Monsieur Duval's glass. 
 
 Cam. Good ! Let us fill to my health, Armand ! 
 
 All. To the health of Camille ! 
 
 Cam. Gaston, you have not helped Olimpe. 
 
 Gas. Haven't I, though 1 
 
 Mad. P. Come, sit by me. I'll help you. Gaston has no idea ol 
 how to administer to a delicate appetite. 
 
 Gas. Madame Prudence, have you ever had j our throat examined 1 
 
 Oli. Don't heed him, Madame Prudence. He is thinking of Aman- 
 da's throat, and the time she caught cold in the yellow carriage. 
 
 Cam. Oh, by the way, yes ! What was that about the yellow car 
 riage 1 Do let me hear it. 
 
 Gas. My dear, will you come sit by mel I'll mix a salad for you 
 
 Mad. P. No, thank you, she is better here. Will >ou have anothei 
 fcird, my dear 1 
 
 Gas That old woman must have a cast-iron stomach. 
 
 Mad P. What do you have supper for, if it is not to eat 1 
 
 Oli. Why, you see, Madame Prudence, som Uimes persons havn 
 ■uppers prepared for them that they do not eat ; and sometimes per- 
 sons go to great expense to have a supper served up in elegant style, 
 ft little out of town, and invite a beautiful girl to sup with them , 
 ftnd when f.hey call to accompmy her, they arrive just in time ta 
 
tV OAMILUt. 
 
 *ee her drive off U the supper with another, »nd ux the very yeLfcw 
 carriage they had brought for herl 
 
 Gas. Mademoiselle Olimpe that was a very stupid story 
 
 Oli But the sequel is very interesting. Shall I tell itf 
 All — (except Gastov.) Yes I yes! the sequeL 
 
 Cam. Let us drink to the hero of the yellow carriage. 
 
 AIL To the hero of the yellow carriage ! 
 
 Gas. I'll drink, if it's only for tne sake of the wine. Down go^i 
 >he yellow carriage. [Runt to the piano.] Shall I play you the l*«t 
 new polka? 
 
 All. Yes! yes! 
 
 Cam. Now for a dance. Clear away the table. 
 
 [Servants clear the table and carry it out the a » 
 
 Mad. P. I have not finished yet 
 
 Cam. A polka ! A polka ! 
 
 [Gaston plays. They dance. Camillk grows sick 
 
 Gas. W hat's the matter, Mademoiselle Camille f 
 
 Cam. Nothing! That cough again. That's alL 
 
 Arm. You are ill, madam! 
 
 Mad P. Give her something to eat. 
 
 Cam, A glass of water, please. I will be better soon. It if 
 nothing. See, I am well, already. Monsieur Duval, and you, Gas- 
 con, step in*> the other room, and before you have your segars lit, 
 . will be with you. [Aside to the ladies.] Go with them. I am not 
 well. 
 
 Mad P. Y<*f , let us leave her. She is better alone when these at- 
 tacks arrive. [Aside.] It is always the way. Just as we are enjoying 
 ourselves, on comes that cough again, and all our fun is over. 
 
 [Exeunt Gastom Olimpb and Madame Pbudbncb a v. and 
 offh. 
 
 Arm. (r.) [Aside.] Poor girl! 
 
 Cam, (l.) [Looking in mirror.] How pale I am! Ah! 
 
 Arm. Well, Mademoiselle, how do you feel now f 
 
 Cam, Ah, Monsieur Armand, is it you f Better, thank yon. I 
 have grown used to these of late. 
 
 Arm. You are killing yourself I would I had the right to sav« 
 you from yourself. 
 
 Cam. It is too late. Why, what's the matter with you t 
 
 Arm. You have made me ill. 
 
 Cam. Don't be foolish. Pray go into the next room and enjoy 
 yourself with the others. See, they do not heed me. 
 
 Arm. Ah, Carmlle, let me be your nurse — your doctor. I will 
 guard you like a brother — shield you from this feverish exist* 
 •nc* y which is bringing you to your grave — surround ycj with 
 a thousand little cares that will make you in love with life — then 
 when you are strong and well, and can enJDy it, I will be as youi 
 guiding star, and lead your thcughts to find content in a home mor« 
 worthy of you. 
 
 Cam. Monsieur Duval, if you would not offend me, let us changi 
 this fubject Do not deceit- yourself — you cannot deceive me Yoi 
 
UAMILLJS. 
 
 art not speaking to the cherished daughter of society; but to • 
 woman of the world — friendless, fearless — loved by those whoa* 
 ranity she gratifies — despised by those who ought to pity her. 
 
 Arm. Camille, have you a heart t 
 
 Cam, Why do you ask f 
 
 Arm. Because, if you have you could not make so light a matte* 
 >f my word*. 
 
 Cam. Are you really serious I 
 
 Arm, Very serious. 
 
 Cam, Madame Prudence toiG me you were sentimental. 
 
 Arm. She could not tell you how I love you. 
 
 Can*. And you still think you love me ? 
 
 Arm Camille, I cannot jest. This is the most serious moment of 
 my ufe. My destiny is in your hands. You are young, lovely, love- 
 able. The world in which you live is at your feet — smiles when yon 
 imile — is gay when you are gay. But does it weep with you, and 
 in your sad and silent hours, does it hover around you with it* 
 eare, and cheer you with its love ? No ! no ! Then leave this tainted 
 sphere. It is not worthy of you. Listen to the voice of one who 
 truly loves you. Give me leave to find your heart and teach it how 
 tc throb anew — to make it my shrine, my sanctuary, my home. 
 
 Cam. Are you sure you would take good care of it f 
 
 Arm. Trust me. 
 
 Cam. For how long f 
 
 Arn. Forever. 
 
 Cam. How long has this lasted t 
 
 Arm, For two years. 
 
 Cam. How came it you never told me of this before t 
 
 Arm. I never knew you until now. 
 
 Cam. You could very easily have made my acquaintance. When 
 I was ill, and you came each day to inquire after me, why did you 
 not ask to see me ? 
 
 Arm. Pardon me I 
 
 Cam, Why, you loved me then f 
 
 Arm, Yes, too well to take a liberty I would not allow another te 
 take in the house of a woman I respected. 
 
 Cam. So you really think you love me 1 
 
 Arm. When you shall give me the right to say so, you will one 
 dav learn how welL 
 
 Cam. It were better never told. 
 
 Arm. And why I 
 
 Cam. Because it can result in but one of two things. First, that I 
 will not believe it; o? believing it, cause you to wish I never had 
 I am but a sorrowful companion, at the best Always sick, impa 
 tient, nervous, fretful — or, if gay, a gayety more terrible than tears 
 — expensive, too — a revenue of thirty thousand francs, and alwayi 
 in debt This may do for the dear old Duke, who loves me as hit 
 ehttd, has plenty of money, and no one to spend it It would not da 
 for yon. Now we'll talk sense. Give me your hand. Let us joia 
 the others, and 111 light your u far. 
 
It CJLMPLL*. 
 
 Arm. Excuse me, Camille. Enter, if yon will; but allow n« U 
 remain 
 
 Cam. What's the matter! 
 
 Arm, Pardon me. I am not .velL 
 
 Gain. Shall I prescribe for you t 
 
 Arm Speak 
 
 Gam. Go home and go to bed. Dream all night of some dear girl 
 more worthy of your love than I. If indeed you love me, you hav« 
 wronged yourself. You love too well to be unloved But lo?t 
 wisely. Choose from a holier sphere than this the womar vou would 
 love. Then seal that love upon the altar. Take her to your boson? 
 fresh with a parent's blessing ; or, if she have none, let he*' merit 
 that of heaven ! 
 
 Arm. Camille, have you ever loved t 
 
 Cam. Never. 
 
 Arm. Thanks ! thanks ! If you but knew how I have sought to 
 learn what you have told me in that little word — how I have fol- 
 lowed in your path — how I have cherished Ik six months a little 
 button which fell from your glove 
 
 Gam. I would not believe it I have heard these tales before. 
 
 Arm. You are right I know not what I say. I am a fool! Yet, 
 laugh ! I deserve it alL Good night 
 
 Cam. Armand. 
 
 Arm. Did you call t 
 
 Cam. Let us not part in anger. 
 
 Arm. Anger 1 Oh, Camille, if you could read my heart ! 
 
 Gam. Then let us make it up. Come and see me often. We will 
 ■peak of this again. 
 
 Arm. Ah, still you laugh. 
 
 Cam. Speak, Armand ; I am not laughing now. 
 
 Arm. Will you be loved f 
 
 Cam. For how long I 
 
 Arm, For eternity! 
 
 Cam. Alas ! my life may yet be happy — it cannot b« long — and 
 short as it may be, it may outlive your promise. 
 
 Arm. Now, who is melancholy I 
 
 Cam. Not L The weight that chained me to her throne's removed, 
 and all around breathes ecstacy ! But it grows late, and you must 
 away. 
 
 Arm. When shall I see you again f 
 
 Cam, [Giving him a Camelia,] When this little flower is faded, 
 L ting it back to me again. 
 
 Arm, Ah, Camille, you have made me blessed. 
 
 Gam, It is a strange flower, Armand — pale, scentless, cold ; but 
 sensitive as purity itself Cherish it, and its beauty will excel the 
 loveliest flower that grows ; but wound it with a single touch, you 
 never can recal its bloom, or wipe away the stain. Take it and re 
 member me. New go. 
 
 Arm. Adieu ! [Exit o d, and of ■ 
 
CAMILLB. II 
 
 Cam. He loves me. There is a new found meaning to th(\H, *6npli 
 vjrds that never fell upon my ears before. 
 
 [Sinks into a seat, r. Madame Pbudencb, Olimpb and Qabtoi 
 enter, dressed fantastically in each others 7 hats and bonnets 
 laughing. 
 Cam. What on earth have you been doing 1 
 
 Mad. P. We have been amusing ourselves in h. nor c the new 
 alliance. 
 
 Cos. Yes, I am to be bride. 
 Mad. P. No ! Bridesmaid you mean. 
 
 Qas. [Mimicking a lady.] If I can't be a bride I shan't be anything 
 else, I assure you. 
 Oh. Now let's rehearse the bridal dance. 
 Gas. Oh, yes ; a dance ! a Qttnce. Camille, play for us 
 [Camillb plays on piano. — Fantastic dance. — Gaston danset 
 with Madame Prudence, who finally faints in his arms. — 
 They all run to her. 
 
 BJTD OF ACT L 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 6cB5E — Same as xn Act I. — Nakikb and Madams Prudefcb dis- 
 covered. — Camillb enters c. from l. as curtain rises. 
 
 Cam. Ah, Mad. Prudence, you are come. Have you seen the Duke 1 
 
 Mad. P. Yes, here is something he sent you. [Gives a packet of 
 bank notes.] My dear Camille, can you lend me three or four hundred 
 francs 1 I am in need of a little money this morning. 
 
 Cam. Here they are. [Gives money.] Did you tell the Duke of my 
 intention to go to the country 1 
 
 Mad. P. Yes. 
 
 Cam. What did he say 1 
 
 Mad. P. That you are right — that nothing could be better foi youi 
 health. And you will go 1 
 
 Cam. I hope so. I was to see that house to-day again. 
 
 Mad. P. What is the rent of it ? 
 
 Cam. Two thousand francs. 
 
 Mad. P. Camille, this looks very much like love. 
 
 Cam. I am afraid it is. It certainly is something. Listen how my 
 heart beats. 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, dear ! this is an awful state of affairs. I woLder if 
 It's catching. 
 
