They are good people, and when they are at last rid of all the evils that are bearing down on them, everything will be easy and joyous. Oh, Lucile, I am too happy! It's all come so suddenly. No, I'm not too happy; that is impossible. But I feel a little intoxicated, after being so miserable.
Lucile. Poor Camille! Were you so very unhappy?
Camille. Yes, I have had a hard time, and for so long—six years. Without money, without friends, without even hope. I was disowned by my own people, I had to engage in the lowest professions, and turn my hand to anything to earn a few sous—and often not getting them after all. More than once I went to bed without supper. But I don't want to tell you that. Later on—It was wrong of me.
Lucile. Is it possible? Heavens, why didn't you come to—?
Camille. You would, I know, have divided your bread with me! That wasn't the worst, Lucile. I could do without supper, but to doubt myself, to see no future before me! And then, the sight of you, with your dear yellow curls and brown eyes, in the window opposite mine. How I followed you, at a distance, through the Luxembourg Gardens, admiring your grace, your movements! Ah, my dear little Lucile, you often made me forget my misery, and sometimes made it seem heavier. You were so far from me! How could I hope that some day—? But that some day is here—now! It can't escape me! I have you. I kiss your hands! For they have brought me all the
