"She just sits and stares at the sky. God knows what she sees there, poor lamb. If she would weep——" "Just so, just so," Goyot nodded once or twice. Then he turned a penetrating look on Dangeau. "Ha, you are all right again. A near thing, my friend, eh? Small wonder you were upset by it." "Oh, I!" said Dangeau, with an impatient gesture. "It is my wife we are speaking of." "Yes, yes, of course—a little patience, my dear Dangeau—yes, your wife. Marie here, without being scientific, is a sensible woman, and it’s a wonderful thing how common-sense comes to the same conclusions as science. A fascinating subject that, but, as you are about to observe, this is not the time to pursue it. What I mean to say is, that your wife is suffering from severe shock; her brain is overcharged, and Marie is quite right when she suggests that tears would relieve it. Now, my good Dangeau, do you think you can make your wife cry?" "I don’t know—I must go to her." "Well, well, go. Don’t excite her, but—dear me, Marie, how impatient people are. When one has saved a man’s life, he might at least let one finish a sentence, instead of breaking away in the middle of it. Get me something to eat, for, parbleu, I ’ve earned it." Dangeau had closed the door, and stood looking at his wife. "Aline," he said, "have they told you? We are safe—Robespierre is dead." Then he threw back his head, took a long, deep breath, and cried: "It is new life—new life for France, new work for those who love her—new life for us—for us, Aline." Aline stood by the window, very still. At the sound of Dangeau’s voice she turned her head. He saw that she was smiling, and his heart contracted as he looked at her. Death had come so close to her, so very close, that it seemed to him the shadow of it lay cold and still above that strange unchanging smile; and he called to her abruptly, with a rough tenderness. "Aline! Aline!" She looked up then, and he saw then the same smile lie deep within her eyes. Unfathomably peaceful they were, but not with the peace of the living. "Won’t you come to me, my dear," he said gently, and with the simplicity he would have used to a child. A little shiver just stirred the stillness of her form, and she came slowly, very slowly, across the room, and then stood waiting, and with a sudden passion Dangeau laid both hands upon her shoulders insistently, heavily. He wondered had she lost the memory of the last time he had touched and held her thus. Then he had fought with pride and been defeated. Now he must fight again, fight for her very soul and reason, and this time he must win, or the whole world would be lost. He paused, gathering all the forces of his soul, then looked at her with passionate uneasiness. If she would tremble, if she would even shrink from him—anything but that calm which was there, and shone serenely fixed, like the smile upon the faces of the dead. It hinted of the final secret known.