 Cam. It is near ten o'clock. He will soon be here [Door-bell 
 rings.] Ah, 'tis he ! Run Nanine, open the door. [Exit Nahlsb. 
 
 Mad. P. You are mistaken. No one rang. 
 
 Cam. Even so. There is a speechless thrilling ic my breast thai 
 veils me he is near. 
 
 Mad P. I am off' 
 
14 C-MILLK. 
 
 Cmm. Stay till be cornea. 
 
 Mad. .°. Oh, no 1 I must go home and pray for yon. You are U 
 
 tonger. 
 
 Cain. Perhaps I am. [/Site a c 
 
 Arm and Enters, a from m, 
 
 Arm. Camillel 
 
 Cam, Armand ! I knew your ling. 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, you ungrateful man 1 
 
 Arm. Forgive me, Madam Prudence I saw but her I Are yon 
 irellt 
 
 Mad. P. Yes, all are well now ; so I will leave you, my children, 
 in old woman is like a doctor, — never thought of when all goef 
 well ; but the first we send for when there's a wound to heaL 
 
 {\£fet*MAD. P., a off* 
 
 Cam, Come sit by me. 
 
 Arm. Here I am. [Sit* by her, a. a 
 
 Gam. Do you love me more and more f 
 
 Arm. No ! 
 
 Cam. Howl 
 
 Arm. I love you so much, I have no room for more. 
 
 Cam. What have you been doing to-day I 
 
 Arm. I was to see Madam Prudence Nichette, Gustavo— every- 
 where that I could hear your name. 
 
 Cam. You have been idle 
 
 Arm. No, I wrote to my father, telling him he need no longei 
 a wait me at Tours. 
 
 Cam. You may offend him. That must not be. 
 
 Arm, No, he will not expect me. What have you been doing all 
 day! 
 
 Cam. Thinking of you. 
 
 Arm. True! 
 
 Cam. True ! And manufacturing grand project*. 
 
 Arm. What were theyf 
 
 Cam. I must not telL 
 
 Arm. I have no secrets from you. 
 
 Cam. Listen. I cannot tell you at present what my projects are 
 ; at should they succeed, I can tell you their result 
 
 Arm What will it be ? 
 
 Cam. To bring me nearer you. 
 
 Arm. Oh, tell me how. 
 
 Cam. By passing the summer months together in some quiet spot 
 c the country. In a few days from this I shall know the result, and 
 f ju shall know the cause. Till then you must not ask me. 
 
 Arm. And is it you alone, CamiLe, who have formed these pio 
 •ects f 
 
 Cam. What a strange question ! 
 
 Arm. Antwer me. 
 
 Cam. Well, 'tis I alone. 
 
 Arm Aud you alone will execute themJ 
 
CAMILLX. II 
 
 Cam I, alone. 
 
 Arm, CAmille, he n 7 a. .ver read MancjQ Leseaa* I 
 
 Cam. I have. 
 
 Arm. Vo you ' e j> ember the story of Manon I 
 
 Oam. It haa bean some time since I read the book. 
 
 irm. I wUl remind you. She loved a young man, who loved Vei 
 • ois w/e ; but who was poor — too poor to meet the large expense 
 K .* taste and style demanded. She, too, formed a project, and 
 Bv led it to a wealthy friend, who gladly aided it- -gave her all she 
 atV^d — and while she thanked him for the wealth he had bestowed 
 api\* her, she smiled upon another, upon whom sh€ lavished it Ca- 
 mill •. you are too truthful to be that woman ; and I am too honor* 
 ble in tw that man. 
 
 Ca»n. What does this mean ? 
 
 Arm That if your schemes at all resemble hei i, I will not be a 
 partne\ »n them. 
 
 Cam Jood. Let us change the theme. It hai been a beautiful 
 day. 
 
 Arm [Looking out of window.] Beautiful! 
 
 Cam. '(Tie Champs Elysees crowded! 
 
 Arm, Crowded ! 
 
 Cam, Change of the moon to-night, I believe f 
 
 Arm. Dtril take the moon. Camille, I am d t thinking of the 
 moon. 
 
 Cam. Blither am L 
 
 Arm, Wfeat would you have me do? You kn< w that I am jeal- 
 ous of your very thoughts, and what you told me a moment ago 
 
 Cam. Are you going to be a second edition of ihat book ? Listen 
 to me. I lov* yt** I never told you so before. For that love I ask 
 your confidence. You are not jealous of that poor old man, the 
 Duke. You know the sacred sentiments which bind him to my in- 
 terests. That I am not where he would place me, was the fault of 
 those who drove me from it. It was no act of las. Could he see me 
 where he would have me, his aged heart would know another joy. 
 Let me have my way. It shall lead to your It r e, be sure ! Is it aL 1 
 ^ght! 
 
 A rm But — but — 
 
 Cain. Come— come Say it is. 
 
 Arm No, not yet 
 
 Cam. Then good night 
 
 Arm. Good night ! Why you would not se*d me away ao toon t 
 
 Cam No — no ; but — you may remain a little longer. 
 
 Arm, Perhaps you are expecting some on« I 
 
 Cam. Are you going to •ommence again I 
 
 Arm. You will not deceive me now. 
 
 Cam. How long have I known you! 
 
 Arm. Four days. 
 
 Cam, If I did not love you I would not 1 iow you jm*. So if jtm 
 tore me, say good night, and don't compiau 
 
 Arm. Oh, forgive me. 
 
6 OAMILLB. 
 
 Cant, If this continues, I shall spend my life in forgiving yo*. 
 Ann. No — no ! It is my last offence. Good night 
 Cam. Come early to-morrow and we will breakfast together. 
 Arm. Once more, good night ! [Exit o. D. and off ■ 
 
 Cam. Life ! Life ! You are a puzzle I Who would have made m* 
 believe four days ago, that that man, a stranger to me, would to-daj 
 •o occupy my heart and thought f Can this be love ; or ^s it maa 
 ness f Does he indeed love me f Armand, why — why have you coim 
 across my path f I was happy till you came 1 and now — oh 1 Yel 
 in this struggle between hope and fear, there's something whispers 
 m s of happier hours. / love, and I am loved I Ah, there is wealth 
 enough of joy in those dear words to cancel an eternity of care ! 
 
 Enter Najtisb 
 
 Nan. Mons. de Yarville. [Exit Na* inb, a and off a. 
 
 Enter Yarville, a from e, 
 
 Cam, Good evening, Mons. de Yarville. 
 
 Var. Good evening, Camille. You are looking charming. Art 
 f ou welL 
 
 Cam. Yery. 
 
 Var. You got my note t 
 
 Cam. I did. 
 
 Var. Just half-past ten o clock. [Looking at his watch.] You see 1 
 am punctual. 
 
 Cam. You wrote me that you wished to speak with me on business 
 
 Var. Yes,, Have you been to supper t 
 
 Cam. Why do you ask f 
 
 Var. Because, if you will come and sup with me, we can talk this 
 matter over in quiet 
 
 Gam. Are you very hungry! 
 
 Var. Yes, 1 am. That dinner at the club has cuite given me an 
 appetite. 
 
 Cam. What are they doing at the club to-night 
 
 Var. Playing when I left 
 
 Cam. Who won? 
 
 Var. Mons. Gaston whom I met here the other night Ap- 
 propos, who was that odd-looking sort of person — Monsieur — Mod 
 ■eur something that Mad. Prudence introduced! 
 
 Cam. Ill at gentleman was Monsieur Armand Duval, my friend 
 
 Fa-. Apropos, did any one leave here as I entered! 
 
 tlattu Not that I know of Who was it f 
 
 Var. That is precisely what I should like to know. As I ascended 
 frum the carriage, some one watched me until I reached the door, and 
 when h^ saw my face, he hurried away as if I had been a creditor. 
 
 Ham Well, Count, let's to business. What have you got to aay U 
 u« \ 
 
 Var. Camilk, who are your creditors t 
 
 Om I have not the remotest idea. 
 
CAMILLE. \1 
 
 Var. Why, yc a told me that you were twenty thousand franca la 
 lebt Is it paid f 
 
 Cam. Not that I know o£ 
 
 Var. But you know the parties to whom you owe it ? 
 
 Cam. I have not that honor, personally. I know their address. 
 
 Var. Where is it f 
 
 Cam. Somewhere there. [Hands an account-book.] 
 
 Var. Yes, here it is all summed up. Twenty — why here **• «*a 
 more. It is thirty thousand francs. 
 
 Cam. Why so it is ! I had forgotten. Count, have I no kept 
 -hose accounts in very fine order t 
 
 Var. Yes, they appear to be in a remarkable state of preser* iidon 
 
 Cam. They will look better when receipted. 
 
 Var. And is it necessary that they should be paid f 
 
 Cam, Absolutely. 
 
 Var. Camille, suppose you charge me with this little affair 1 I am 
 very idle, and want something to do. 
 
 Cam. Oh, Monsieur de Varville, it may occupy your th»*« too 
 much. But since you will have it so, the exercise may do you good. 
 
 Var. Will you have the receipt now f 
 
 Cam, No— no ; you may bring it in a week or so. 
 
 Var. [Aside.] A week or so 1 Varville, you have been a fool I 
 
 Enter Nahuti a from b. 
 
 Nan. Madam, a man brought this letter, and said that i must 
 i each you immediately. 
 
 Cam. Who can write to me at this hour f [Looks at the Iter.] 
 Armand I What can this mean? [Reads.] " Mademoiselle, ) can- 
 not be trifled with, even by the woman whom I love. At the eery 
 moment that I quitted your house, the Count de Varville enter *d it 
 I am neither a Count nor a millionaire. Forgive me, if in mj pov- 
 erty I have been too bold. Let us forget that we ever met, o- thai 
 we ever thought we loved. When you receive this letter, I shall 
 have quitted Paris. Armand." 
 Nan. Is there any answer, mademoiselle f 
 
 Cam. None 1 It is welL [Exit Namikb.1 Another drea** dis- 
 pelled I have deserved it I should have known better 1 Wnat 
 tad I to do with love ? Oh, I am sick. 
 
 V*~. What was in that letter, Camille! 
 
 Cam. Good news for you, Count You have gained thirtr thou* 
 •a bd francs. 
 
 Var. It is the first letter of the kind that ever came in m^ va y I 
 Bnt how t 
 
 Cam. Yon need not attend to that little affair for me. I li*- * V* 
 a debt It occupies my mind. 
 
 Var. Have your creditors died I 
 
 Omm. Worse than that I was in lova. 
 
 Var. Yout 
 
 loan I! 
 
 Pat With wl im 
 
1$ oAMTU-E. 
 
 Cam. One who did not bve ni*, as often happens t A nan wh< W 
 poor, as always happens ! [(Twe* Aim tfia fetter.] Kead. 
 
 V«w. f Aside.] Phew ! I understand now why those debts no Ion 
 ger trouble you. [Aloud.] My dear Camille, this is indeed too bad, 
 and from a friend, too ! So Monsieur Duval, it appears, is very 
 Jealous. 
 
 Cam. You have invited me to supper. 
 
 Var. I have. We are waited for. 
 
 Cam. Come, I want air. 
 
 Var. [Aside.] This begins to look serious [Aloud.] Camilla, yon 
 ire agitated. What is the matter 1 
 
 Cam. Nothing. Nanine ! Nanine ! My shawl and bonnet 
 Quick I 
 
 Enter Naninb, o. d. 
 
 Nan. Which, Mademoiselle 1 
 
 Cam. Any one at all. A light shawl will answer. 
 
