Then, with a little start and with a sort of cry, which she stopped by
putting both hands over her mouth, she said to herself, brokenly:

"Why shouldn't he--why shouldn't he love me! I could take care of him;
I could nurse him; I could wait on him; I could be better to him than any
one else in the world. And it wouldn't make any difference to him at all
in the end. He's going to die before long--I know it. Well, what does
it matter what becomes of me afterwards? I should have had him; I should
have loved him; he should have been mine for a little while anyway. I'd
be good to him; oh, I'd be good to him! Who else is there? He'll get
worse and worse; and what will any of the fine ladies do for him then,
I'd like to know. Why aren't they here? Why isn't he with them? He's
poor--Nic says so--and they're rich. Why don't they help him? I would.
I'd give him my last penny and the last drop of blood in my heart. What
do they know about love?"

Her little teeth clinched, she shook her brown hair back in a sort of
fury.

"What do they know about love? What would they do for it? I'd have my
fingers chopped off one by one for it. I'd break every one of the ten
commandments for it. I'd lose my soul for it.

"I've got twenty times as much heart as any one of them, I don't care who
they are. I'd lie for him; I'd steal for him; I'd kill for him. I'd
watch everything that he says, and I'd say it as he says it. I'd be
angry when he was angry, miserable when he was miserable, happy when he
was happy. Vanne Castine--what was he! What was it that made me care
for him then? And now--now he travels with a bear, and they toss coppers