But Jane is already out the door, and does not hear her. It is too late, in any case.
Margaret stays inside the house. She does not have the heart to weed, and the scents of the garden are cloying now – too sweet and too strong.
This is the end, then. Baptiste no longer loves her. Perhaps he loved her once, but if so, his love was not strong enough to survive his father’s disapproval.
She is more constant than he.
She is sorry to have deceived Jane, but Jane, she knows, would stop her if she could. Margaret does not want to be stopped.
Paul – well, Paul will not understand at first, but he is a bright boy, with a future ahead of him. He does not need the burden of a spinster sister who has been crippled by despair.
He will be better off without her.
Their father died in the war, but Margaret still has his dagger, locked in a drawer with the keepsakes that belonged to her mother. It will be sharp enough for her purposes.
Please don’t do this.
I must. The poem demands my death, and now that Baptiste is lost, I can no longer fight it.
This hurts so much, but Baptiste is not worth my death. I deserve better.
[Oh, no, I don’t like the sound of this at all. Take me back!]
| Michel-Ange – Auteuil |  |
Jasmin |  |
Ranelagh |