 [Exit Nanine, l. 1 b. 
 
 Var. You will be cold. • 
 
 Cam. Cold ! I am on fire ! 
 
 Enter Nanine, with shawl and bonnet, lIb. 
 
 Nan. Shall I sit up for you, Mademoiselle 1 
 
 Cam. No, retire. I will not return until late. Come, Count, come. 
 [Exeunt Camille and Varville, o. d. off r. 
 
 Nan. There is something very strange going on here. Camille it 
 very much excited. It was that letter, I know, that did it all. Ah, 
 here it is I [Takes up the letter from table and reads.] So, so, Mon- 
 sieur Duval — that is how you do. Going to quit Paris ! That is a 
 very good sign. I never knew a lover of Camille who vowed he was 
 going to leave Paris on her account that did not keep me answering 
 the bell for three months after. [Enter Madame Prudence.] Ah, 
 good evening, Madame Prudence. 
 
 Mad. P. (r.) Where is Camille ? 
 
 Nan. (l.) She has just gone out to sup with the Count de Varville 
 
 Mad. P. She received a letter a few minutes since 1 
 
 Nau. She did : It was from Monsieur Duval 
 
 Mad. P. What did he say 1 
 
 Nan. Nothing. 
 
 Man P. When will she return 1 
 
 Nan I do not know. She said I might retire— that she would no* 
 eturn oarly. I thought you had retired long age. 
 
 Mad. P. Si 1 had, and fast asleep, when I was awakened by a 
 (.oiling of the bell, which is sounding in my ears ever since So 
 Jain i lie is gone out, is she? I thought that letter would make mia- 
 thief. 
 
 Cam. [Entering quickly.] Give me my mantle, Nanine; this shawl'i 
 too light. [Exit Nanine, l. 1 e.] [To Mad. P ] Oh, how you fright- 
 aned me ! What's the matter'? 
 
 MaJ P. That is just whM I want to know. [Points to window 
 Arm* I is there 
 
It 
 
 Cam. Well, what is that to me f 
 Mckl F. He wishes to see yon. 
 
 Enter Nanine lIk with mantle, which Jte place* yn Camilli'i 
 shoulders. 
 
 Cam. What for f I do not wish to see Lim, Good night Th« 
 Count is waiting for me. 
 
 Mad. P. Stay, Camille, you had better see him. He is very on 
 aappy ; and better that you should explain this matter to him thai 
 ^,hat he should demand an explanation from the Count. 
 
 Cam. He has changed his mind, then ! I thought he had quitted 
 Par j ? 
 
 Mad P. Camille, have you forgotten that he loves you f 
 
 Cam. Give me my mantle, Mnnette, I must go. 
 
 Nan, You have it, mademoiselle. 
 
 Cam. That man has almost killed me. 
 
 Mad. P. Then perhaps you had better not see him again. Let him 
 go, and let matters rest where they are. 
 
 Cam. \ Weeping. ~\ That is vour advice. 
 
 Mad P. It is. 
 
 Cam. What else did he say ? 
 
 Mad P. That he will tell you himselC I see how it is. Love— thii 
 love — the more you fan it, the more it burns. [Calls at window.] 
 Armand! [To Camille.] But the Count? 
 
 Cam, He will wait 
 
 Mad P. Had you not better send him away at once f 
 
 Cam. You are right Najine go tell Mom de Yarville that I am 
 Qot well — that I cannot go out to night — that he must excuse me. 
 
 Nin. Yes, Madam. [Exit o. d. off b. 
 
 Cam, I feel better now. 
 
 Mad P. [At window.] Armand,come! He will not require a second 
 (Dvitation, I dare say. 
 
 Cam. You will stay here until he comes. 
 
 Mad P. No, I thank you. I will go and finish my dreams, and leave 
 /ou to begin yours again. Oh, dear ! It seems as if the world wai 
 m tire and all the bells were ringing in my head. [Exit o. d. off * 
 
 Nan. [Entering.] The Count has gone, Madam. 
 
 Cam. What did he say I 
 
 Nmn. Nothing ; but he appeared very much annoyed. 
 
 [Exit a J), off % 
 
 Enter A\ hand a d. from b. 
 
 Arm. Ah, Camille, can you forgive me f 
 
 Cam. Do you deserve it? Why did you write me that cruel lei 
 vert You have made me ill. 
 
 Arm. What would you have me dof I saw the Count de Varvill* 
 enter here the v ery moment you had hurried me away. I knew no' 
 «rhat I did. I could scarce believ< my eyes. I wrote that letter— 
 •ent it Forgive me, then, and -^member, Camille, though 1 hav 
 Known you only a few days, I J*»* j loved you two yeara, 
 
20 CAMILLA 
 
 Cam Armand, from the first hour I met you, I hai e nourished thi 
 thought of passing the summer with you, far from Paris — far from 
 the world, I said to myself, at the end of three months of his com 
 
 Fanionship and care, I will be restored to health and peace of mind 
 will try to win his friendship — be worthy his esteem — and, on o a: 
 return to Paris, instead of the hollow hearts and serpent tongues thai 
 crowd around me now, Armand shall be my only friend, protector 
 brother 1 And so I dreamed, and dreamed, until that letter wcks 
 me. We must part My position forbids me seeing you again, and 
 everything forbids me loving you. 
 
 Arm. Camille, you never loved me, or the Count had not bees 
 iere to-night. 
 
 Cam. Another reason why you should not love me. You have poti- 
 t on, friends, honor — be wise. I have neither. I am young, gay, reck- 
 Uss, desperate — my name the sport of every tongue in Paris. If yon 
 t Ul know me, take what is good of me, and leave the rest 
 
 Arm. It was not thus you talked an hour ago. 
 
 Cam. True ! I have reflected since. 
 
 Arm. Camille, I love you. The feeling that I entertain for you 
 Uas become a part of me. My destiny hung upon your love. Think- 
 >ag I had won it, I soared upon my hopes beyond my height, and it 
 «s in falling from them that I am crushed. Since it is so, let us part 
 Farewell 1 You do not love me. 
 
 Cam. Oh, you know not what you say. Stay ! I would speak to 
 you, but dare not 
 
 Arm. Speak, Camille, I listen. 
 
 Cam. Armand. every heart has its silent hours, and so has mine ; 
 and in those hours I often sit and think there is a happier life than 
 the one I lead, if I could but find it And there are moments when 
 visions of a future flit across my brain. I think if I can lend a charm 
 to such a life as this, and win the admiration and respect of the 
 worthless crowd who follow me, what would it be in the sacred cir- 
 e*e of a home, among those who loved and cherished me f Can such 
 a future be in store for me, I ask ? And then the past spreads o'ei 
 Lie like a palL A merry laugh bursts forth in mockery, and I am 
 gay again. 
 
 Arm. Go on. 
 
 Cam. Day follows day — and so I live. I have admirers — lovers, 
 k you will — the first in their vanity, the last in their esteem. 
 Frieuds, too, like Madame Prudence And so the tide of time glides 
 on. You came, and with you many an untold hope. I heard youi 
 ?oice — i saw your tears — and built my faith upon your love. Then 
 I dreamed >f happiness — of hope. Your letter came next, and with it 
 came reproach. Two years ago I last heard reproach. A poor, 
 friendless, sickly girl, disgusted with that world, had dared to enter 
 the abode of peace — the charmed circle of society. Whatever hei 
 history had been, long-suffering had purified her thoughts — hei 
 heart was pure — she sinned no more. But society was outraged 
 With iron hand it flung her from its shore, sad left her beacon!** 
 epon the s*a where she is wrecked ! 
 
CAMILLJ. 
 
 21 
 
 Ann, These words are not for me. 
 
 Cam. No ; but these words are for me. [Points to letter , Thej 
 
 nam me of another blast, I know my safety, and wild not peril it 
 flThy should I, and for what? For jeers, contempt, and scorn f No, 
 *©, no — I have tried that. That is your way, this is mine. 
 
 Enter Na5I5B quickly, with a letter, a d. from R. 
 
 Nan. A letter, Mademoiselle. 
 
 Cam. Who sent it ? 
 
 Van. The Count de Varville. 
 
 Arm. [Suddenly.] The Count de Varville I Xow, Camille, this jc 
 the touchstone of vour worth! My life — your honor, hang uoon yoa 
 luswer ! [Camille tears Utter and throws it toward Nasi* 
 
 &WX Give him that ! [Throw? herself on Armand's brt*m\ 
 
 Music] m oy act. 
 
 act m 
 
 Scene. — A Room in a Country House, ytith a large trindoto. reaching to 
 the floor, r. c, Nantnb discovered walking in a garden. Large doort 
 e. and n.. 2 e. Tables r. a7ki l., with vases of flowers. Chairs, sofa*, dec 
 
 Mad. P. [Entering, r. 2 e.] Where is Camille t 
 Nan. She is in the garden, with Mademoiselle Nichette and Mon 
 aieur Gustave. Monsieur Armand Las gone to Paris, and they hav« 
 come to spend the day with Mademoiselle. [Exit] R. 2 e 
 
 Mad. P. I will join them. 
 
 Cam, [Entering, c] Ah, Madam Prudence, you are come. Is all 
 arranged I 
 
 Mad P. Yes ; or soon will be. I hope. 
 
 Cam. Where are the papers J 
 
 Mad. P. Here they are. The man will be here to-day to see il 
 they are right So I will go to dinner, for I am dying of hunger. 
 
 Enter Nichette and Gustave, c. 
 
 Cam Come, sit down. Tell me: how do you like the way we 1W 
 kr re ? 
 
 Nick. Oh, I think you must be very happy! 
 
 Cam. You are right — I am. 
 
 Nick. And you are right, Camille, when you say that happiness ij 
 in the heart. How often have I said to Gustave, I wish Caraiiif 
 would meet with some one who would love and cherish her — who 
 would win her from the feverish life she leads, and teach her con 
 tentment in one more tranquil and enduring. 
 
 Cam. Well, you have your wish. I love — and I am happy. 
 
 N%ch. Oh it is so sweet to be happy! And w* are all tappy - 
 %r« we not, Guntave I 
 
39 CAMILLE. 
 
 Ous. 1 belie re we are. If, before, to-day, Nichette and I hare a at 
 
 a separate wish, it was, Camille, to see you where you are. 
 
 Cam, Thanks, Gustave. 
 
 Nick After all, happiness does not cost much, if one can only fia 
 the right material If you could but see where I live — two littl« 
 chambers in the fifth story, in La Rue Flaneh — a window that over 
 looks half of Paris — a trellis, where I have planted a geranium, tbs 
 first flower Gustave ever gave me — and how it grows! — no wonder, 
 for I sit and sew by it, and watch it all day. Oh, you should see mj 
 little home. It is so cozy — -just large enough to hold content. 
 
 Ghis. It must like going up stairs better than I do. 
 
 Ntch. Camille, do you hear that saucy fellow ? You cannot guest 
 what he wants me to do — to quit embroidering, and not work any 
 more. He will buy me a carriage next. 
 
 Gus. That will come. Then, Camille, you will drive out with us, 
 will you not f 
 
 Cam. Yes, Gustave, that I will 
 
 Nick Oh, we will have such a time ! You must know that Gua- 
 tave has a rich old uncle, who is going to make him his heir.' But 1 
 forgot to tell you — Gustave is a lawyer, now, if you please. 
 
 Cam. Indeed — you shall plead my first case. 
 
 Nich. Oh he has pleaded already ! 
 
 Cam. Did he gain ? 
 
 Gus. No. My client was condemned to ten years' hard labor. 
 
