Jean Legros, stupid and red-faced, stared a moment at the coin, then pocketed it with a nod and grunt, and fell to tying Dangeau’s arms. At the touch of the cord an exclamation escaped him, and it was at this moment that Aline, roused from her state of abstraction by something in the voice behind her, turned her head and saw him. They were so close together that her movement brought them into contact, and at the touch, and as their eyes met, anguish was blotted out, and for one wonderful instant they leaned together whilst each heart felt the other’s throb. "My heart!" he said, and then before either could speak again they were being pushed forward towards the open door. The last tumbril waited; Dangeau was thrust into it, roughly enough, and as he pitched forward he saw that Aline behind him had stumbled, and would have fallen but for fat Jean’s arm about her waist. She shrank a little, and the fellow gave a stupid laugh. "What, have you never had a man’s arm round you before?" he said loudly, and gave her a push that sent her swaying against Dangeau’s shoulder. The knot of idlers about the door broke into coarse jesting, and the bound man’s hands writhed against his bonds until the cords cut deep into the flesh of his wrist, and the blood oozed against the twisted rope. Aline leaned nearer. She was conscious only that here was rest. Since Mlle Ange died of the prison fever two days ago, she had not slept or wept. She had thought perhaps she might die too, and be saved the knife, but now nothing mattered any more. He was here; he loved her. They would die together. God was very good. His voice sounded from far, far away. "I thought you safe; I thought you at Rancy, oh, God!" and she roused a little to the agony in his tone, and looked at him with those clear eyes of hers. Through all the dreamlike strangeness she felt still the woman’s impulse to comfort the beloved. "God, who holds us in the hollow of His hand, knows that we are safe," she said, and at that he groaned "Safe!" so that she fought against the weariness that made her long just to put her head upon his shoulder and be at peace. "There was too much between us," she said very low. "We could not be together here, but we could not be happy apart. I do not think God will take us away from one another. It is better like this, my dear!—it is better." Her voice fell on a low, contented note, and he felt her lean more closely yet. An agony of rebellion rent his very soul. To love one woman only, to renounce her, to find her after long months of pain, to hear her say what he had hoped for only in his dreams, and then to know that he must watch her die. What vision of Paradise could blot this torture out? Powerless, powerless, powerless! In the height of his strength, and not able even to strike down the brute whose coarse hand touched her, and that other brute who would presently butcher her before his very eyes.