 Nich. Yes ? I was there, — and I was so glad 1 
 
 Cam. Glad? Why so ? 
 
 Nich. Because the man deserved it. I don't believe in those great 
 men who fold their arms and say : " Gentlemen, I have had in my 
 time, the case of a man who had killed a father, a mother, and hei 
 children ! Well, sirs, I worked at that case night and day, until 1 
 gained it He was acquitted. But I confess it cost me a great deal 
 of labor — and in ail modesty I say that nothing short of the most 
 sublime talents could have restored that ornament to the society 
 which he had adorned." 
 
 Cam. And now that he is a lawyer, Michette will soon be a bride. 
 Is it not so? 
 
 Nich. If he behaves himself. 
 
 Ous. You hear the conditions. Then, Camille, may we not hop* 
 that you too, may be a bride some day? 
 
 Cam. The bride of whom ? 
 
 Out. Of Armand. 
 
 Cam. Armand ? That can never be ! Armand wou'd narry mt 
 to morrow if I would have it so ; but I love him too well too merit 
 tiis reproach. 
 
 Out. Camille, you are so generous. 
 
 Cam. Not generous, Gustave, but just. The woman does not lovs 
 the man she would degrade. There are impressions made in life 
 which time may erase from the memory, but never from the heart. 
 My past is there. A sea of tears could not wash one rang away, 
 which tells me i am unworthy to bft Armand Duval's wife. But let 
 
CAMILLB, W 
 
 as talk of sc me thing else. I have so much happiness, why ask foi 
 more f To be near the man I love — to hear his voice — to know hii 
 truth f — Oh, my dream of life has grown so blissful, peaceful, o Urn, 
 I would not dare to wake it by wearying heaven with a wish beyond 
 tte present 
 
 Nv.K How do you pass the time, Camille I 
 
 Cam. I really cannot tell — it flies so fast After taking a loni 
 mlk with Armand, I read to him, or he reads to me. Then 1 feeo 
 my biids, and listen to them sing. I often sit by him and sew, whih 
 Vs talks to me of the future, until I think I am in another world 
 And then, as you have just seen, in this simple dress, with my grea- 
 ita aw hat, I skip along the fields, or sail on the water by his side, a 
 feel I am a child again ! And when sad thoughts steal by me, as 
 they often do, I wrap myself up in Armand's love, and all is bright 
 again! 
 
 Gu*. I begin to think Niche tte does not love me. 
 
 Cam Because 
 
 Oils. Because she does not talk of me as you do of Armand. 
 
 Cam. She has no need. You are hers — the jewel of her life — 
 while mine is only lent I may admire, but dare not hope to own it 
 But let that pass. Are not these sweet flowers which Armand gave 
 me this morning f I used to spend as much in boquets as would 
 have kept a poor family a whole year ; and now, these simple sprays 
 culled by his hand, seem to load the air with perfume. Oh, how 
 happy I am. But you do not know alL 
 
 N"ick What can it be f 
 
 Srus. Who says Nichette is curious ? 
 
 Cam. You said awhile ago that I should see your home. Perhaps 
 I will see it soon. Unknown to Armand, I am going to sell my house 
 in Paris, pay all r^y debts — rent an apartment near yours — furnish it 
 precisely the sar.^**— and we will live together forgetting and forgot- 
 ten. In the summer we will live in the country, hire a little cottage 
 —do all our owa. work — live alone — and who will be happier than 
 wet 
 
 Nick. How si ange that is. That is just what Gustave and I wew 
 wishing 'o-day shat you would do. 
 
 jVon. [Entering y r 2 e.] Mademoiselle, there is a gentleman in th« 
 hall who winces to see you. 
 
 Cam. Yot see I did not jest That is the man who has charge of 
 the sale, to walk into the garden, you and Gustave. He will sooi 
 be gone, and I will join you. [Exit Gustave and Nich*tte, o 
 
 Bid him enter. [Exit Natoti l2i 
 
 Enter Duval, b, 2 k. 
 
 Dkv Mademoiselle Camille Gauthierf 
 Cam (s. a) It is I, Monsieur. To whom have I the nonor ol 
 mgf 
 Duv. (a.) Tj Monsieur DuvaL 
 Cam. To Monsieur Duval f 
 Duv Yes, Slademoiselle, the father of Armand 
 
9* CAMIL1E. 
 
 0am. Monsieur Armand is not here, air. 
 
 Duv. I know it. But it is with you that I would speak, and I wai 
 fou to listen. You are not only compromising, but ruining my sea 
 
 Cam. You are deceived, sir. I am here beyond the reach of seaa- 
 ial ; and I accept nothing from your son. 
 
 Duv. Which means that he has fallen so low as to be a sharer of 
 he gain which yoi accept from others. 
 
 Cam. Pardon me, sir. I am a woman, and in my own house,* 
 two reasons that should plead in my behalf to your more generoui 
 ©ourtesy. The tone in which you addressed me is not what I hare 
 been accustomed to, and more than I can listen to from a gentleman 
 whom I have the honor to see for the first time. I pray jotl will 
 allow me to retire. 
 
 Duv. Stay, Mademoiselle, when one finds himself face to face witt. 
 you, it is hard to think those things are so. Oh, I was told that j>ou 
 were a dangerous woman. 
 
 Cam. Yes, sir 1 dangerous to myselt 
 
 Duv. It is not less true, however, that you are ruining my son. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I repeat, with all the respect I have for Annan d'i 
 father, that you are wrong. 
 
 Duv. Then what is the meaning of this letter to my lawyer, which 
 •pprises me of Armand's intention to dispose of his property, the 
 gift of a dying mother f [Givet her a letter 
 
 Cam. I assure you, sir, that if this is Armand's act, he has done 
 •o without my knowledge; for he knew well that had he offered 
 «uch a gift, I would refuse it. 
 
 D*w Indeed ! you have not always spoken thus ! 
 
 Cam. True, sir ; but I have not always loved. 
 
 Duv. And now 
 
 Cam. I am no longer what I was. 
 
 Duv. These are very fine words. 
 
 Cam. What can I say to convince you ! I swear by the love I 
 bear your son, the holiest thing that ever filled my heart, that 1 
 wa* ignorant of the transaction. 
 , Duv. StiL you must live by some means t 
 
 Cam You force me, sir, to be explicit. So far from resembling 
 other associations of my life, this nas made me penniless. I p*ay 
 you, read that paper. [Handing a paper.] It contains a list of all 
 that 1 possess on earth. When you were announced just now, I 
 ihought you were the person to whom I had sold them. 
 
 Duv. A bill of sale of all your furniture, pictures, plate, Ac, with 
 jrtdch to pay your creditors — the surplus to be returned to you 
 fiave I been deceived ? 
 
 Can*. You have, sir. I know that my life has been clouded — Oh, 
 poo do not know me, sir! You can never know how purely I de 
 love your son, and how he loves me 1 It is his love which has saved 
 me from myself and made me what I am. I have been so happy fei 
 three months ! And you, sir, are his father. You are good, I an 
 •or<i I know you would rot harm me, Then let me entreat yot 
 
CAMILLA S5 
 
 will »u4 '+£ Hie? i!l el me, or he will believe yon, for he lores jom 
 so ; and 5 kl*o love and honor yon, because yon are his father/ 
 
 Dm. 1 *iion m* fr>r the manner in which I presented myself ts 
 von. I * as arrry at my son, for his ingratitude to his dead mother, 
 m disposing of her gift to him. I pray yon, pardon. 
 
 Cam. Ob, sir, it is yon have all to pardon. I can only bless yo* 
 for those kiid words. I pray you take a chair. 
 
 Duv. It is in the name of these sentiments, which, yon say, are m 
 •acred to yon, that I am about to ask of you a sacrifice greater than 
 tny you have yet performed. 
 
 Cam. Oh, heaven ! 
 
 Duv. Listen, my child, and patiently, to what I have to say. 
 
 Cam. Oh, sir, I pray you Jet us speak no more. I know yon are 
 giing to ask m<* something terrible. I have been expecting this. I 
 was too happy. Yet over my brightest hour there has always hung 
 a cloud. It was the shadow of you* frown. 
 
 Duv. Camille, I am not going to chide, but supplicate. You lovs 
 my son — so do L "We are both desircus of his happine«s — jealous of 
 those who could contribute to it more than we. I speak to you «*» 
 a father, and ask of you the happiness of both my children. 
 
 Cam. Of both your children f 
 
 Duv. Yes, Camille, of both. I have a daughter, young, beaut . 
 ind pure as an angeL She loves as you do. That love has been * u 
 dream of her life. But the family of the man about to marry he?, 
 has learned the relation between you and Armand, and declared tb* 
 withdrawal of their consent unless he gives you up. You see, then, 
 how much depends on you. Let me entreat you in the name of 
 your love for ner brother, to save my daughters peace. 
 
 Cam. You are very good, sir, to deign to speak such words as 
 thes<* I understand you, and you are right I will at once quit 
 Paris, and remain away from Armand for some time. It will be » 
 sacrifice, I confess ; but I will make it for your sake. 3 e sides h* 
 joy at my raturn, will make amends for my absence. You wi* 
 sllow him, to write me after your daughter is married I 
 
 Duv. Thanks, my child ; but I fear you do not wholly understand 
 me. I would ask more. 
 
 Cam. What could I do more t 
 
 Duv. A temporary absence will not suffice. 
 
 Cam. Ah, you would not have me quit Armand forever I 
 
 Duv. You must 
 
 Cam. Never 1 To separate us now would be more than cruel — fo 
 would be a crime. Oh, sir 1 you have never loved I You know not 
 what it is to be left without a home, a friend, a father, or a family. 
 WTien Armand forgave my faults he swore to be all these. I hava 
 grafted life and hope on him till they and he are one. Oh, do not 
 tear him from me the little while I have to live 1 I am not well, sir. 
 I have been ill for mon4hs. A sudden shock would kill me. Ask 
 anything bnt th.s. Oh, do not drive me to despair 1 See, 1 Am it 
 four feet 1 
 
 Duv. Rise. Camille ! I know that I demand a great sacrific* front 
 
46 CAMILL1. 
 
 youi heart ; but one thtJt, for your own good, yon are fatally forced 
 to yield. Listen. Ton have known Armand three months, and yon 
 love him. Are yon sure you have not deceived yourself, and that 
 even now you do not begin to tire of your new choice, and long for 
 other conquests I 
 
 Cam. On, spare me, sir ! Unworthy as the offering of my love may 
 seem, Armana's heart was the first shrine in which it ever sought a 
 sanctuary, and there it shall remain forever ! 
 
 Duv. You think so now, perhaps ; but sooner or later the truth 
 must come. Youth is prodigal — old age exacting. Do you listen I 
 
 Cam. Do I listen f Oh, heaven ! 
 
 Duv, You are willing to sacrifice every thing for my son ; but 
 should he accept this, what sacrifice could he make you in return t 
 Bay that Armand Duval is an honest man, and would marry you,— 
 what kind of union would that be which has neither purity nor reli- 
 gion to recommend it to the grace of heaven, the smile of friends, or 
 the esteem of the world \ And what will be your fate to see the 
 man who sacrificed position, honor, all for you, bowed down with 
 shame of her who ought to be his pride t 
 
 Cam. Oh, my punishment is come ! 
 
 Duv. Avoid what may yet come. Say that you love, both, as none 
 have ever loved. The warmest sun will set at eve. And when the 
 evening of your life steals on, Armand will seek elsewhere the 
 charms he can no longer find in you ; and with every trace of age 
 upon your brow, a blush will rise on his, accusing him of youth, and 
 hopes, and honor, lost for you ! 
 
 Cam. My dream is past I 
 
 Duv. Dream no more, CaniiUe ; but wake to duty to yourself, and 
 to the man you love. 
 
 Cam. Why — why do I live f 
 
 Duv. And should you die, would you have your husband stand 
 upon your grave, ashamed to breathe the name of her who lies 
 there I No, Camille, you are too proud for that I leave to your 
 heart, to your reason, to your affection for my son, the sacrifice I 
 might demand. You will be proud some day of having saved Ar- 
 mand from a fate he would have regretted all his life — which would 
 have brought on him the idle jest and scorn of every honorable 
 man. Pardon me, Camille ; but you know the world too well to 
 doubt the truth of what I say. It is a father who implores you t* 
 save his child. Come, prove to me you love my son. Give me your 
 hand. Conrage, Camille, courage! [She slowly gives her hand] 
 Bless you, bless you ! You have done your duty. 
 
 Cam. You desire, sir, that I separate from your son for his good 
 nis honor and his fortune. What am I to do I Speak — I am ready 
 
 Duv. You must tell him that you do not love him. 
 
 Cam. He will not beLeve me. 
 
 Duv. You must leave Paris. 
 
 Cam. He will follow me. * 
 
 Dm. What will you dot 
 
 Omm I must teach him to despise me. 
 
CAMILLB. 17 
 
 Duv. Bat. Camille, I fear — 
 
 Cam. Ah, fear nothing I He will hate me ! I will teach him. 1 
 know how ; for I have taught myself. 
 
 Duv. Arniand must not know of this. 
 
 Gam. Sir, you do not know me yet ; for I swear by the love I beat 
 your son, that he shall never know from my lips what has transpired 
 b >tween us. 
 
 Duv. Yoq are a noble girl ! Is there aught that I can do for you ? 
 
 Cam. When the heart that now is breaking lies pulseless in the 
 gra\e — w»ien the world records my very virtues to my blame — when 
 Axmand's rofce shall rise with curses on my memory — tell him — Oh , 
 veil him how I loved him! And now, I pray you will withdraw into, 
 that room. He may return each moment, and discover our purpose. 
 
 Duv. Camille, you have saved my life — nay, more, you have pre- 
 served my honor. Heaven biess you for the sacrifice. 
 
 [Exit Duval, l. 2. e. Camille staggers to table r. to write. 
 
 Cam. Oh, I cannot ! Every word I trace seems to tear from my 
 heart a hope that never can take root again. [After a struggle writes.] 
 What shall I say? [Heads what she has written.] " Armand, in a few 
 hours from this, the little flowers you gave me this morning will be 
 withered on my breast, and in their place, Camelias, the badge of 
 that life in which alone I can find happiness." Oh ! heaven, forgive 
 the injuries these words may bring to him, and the injustice they do 
 my heart ! [Folds the letter. Enter Armand 
 
 Arm. Ah, Camilla, here I ami What are you doing there? 
 
 Cam. Armand I Nothing 1 
 
 Arm. You were writing as I entered. 
 
 Cam. No 1 That is — yes I — 
 
 Arm. What does this mean ? Yon are pale! To whom were yon 
 writing ? Camille, let me see that letter. 
 
 Cam. I cannot. 
 
 Arm. I thought we had dene with mystery. 
 
 Cam. And with suspicion. 
 
 Arm. Pardon me, Camille, — I was wrong. I entered excited, and 
 saw in you my own embarrassment. My father is arrived. 
 
 Cam. Have you seen him ? 
 
 Arm. No ; but he left at my bouse a letter, in which he reproa.^iet 
 me very bitterly. He has learned that I am here, and doubtless 
 will pay me a visit this evening. Some idle tongues have been busy 
 in informing him of our retreat But let him come. I wish him to 
 lee you — to talk with you. He will be sure to love you. Or should 
 he remain stern for awhile, and refuse his smiles, what of it? Hi 
 can withhold his patronage bm me ; but he cannot separate nu 
 from your love. I will work, toil, labor for you, and think it a priri* 
 lege and a joy, if I have but your smile to repay me at its close. 
 
 Cam. How he loves me I But you must oe wise, and not augei 
 your father unnecessarily; for you know he has much cause to 
 blame. He is coming, you say. Then I will retire awhile until he 
 speaks with you — then I will return, and be with yen a^ain. I will 
 Call at his feet, and implore him not to part u» 
 
28 CAMILLE, 
 
 Arm. Camille, there is something passing m your mind that yiii 
 «rould hide from me. It is not my words that agitate you so. Yon 
 ean scarcely stand. There is something wrong here. It is this let- 
 ter. [Snatches the letter from her. 
 
 Cam. Armand — that letter must not be read 
 
 Arm. What does it contain? 
 
 Cam. A proof of my love for you. In the name of that love) re- 
 turn it to me unread, and ask to know no more. 
 
 Arm. Take it, Camille. [Gives back letter.] I know it all. Madam 
 Prudence told me this morning, and it was that which took me to 
 Paris. I know the sacrifice you would make, and while you were 
 eonsidering my happiness, I was not unmindful of yours. I have ar- 
 ranged it all unknown to you. Ah, Camille, how can I ever return 
 §uch devotion, truth and love? 
 
 Cam. Well, now that you are satisfied and know all, let us part — 
 
 Arm. Part? 
 
 Cam. I mean, let me retire. Your father will be here, you re- 
 member, and I would rather he would bee you alone. I will be in 
 the garden with Nichette and Gustave. You can call me when you 
 want me. Oh, how — how can I ever part from you ? You will calm 
 your father, if he be irritated, and win him to forgive you. Will yon 
 not ? Then we will be so happy — happy as we have always been 
 since first we met I And you are happy — are you not ? And have 
 nothing to reproach me for — have you? Since first I met you I wel- 
 comed in my heart of hearts your love, believing it a sign from 
 heaven that the past had been forgiven. If I have ever caused youi 
 heart a pang, you will forgive me — will you not ? And when yon 
 recall, one day, the little proofs of love I have bestowed on you, yon 
 will not despise or curse my memory f Oh, do not — do not curse 
 me when you learn how I have loved you I 
 
 Arm. Camille, what does this mean ? 
 
 Cam. Love for you ! 
 
 Arm. But why these tears ? 
 
 Cam. Oh, let them fall ! I had forgotten. Do not heed them. 1 
 am such a silly girl I You know I often love to weep. See, I am 
 ualm now. They are all gone. Come, chase them away. [He kisse* 
 ier brow.~\ See, now, they are all gone. No more tears but smiles. 
 You, too, are smiling. Ah ! I will live on that smile until we meet 
 again ! See, I too can smile ! You can read until your father conies, 
 end think of me ; for I shall never cease to think of you. Adieu 
 [A tide] forever! [Exit r. 2 a. 
 
 Arm. How she loves ne. She fears my father may separate us. 
 It is too late. The woild would be a blank without her. [Calls.] 
 FTinnette! [Enter Naninb r. 2 e.] A gentleman, my father, will 
 arrive here presently. If he ask to see Madam, say that I am here 
 awaiting him. 
 
 Nan. I will, sir. 
 
 Arm. Give me a light. [She gives a light and exits.] Let me see 
 what we have here. [Takes letters from his pocket.] I met Olimpe 
 to-day Always the lame — busy with balls and fetes and reverie* 
 
CAMILLA 2ft 
 
 0i id\ kinds. I oor fool ! She has but one thought herself. Hot 
 heart is empty, and she tries to fill the void with noisy bustle and 
 excitement. Bere is an invitation to her ball next week— as if 
 i 'amille could ever again lend her presence to such scenes. Seven 
 o'clock I My father should be here. What book is this ? I cannot 
 read. It seems as if the time stood still when that girl is from my 
 side. I will call her in. [Rings bell. Naninb enters r. 2 B.J Thtt 
 gentleman will not be here to-night Tell Madam to come in I li 
 «row3 too cold to remain in the night air 
 
 Nan. Madam is not here, sir. 
 
 Arm. How I Where is she, then ? 
 
 Nan. I saw her go down the road. She told me to say to you, 
 iir, that she would return presently. 
 
 Arm. Very well! [Exit Naninb] Where can she begone! I 
 think I see her form in the garden. [Calls.] Camillel Camilla 1 
 No, there is no one there. [Calls again.] Nanine ! Nanine 1 
 [Rings bell impatiently.] Nanine! I say ! No answer! What can 
 this mean f This silence makes me shudder ! There is a desolation 
 in that quiet that forebodes no good. Why did I suffer Camille to 
 leave me ? There was something she would hide from me. She 
 appeared confused when I entered — and then she wept ! I will go — 
 [As he hastens towards the door, Mes. enters r.2i 
 
 Mes Your pardon, sir. You are Monsieur Armand Duval ? 
 
 Arm. I am. 
 
 Mes Here is a letter for you, sir. 
 
 Arm. Who gave it to you ? 
 
 Mes A lady. The garden gate was open. There was no on* 
 about. I saw a light here, and I thought I might enter. 
 
 Arm. You were right Leave me. [Exit Messenger r.2e.] It it 
 her handwriting. [Music] Why have I not the power to Gpen it I I 
 tremble like a child. [Duval enters (l. 2 o.) unperceived and gazet 
 intently upon Armand, who opens letter and reads aloud.] "An hour 
 after you will have received this letter, Armand, I shall be with the 
 Count de Varville," [Be staggers back, sees his father. 
 
 Duval. Armand, my son! 
 
 Arm. Father ! my heart is shattered ! ! 
 
 [Music, Sinks in his father's arms. «* 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene.- -A splendt I room in the house ofOUmpe.— Parties dancing m 
 the baSc as curtain lises. — Others at tables playing cards, l. h. i<» 
 front. — Madame Prudence, Olimpb, Gaston, Annibelle, Ab 
 wub, Guests ana Gustave discovered. — At the close of the da%m 
 Armand entert o. d. 
 
 Mad. P. Why, here is Armand ! We were just speaking of von • 
 moment since. 
 
 Arm. And what were you saying? 
 
 Mad. P. I was saying that you were at Tours, and that yen wool j 
 •ot be hero to night 
 
tO CAMILLB. 
 
 Ann Well, you see 3 on were mistaken, for I am 1 
 
 Mad P. When did you arrive f 
 
 Arm, An hour ago. 
 
 Mad P. Have you seen Camille I 
 
 Arm, I have not. 
 
 Mad P. She will be here to-night 
 , Ami Ah, indeed 1 Then perhaps I may see her. 
 
 Mad P. Perhaps you may see her ! How strangely yon talk! 
 
 Ann How would you have me talk? 
 
 Mad P. You are cured, then ? 
 
 Ann. Oh, perfectly! Else why should I be heret 
 
 Mad P. So you have ceased to think of her? 
 
 Arm. No ; I cannot say that, for it would be untrue But I eon 
 fcss the souvenir is not a very flattering one to her, nor pleasant ons 
 U> me. 
 
 Mad P. Oh ! I really think she loved you then, and even love* 
 you still — that is a little ; but it was quite time she did leave you. 
 Even the old Duke refused to contribute a sous unless the relation 
 between you were sundered. She was forsaking her friends — wasting 
 her means — and everything she possessed was being sold to pay her 
 debts. 
 
 Arm. It is different now ? 
 
 Mad P. Yes, very different 1 
 
 Arm. All her debts are paid? 
 
 Mad P. Every one I 
 
 Arm, By the Count de Varville I 
 
 Mad P. Yes! 
 
 Arm. So much the better! 
 
 Mad P. And so I tell her. That is just what I think — and I am 
 glad you have come to your senses and think so too. Now every- 
 thing goes well. Horses, carriage, jewels, are all returned ; and the 
 luxury in which she lives would make you wonder how she could 
 •lay so long in that cage in which she lived with you in the country. 
 
 Arm. She is in Paris, then ? 
 
 Mad P. Yes ! She will be here soon. I have never seen her as 
 •he is now. She is scarcely an hour at home — operas, balls, suppers — 
 and as for sleep, that scarcely visits her any more. After she left 
 you, she was three days confined to bed ; and the moment she got 
 well enough to be out again, her revelry began ; and so she has kept 
 It up at the expense of her health, and I may say her life. For if 
 •he continues this, it cannot last long. Even now she looks more 
 like a statue than a living thing. 
 
 Arm. [SeHng GustaveJ Madame Prudence, here is a friend t* 
 whom I would speak. Will you have the goodness to excuse me ? 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, certainly ; for I must sit down, or I shall faint witk 
 • unger. I wish they would hurry up the supper. [Go*$ up 
 
 Arm. [Taking Gustavk's hayid] So you received mv Utter f 
 
 Qu*. I did — and am here. 
 
 Arm. You thought Camille loved me— did you no** 
 
 Qua. I did — and do still think ho 
 
0AMILLB. 1' 
 
 Arm Read. [Give* m iMtor. 
 
 Ghis. Did Camille write that? 
 
 Arm. She did 
 
 Gus. When! 
 
 Arm, One month ago. 
 
 Gus. And what was your reply I 
 
 Arm What could it be ? The blow was to sudlen that I thought 
 I «ho*M go mad. She will \ e here to-night with Count de Varville 
 1 have come here to meet him. 
 
 Gu*. Armand, tor heaven's sake, be calm 1 Reflect where you are, 
 U, indeed, Camille be false, she is unworthy of youi love — and ask 
 yourself if injury from such as are assembled here to-nighc be worthy 
 the resentment of a gentleman. 
 
 Arm. Gustave, you are an honest man. I may require to-night 
 the service of a friend. May I count on yours \ 
 
 Gus. You may, sir ; although I wish it were to serve you in a 
 worthier cause. 
 
 Arm. For your sake. To me it is more than worthy — it is sacred. 
 [Points to letter.] These words were penned by her; but never 
 emanated from her heart They are the echo of the sweet word* 
 that scorpion Count de Varville has been hissing in her ear. It if 
 with him that I would speak. By my hopes in her, which he ha* 
 blasted — by the infamy he has labeled on her name — I have sworn 
 to be avenged I 
 
 Usher. [ Without] Mademoiselle Camille Gauthier and Count de 
 Varville. 
 
 Arm. She is here. 
 
 Enter Camille and Vab. villi, a from m. 
 
 01% How late you are. 
 
 Var. "We have only now returned from the opera. 
 
 Mad. P. {To Camille.] How lovely you look, my child— are y<m 
 well? 
 
 Cam. Oh, very well I 
 
 Mad. P. Armand is here. 
 
 Cam. Armand t [7hrn» and sees him. They bow coldly. He got* to 
 tard table l.] Oh, I was wrong to come to this ball to-night I 
 
 Mad. P. Well, you would have to meet some day ; and it may aa 
 well be soon as late. 
 
 Cam. Oh ! how pale he is ! 
 
 Var Camille, Monsieur Duval is here. 
 
 Cam. I know it 
 
 Var Are you sure you did not know he would be here before yo* 
 tame f 
 
 Cam. Certain. > 
 
 Var. Then promise me you will not speak to hira. 
 
 Cam. I cannot promise that. f Goes to sofa a. m 
 
 Gus. Good evening, Camille I 
 
 Cam. Gustave I Oh how glad I am to see you ! And NicheU*— 
 to w U she f 
 
n CAMILLK. 
 
 Gus. Very well! 
 
 Cam. But why are yon here f This is not your custom. 
 
 Gus. Nor was it yours of late, Camille. What is the matter f 
 
 Cam. Oh, Gustave, I am so unhappy ! Leave me. 
 
 Gus. Why have you come here f 
 
 Cam. He would have it so. But it is well ; for each night p&M+d 
 thus shortens the number of my days. 
 
 Gu8. Camille, leave this place, 
 
 Cam. Wherefore? 
 1 Gas. Because Armand 
 
 Cam. I know he despise* me. 
 
 Gus. No I He loves you I He is not well. You see how pale he U- 
 He is much excited. I know not what may yet transpire between 
 him and Count de Varville. 
 
 Cam. A duel I You are right, Gustave. I will leave instantly. 
 
 Var. Where are you going, Camille f 
 
 &am. Count, I am not well. I pray you lead me hence. 
 
 Var. I understand, Camille. You would retire because Monsieur 
 Duval is here. While I appreciate your consideration, I cannot con- 
 sent to be driven from the place in which he chooses to intrude hi* 
 presence. Know that I neither respect nor fear him. For that rea- 
 son, you are here, and here you shall remain ! 
 
 [She sinks back on the sofa. 
 
 Oh, What was the Opera to-night f 
 
 Var. La Favorite 1 
 
 Arm. The story of a woman who deceived her lover. 
 
 Gas. A very common case. 
 
 Arm. Oh! but she loved him; or she said so— much the same 
 thing! 
 
 Gab. Quite the same. You can never tell when they do or when 
 they don't Their words are all alike. Yet we, poor devils, trust 
 them to the last ; for, in spite of all experience, man is but man. 
 
 Arm. And woman is but woman I 
 
 Oli Why, my dear Armand, what a frightful game you are play- 
 ing? 
 
 Arm. Yes ! I would test the proverb : — " Happy at cards, unhappy 
 n love I" 
 
 Gas Then I must be fearfully lucky at cards ; for a more unlucky 
 devil at the game of hearts 
 
 Arm. [Interrupting him.] Hearts ? Diamonds ! Play Diamonds if 
 you will win women ! My friends, I hope to make a fortune to- night 
 And when I shall have made it, I will go and live in the country. 
 
 Oli Alone ? 
 
 Arm. Oh, no With one who accompanied me there before, and 
 who left rae because I was poor I but I have found the way to bring 
 ker back again. It is this ! [Throws gold coin up in the air.] Gold 1 
 Gold I At its magic sound the truant bird will perch upon my hand I 
 
 Gu*. I pray you, sir, forbear ! See, your words have made her ilL 
 
 Arm. Then why is her friend silent? That was his cue! But he 
 
 %h%ll speak I [Turns tr company.] It i« a very good story, by th« 
 
iray. I must relate it It is quite romantic ; foi there is a nobH 
 man in it — a great count — very rich in pocket i but history doe* not 
 record the extent of his honor ! 
 
 Var. (l.) [Advancing.] Sir I 
 
 Cam. (a ) Varville, if you provoke Monsieur Duval, never speak U 
 Rie again. You know me I 
 
 Arm. (o.) [To Var.] Did you speak to me, sir! 
 
 Var. Yes, sir! I was about to say that the happy vein which 
 | our fortun 3 has struck to-night tempts me to venture mine! Be 
 «des, having learned from you how I may catch the bird, perhap* 
 rou will instruct me how to keep it. I too would test the proverb 
 i propose to take a lesson. 
 
 Arm. Which I will endeavor to teach you. 
 
 Var. I hold a hundred louis, sir. 
 
 Arm. Be it so. What side, sir! 
 
 Var. The one you reject # 
 
 A rm. A hundred louis to the left ! 
 
 Var. A hundred louis to the right I 
 
 Arm. [To St. R] Hold the cards. 
 
 Gas To the right four — to the lett, nine. Armand has gained. 
 
 Var. Two hundred louis, then 1 
 
 Arm. As you please. Two hundred louis f But have a care ; if tht 
 proverb says : " happy at play, unhappy in love," it also says : " Un- 
 happy in love, happy at play I" 
 
 Var. I have no fear, sir ! 
 
 Gas. Again : — six — eight — Armand has gained 
 
 Oli. Good ! So, Count, you must pay for the champagne. Let m 
 to supper. It is time we were at table. 
 
 Arm. Shall we continue the game f 
 
 Var. No — not for the present 
 
 Arm. I owe you a revenge ; and I promise to pay it at whatevei 
 game it may please you to adopt Till then I will remain your debtor 
 
 Var. It shall not longer burthen you. I accept your will to be re 
 leased from the obligation, and shall await your payment at the earli 
 est moment 
 
 Oli. [Taking Armand's arm.'] You have been ill-humored all tin 
 night. 
 
 Arm. It is over now ; for I have won the gams. 
 [Exeunt Armand, Olimpe, Gustave, Gaston, and Company off u 
 
 Var [To Camille.] Come with me. 
 
 0am T will join you presently. I would speak with Mad. Pru- 
 »O01 
 
 Var If in ten minutes you are not with r j there, [Pointing U 
 mpper room.] I will return. You understand. 
 
 Van*. Leave me. [Exit Varville, a off l. To Mad B.l Go find Ar> 
 fund, and entreat him to come to me. I must rp«ak to nim. 
 
 Mad P. If he refuse 
 
 Cam. He will not He will seize the opportunity to tell me how 
 ke hates me. [Exit Mad. P. c. and off l.] What's to be done f I mail 
 continue to deceive him. I made a sacred promise to his father. It 
 «mit not be broken. Oh, heaven ! give mo strength to keep it But 
 
&4 CAMILLA 
 
 this duel I How to prevent it I Peril honoi , life, for me * Oh I No, m 
 no f Ratner let him hate, despise me ! Oh t he it here I 
 
 Enter Armand, a from i» 
 
 Arm* Madam, did you send for me I 
 
 Cam. I did, Armand I I would speak with you 
 
 Arm. Speak I I listen, 
 
 Cam. I have a few words to say to you — not of the past 
 
 Arm. Oh, no ! Let that be buried in the shame that shrouds it 
 
 Cam. Oh ! do not crush me with reproach. See how I am bowed 
 before you, pale, trembling, supplicating. Listen to me without 
 hate, and hear me without anger. Say that you will forget the past, 
 and — give me your hand. 
 
 Arm. [Rejecting her hand] Pardon me, Mademoiselle. If youi 
 business with me is at an end, I will retire. 
 
 C^j/u Stay- I will not detain you long. Armand, you must leave 
 Paiis. 
 
 Arm. Leave Paris f And why, Mademoiselle I 
 
 Cam. Because the Count de Varville seeks to quarrel with you, 
 and I wish you to avoid him. I alone am to blame, and I alone 
 should suffer. 
 
 Arm. And it is thus you would counsel me to play the coward' $ 
 part, &nd fly— Jly from Count de Varville ! What other counsel could 
 come from such a source I 
 
 Cam. Armand, by the memory of the woman who you once loved 
 — in the Dame of the pangs it cost her to destroy your faith — and in 
 the name of her who smiled from heaven upon the act that saved 
 her son from shame — even in her name — your mother's name — Ar- 
 mand Duval, I charge you leave me ! Fly — fly — anywhere from 
 here — from me — or you will make me human ! 
 
 Arm. I understand, Mademoiselle. You tremble for your lover— 
 your wealthy Count — who holds your fortune in his hands. You 
 shudder at the thought of the event which would rob you of his 
 gold ; or, perhaps, his title, which, no doubt, ere long you hope to 
 wear. 
 
 Cam. I tremble for your life I 
 
 Arm. You tremble for my life ! Oh, you jest I What is my life or 
 death to you f Had you such a fear when you wrote that letter I 
 [Takes out a letter and reads.] " Armand, forget me. The Count hat 
 offered me his protection. I accept it; for I know he loves me." 
 Love you ! Oh, nad he loved you, you would not have been her* 
 U> night These were your words. That they did not kill me wa 
 no fault of yours — and that I am not dead is because I cannot die 
 until I am avenged ; because I will not die until I see the words you 
 have graven on my brain, imprinted on the blood of him who 
 wronged me ! And should your life strings crack to part with him, 
 he shall not live ; for 1 have sworn it ! 
 
 Cam. Armand, you wrong him 1 De Varville is innocent of all 
 that Las occurred ! 
 
 Arm. He loves you, madam I 7 hat in his crime — the sin that he 
 Bust answer for f 
 
CxMILLlE. 19 
 
 Oam. Oh, could yon but know his thoughts, they w wild ttfli yo« 
 that I hate him ! 
 
 Arm. Why are yon Am / Why here — the plaything of his Tanity, 
 the trophy of his gold t 
 
 Cam, Oh, heaven 1 Armand 1 No-— no ! this must not be. Yon 
 may retire ! I have no more to say. Do not ask me, for I cannot 
 toll I 
 
 Arm. Then I will tell you I Because you are heartless, truthless, 
 and make a sale of that which you call love to him who bids the 
 highest ! Because when you found a man who truly loved you, who 
 devoted every thought and act to bless and guard you, you fled from 
 aim at the very moment you were mocking him with a sacrifice you 
 had not the courage to make. Horses, house and jewels must bs 
 parted with, and all for love ! Oh, no 1 that could not be ! They 
 must remain unsold, and so they did ! They were returned, ana 
 with them, what f The bitter pangs of anguish and remorse which 
 fill your breast, even while it heaves beneath a weight of gems! — 
 the fixed despair which sits upon that brow on which those diamond! 
 look down m mockery ! Aiid this is what the man you love has 
 done for you! These are his triumphs — the ^ ages of your shame! 
 
 Cam. Armand, you have pierced my heart — you have bowed me 
 in the dust ! Is it fit that you should die for such a wretch as you 
 have drawn? Is it fit that you should taint your name in such a 
 cause as hers? Remember those who love you, Armand! — your 
 sister, father, friends, Camille ! For her sake do not peril life and 
 honor ! Do not meet the Count again ! Quit Paris ! Forget youi 
 wrongs for my sake ! See, at your feet I ask it in my name I 
 
 Arm. On condition that you fly from Paris with me ! 
 
 Cam. Oh, you are mad ! 
 
 Arm. I am indeed ! I stand upon the brink of an abyss, whence 
 1 must soar or fall ! You can save me. A moment since I thought I 
 hated you. I tried to smother in my breast the truth, that it wai 
 love — love for you / All shall be forgotten — forgiven ! We will fly 
 from Paris and the past ! We will go to the end of the earth — away 
 from man — where not an eye shall feast a glance upon your form, 
 nor sound disturb your ear less gentle than the echoes which repeat 
 our tales of love ! 
 
 Cam. This cannot be ! 
 
 Arm. Again! 
 
 Cam. I would giv6 a whole eternity of life to purchase one short 
 hour of bliss like that you've pictured now ! But it must not be ! 
 There is a gulf between us which I dare not cross ! I have sworn to 
 iorget you — to avoid you — to tear you from my thoughts, though it 
 should uproot my reason 1 
 
 Arm, You have sworn to whom f 
 
 Cam. To one who had the right to ask me ! 
 
 Arm, To th*> Count de Varville, who loves you ! Now say that jm 
 love him, and I will part with you forever I 
 
 Cam. [Faltering.] Yes, I love the Count de Varville! 
 
 Arm. [RuxheA to supper-room door, and violently dashes it opm%f 
 Snter all! 
 
M CAMILL1. 
 
 All the Character* in the Act rush m. 
 
 Cam. What would yon do t 
 
 Arm. Ton will see ! [To guests.] Yon see that woman f 
 Olitnpe. Gamille I 
 
 Arm. Yes 1 Camille Gauthier ! Do yon know what the bat iot el 
 All No! 
 
 Arm, But yon shall! She once sold her horses, carriage, dia 
 i onds — all to live with me, so much she loved me ! This was gene 
 1 us — was it not t But what did I do f You shall hear ! I accepted 
 Oris sacrifice a* her hands without repaying her ! But it is not too 
 iate ! I have "epented — and now that I am rich, I am come to \ ay 
 it back ! Yor . k \\ bear witness that I have paid that woman, and 
 that I owe her » othing ! 
 
 [He throw* a shower of note* and gold upon Camille, who ha* 
 thrown herself at his feet. Be Varville advances suddenly ana 
 strikes hin\] 
 Varv. ,r £is fal*e! You owe me revenge ! 
 [Music. — Aa iand springs at him, but is held by Gustave and 
 Gaston— 3amille (b. a) leaning on Madame Prudence-— 
 Tableaux.] 
 
 END OF AOT, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Bcenb — A poorly j srnished chamber. A window, (h. 2 E.) — A fire- 
 place, (h. 2 e.)- Clock over fire-place with hands pointing to eight 
 o'clock.-~2\tble l. -Camille discovered asleep on a couch, (a) and 
 Gaston on a « tain 
 
 Gaston [Waking.] I verily believe I have had a nap. I wonder 
 if she wanted anytk ng. No, she sleeps. What time is it I [Looks 
 at clock.] Eight o'citck. I wish this room would stand still a mo- 
 ment. There's something the matter with my head. Ugh ! ugh ! 
 ngh ! It is very cold Stay, she must be cold too. I thought there 
 was a fire in this rooi i when I lay down. Oh I here it is. [Fist* fir* 
 
 Cam. Nanino are you there t 
 
 Gas Yes! heie I tarn. 
 
 Cam. Who is that f j 
 
 Gas Gaston It is only Gaston ; 
 
 Cam. You frighten me. 
 
 Gai [Giving a cup of tea.] Drink, first, and then yon shall know 
 ail about it. Is it awe .1 enough f 
 
 Cam. Yes, Gastoc iust as I like it 
 
 Gas I thought so. I begin to think that nature intended me ior 
 • nurse, 
 
 Cam. What have yon done with Nanin* t 
 
 Gas Sent her to bed. When I came heie two hours ago, 1 found 
 a man at the door giving her a little of his mind upon the matter of 
 some accounts that were standing against her on his bread bilL 1 
 slid not exactly like ths manner in which he expressed himself and 
 to 1 told him. Whereupon he chose to direct his ooi versa tion U 
 
CAMILLE. 87 
 
 me. Harding him the amount of his claim, I was just ia the act o! 
 banding him out at the window, when it suddenly occurred to me 
 that the noise might wake you ; so I ended the affair by giving hin 
 a gentle impetus, which sent him down stairs upon an improved plan 
 of speed. 
 
 Cam, But Nanine — 
 Ga» Well, the poor girl looked worn out with fatigue. She 
 eould scarcely keep her eyes open. I told her to go to bed. I en- 
 tered here. You were fast asleep. I placed myself on that sofa near 
 the fire, listened to the ticking of the clock until I fancied I was back 
 waltzing in the ball-room I had just left; and when I awoke just 
 now, such a turning round as this little room kept up ! Then I must 
 trim the fire and make a noise and wake you. That was too bad. 
 But I always was an awkward fellow. 
 
 Cam, Oh, you are so good to come and stay with me. But you 
 must be fatigued \ 
 
 Gas Fatigued I Ha! ha! Well, I think when I give all my 
 nights to balls and masques, it would be hard if I could not spare an 
 hour of the morning to watch a poor sick girl ; eh ! Camille I But 
 how are you to-day f You have not told me yet. 
 
 Cam, I feel much better. When Nanine awakes, I think I shall 
 get up. 
 
 Gas Good! [Enter Nanine a. h.J And here she Is. So I 
 will just get my coat that I left in the entry, and be with you in a 
 moment There, Ninnette, get her up. 
 
 [Exit Nanine l. h. — Nanine helps Camilla 
 
 Cam, Poor girl ! you must be very tired. 
 
 Nan, No, Mademoiselle ; I could never tire in your service. [Cam 
 elle kisses Iver,] Oh, thank you, mademoiselle. 
 
 Cam, Ninnette, you have been a faithful friend. 
 
 Nan, Oh, Mademoiselle, I never can forget that I was once an or» 
 phan, without a friend or a home, and that I fcund both in your care. 
 Gas [Entering.] Here we are. Why I declare, my little pa- 
 tient look» well to-day — all the result of my nursing. But here, you 
 want a pillow, don't you? [Places a pillow for her head] Now we 
 are all right [Exit Nanine 
 
 Gam, How can I ever repay such kindness I 
 Gas By forgetting that you owe it Let us talk of something 
 else. It is a beautiful day. You have slept well all night In an 
 hour or two the sun will oe high. I will come for you in a carriage, 
 wrap you up in shawls — we will take a long drive — I shall get you • 
 little bird — you shall eat it on y^tir return — then you shall scold me 
 $>r making you so tired — you will lay your head down softly on yoni 
 eiLow and sleep till morning. Will that do f 
 
 Cam. X>o you think I will be strong enough f 
 
 Gas To be sure you will. Besides, am I not your nurse f Yoi 
 must obey your nurse, you know. And now I will go and see m? 
 mother. It has been fifteen days since she laid eyes on me. She will 
 give me a reception Ah, I am a bad boy, Camille, and dcn't deserve 
 to have so good a mother. 
 
 fhm. If she but knew ycur heart 
 
I 
 
 M CAMILLA 
 
 Qqa Yes! I think myself that little machine called heart 
 weuld not work so badly if it were properly managed. Good-bye 
 Oh, Camille, do you i* ant your key f That is, would you require it 
 The key of that little drawer, I mean. 
 
 Cam. 2 T o, there is nothing in it 
 Gat That was just what I thought ; and so I locked jt, lest it 
 Night get out. You will find the key in that little box od top 
 there, should you want it before I return Good-bye I 
 
 Cant. Stay I What have you done t You have filled my little 
 parse. Is ii not so I 
 
 Gas Never mind ; we will talk of that again. Camille, whj 
 was it empty ? Why did I find you here this morning in suffering 
 and in want? 
 
 Cam. What could I do t 
 Gas You could have sent to me. 
 
 Cam. You, on whom I never bestowed the favor of a smile, scarce- 
 ly a kind word. 
 
 Gas And what of that t I am sure I deserved worse than 
 that : for I know I was a great fool. Helene could tell you that. She 
 knows it. But never mind. You must let me be your brother, and 
 I will come here every day and nurse you until you get well. Dc 
 fou know, Camille, I have grown tired of the first edition of my 
 ife. I think I will issue a second, revised and corrected, with notes 
 by the author, and see how it will look in new type. What do you 
 think of it ? 
 
 Cam. I think well of it, Gastok and so will your mother. 
 Ask her counsel — tell her your wish — and she will help you to it 
 Make her love the altar of your truth, and it will rise before you as 
 a pillar of fire to guide you in adversity. 
 
 Gas I will go to her now, and tell her what you say. You wilJ 
 b* ready in an hour. 
 
 Cam, Yes, good-bye. Remember all that I have said 
 Gas It shall lie upon my heart like a prayer. [Exit, a tk 
 
 Cam. I remember the time I used to laugn at him. Where is the 
 crowd who smiled upon me then ? And he is here. 
 Mnier Naninb a d. with a small box y and putt it on table, l. a, new 
 
 Camille. 
 
 San. Mademoiselle, here are some presents, I am sure. 
 
 Cam. Presents t Oh, I remember, it is new-years* day. The la* 
 urouglt many changes. This day twelve-month ! Ah, Nani5B those 
 4 iv? aie gone. 
 
 Nan. Would you not like to see what these contain, mademoiselle f 
 
 Ca.n. Yes, let me see. A ring, with Gaston's card. Bless him! 
 (»h, he is so good to think of me. A bracelet from the dear old 
 lhiktf. lie does not know that I am ill. Ah, if he knew how change i! 
 I am, he would forgive me. Bonbons from Nlchette and Gustave. 
 The world has a better memory than 1 gave it credit for What in 
 this! A letter from Michette. [Heads.] 4< My dear Camille: — 1 have 
 called twep*.y times, but I have never been permitted to see you. J 
 hrpe you tM-f rery well 1 wish y«yu a happy new-year ; for it i* 
 
CAMILL1. 89 
 
 the- happiest of my life. It is my wedding-day. (V^tire and 1 
 desire you will be present at the ceremony. It 1* all we want to 
 make our joy complete. Do pray come. The ceremony will take 
 place at ten o'clock, at the church St. Madeleine. Believe me, your 
 very happy and devoted friend Nichette." It is her wedding day 
 This day brings happiness to ali but me. Here, Nanine let m« 
 4 ave a pen and paper. [Nanine gets them. Writes] Tbere now 
 •end that lstter to the church St. Madeleine, and tell tie bea^e* no* 
 © hand it to Nichette until after the ceremony of her marriaf* 
 f ou understand ? 
 
 Nan. Yes, Mademoiselle. 
 
 Cam, 8ome one rang. Open *he door. 
 
 [Naninb exits and immediately re-enters. 
 
 Nan. It is Madam Duverney. She says she mnst see you. 
 
 Cam. Then let her enter. 
 
 Mad. P. [Entering.] Well, my dear Camille, how are you thit 
 morning 1 
 
 Cam. Better, I thank you. 
 
 Mad. P. My dear Camille, will you have the goodness to send Na- 
 nine out of the room a moment 1 I would speak to you alone. 
 
 Cam. Nanine, you can take that letter to Madeleine yourself, if yon 
 wish. You have need of a little air. 
 
 Nan. But, madam, I do not like to leave you alone. 
 
 Cam. Prudence will remain with me till you return. 
 
 Nan. Yes, madam. [Exit. 
 
 Mad. P. [Aside.] That girl watches me when I enter this room as 
 if I were a thief. Well, my dear Camille, I have a favor to ask of you. 
 
 Cam. What is it 1 
 
 Mad. P. Have you any money about you, dear 1 
 
 Cam. Money ! Where could I get it 1 The last money that T saw 
 was in your hands. Nanine obtained it on the last jewel I possessed. 
 She gave it all to you. I have not seen you since. 
 
 Mad. P. I know, dear ; but I have had such trouble. I thought 
 Olimpe could oblige me ; but she is as badly off as I am. You know 
 she ran off with that man, because she thought he was rich. Well, it 
 turns out that he is as poor as a church mouse. So here she is, back 
 in Paris, without a friend or a sous. She sent me to Gaston this morn- 
 ing, begging him to forgive her, and to take her back. But, oh, deai ! 
 if you had seen him when I gave him her letter ! 
 
 Cam. Have you seen him this morning 1 
 
 Mad. P. Not five minutes since. I saw him at the ball last night. 
 He said he was going to breakfast with his mother. So I went then 
 End found him. 
 
 Cam. What did he say 1 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, dear, don't ask me . He even showed the letter to hL 
 mother, and then threw ii in the fire. And then she kissed him. I 
 really don't know what to say to Olimpe ; for as sure as I am sitting 
 here he seemed to cry for very joy that he was rid of her, or some* 
 thing else, I cannot say. 
 
 Cam Oh, he is with his mother 1 I am happy. 
 
 Mad. P. Yes, I don't know what Olimpe will do ; for thomgh shs 
 
A) oaxillx 
 
 did not lore him, he ^ as very convenient. Poor girl ! thia wL* not hi 
 A very happy day for her. We can spend it together; for I assure yon 
 I have only got five francs in the world. 
 
 Cam. Three hours ago I had not one. How much do you want 1 
 
 Mad. P. Unfortunately I invited some friends to a supper to-night 
 Besides some other expenses that always come with new-years* day 
 you know. Yes, I think two hundred francs would cover it all. Yum 
 couldn't lend me that little sum until the end of the month, could 
 you dear 1 
 
 Cam. The end of the month ! I shall not need it then. Count thai. 
 [Take8purs€ which Gaston placed in Casket, and gives it to her. 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, dear ! what a pity you are not well, Camille. We could 
 ail come and dine with you to-day ; then you would join our supper 
 in the evening, and we could have such a delightful time I 
 
 Cam. How much is there 1 
 
 Mad. P. [Counting.] Five hundred francs I should say. 
 
 Cam. Take of it what you require. 
 
 Mad. P. Have you enough without this, dear 1 [Puts purse in he* 
 pocket.] Perhaps I am robbing you 1 
 
 Cam. Never mind me, I have all that I shall want. 
 
 Mad. P. Oh, thank you ! You have rendered me a great service. 
 Now I'll leave you. I will call to-morrow and see how you are. Oh, 
 you are looking better to-day, indeed you are. Now that the fine wea- 
 ther is come, the country air would do you good. 
 
 Cam. See if Nanine be there. 
 
 Mad. P. I will, dear ! Good-bye, and thank you, again. Perhaps 
 I will call in this evening. You will not feel lonely until Nanine re- 
 turns — will you, dear 3 
 
 Cam. Oh no, — you may go. 
 
 Mad. P. That's a dear ; for I have some purchases to make. Then 
 I must go to bed, for I can scarcely keep my eyes open. [Exit. 
 
 Cam. And that was one of my friends ! Oh what is death compared to 
 life like that 1 [Takes out a letter and reads.] " Madam I have learned 
 ef the duel which has taken place between Arraand and the Count dt 
 Varville — not from my son ; for he has quitted France without even 
 saying adieu to me ; but from the Count de Varville, who, thanks to 
 heaven, is out of danger, and has told me alL You have kept your 
 oath, and proved how well you love. I have tnis day written to 
 Armand, avowing all : that it was I who forced you to destroy hii 
 
 fteace. He is far away ; but he will soon return. Be of good cheer. 
 t is Armand's father speaks to you. Believe me, your irieud : George 
 Duval. November 16th." Six weeks have passed since I received 
 this letter, and though I know it word for word, the hour scarcely 
 passes that I do not read it over in hopes to glean from it new li/i 
 and courage. If I could but hear from him I If I could but live till 
 Spring I I will ! I must, yes, I must see him before I die ! [Looks 
 in the glass.] Oh 1 how changed I ami However, the doctor says 
 that he will cure me ! Yes I Yes ! I must have mtience ! Spring wiD 
 toon be hero and I do so love the Spring ! Nc frown upon her br*w 
 
otbids the humblest flower to hope. She smiles on all %like -- ti« 
 eamslia and the cowslip, the daisy and the rose 1 May I not hop* 
 that she will smile on me ? I wish Nanine were come. It is the 
 first day of the year, — the day that brings new life to every heart 
 Oh, if Armand were only 1 ere, I am sure I would be saved. Yes! 
 Yes . he will soon be here, — and so I must be well ! [Rises and opens 
 window and looks out.] Oh, how bright and beautiful every thing 
 appears 1 And there's a darling little child. See how it skips along 
 with an armfui of toys 1 And how it laughs and looks up here as 
 though it wished to give me one. Oh, how I would like to kiss it 
 
 Nan. [Entering hurriedly.] Oh, Madam, are you up t 
 
 Cam. Yes, Nanine I did you give the letter f 
 
 Nan. Yes, Madam 1 And then I ran back all the way ; for ohl- 
 but are you sure you are well enough to hear — I mean U- sit up t 
 
 Cam. Oh, you see how well I am. I walked over here myseif/ 
 Am I not grown strong f 
 
 Nan. But you must promise me to keep perfectly calm I 
 
 Cam. What's the matter f Something has happened. 
 
 Nan. Yes, Madam ! And I ran all the way to tell you. But doo't 
 be frightened, for a sudden joy awaits you ! 
 
 Cam. A joy, say you? Aye I speak to me of joy I You have seei 
 Armand! He is come! Armand, come— -come! Oh, where ar* 
 jrouf [ISnte* a-RMAND.] Armand, you are come, but it u too late 
 
 Arm. Oh, Jamille! You must not speak of death, but life I 
 Live, oh ! live for me I [Places her on couch c 
 
 Cam. Armand, it is wise — it is well — it is just! I have been 
 guilty. Living, the memory of that guilt would haunt me like i 
 spectre ! It would flit between me and your smile ! It would stand 
 upon the platform of the past, growing monstrous, hideous with my 
 vears, darkening with its fearful shadow my passage to the close ! 
 beath's kindly veil will hide it from my sight — the world #ill bury 
 its resentment in my grave, and remembering my sufferings may for- 
 get my faults ! 
 
 Arm. Camille, you were my world! With you I had all things- - 
 without you nothing I 
 
 Cam. Closer, closer, Armand, and listen while I speak ! Armand, 
 keep this. [Giving likeness.] I had it taken for you long ago. You 
 will gaze upon it often, I am sure, and think of me. And if some 
 iay a lovely, pure, chaste girl, should seek your love, I ask you is 
 my name to listen to her kindry and let her lay her heart upon the 
 •Jbiine which once was mine. And if she ask you who this was — 
 toll her. day it was a young friend who loved you well, and who 
 from her peaceful home beyond the sky keeps vigil with the start, 
 shedding smiles upon you both 1 If this silent image cost her heart 
 one pang, bury it in my grave, without remorse, without a tear ! 
 
 Arm. Oh! Camille! Camille! Hope smiles no more for me! 
 
 Cam. Armand, the day I met your father, I wore upon my breast 
 these little flowers, the same you gave me in the morning. When T 
 »eft you that evening and came to Paris, I took the flowers and 
 
kitted them ; but they were withered, bloomless, faded — end wilt 
 them every little hope that blowomed on my heart 1 I have kept 
 them ever since. [Takes flowers from casket] See how pale and 
 blighted they have grown. They are called " Heart's-ease ' — a 
 pretty name 1 Armand, keep them. They will remind you he w 1 
 loved you — and when 1 am dead, olant others like them on tfu 
 grave where I shall sleep in peace. 
 
 Enter Najtihi, Niohette, Gustavb and Gabtoi 
 
 Arm. Gustave, this is a bitter hour. 
 
 Mch. Oh, Gamille I how you frightened me ! Fou wrote me yoi 
 irere dying I 
 
 Cam, And so I am, Nichette 1 But I can smile, for I am happy 
 You, too, are happy. Tou are a bride. Tou will think of me some- 
 times — will you not f And Gustave, too — you will speak of me to* 
 gether t Armand, come ! Tour hand 1 You must not leave me 
 Armand here, and all my friends 1 Oh, this is happiness 1 And 
 Gaston tool I am so glad you are come I Armand is here, and I 
 am so happy 1 Oh, how strange ! 
 
 Arm. What is it, Camille If 
 
 Cam. All the pain is gone! Is this life! Now everything apptaff 
 la change. Oh. ho* beautiful ! Do not wake me— I am m ■leejrjp 
 
 4m rtoatil* Gaax&e! Ow^Uel Dealt teal 
 
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