It was dark now--the darkness that reigns between early sunset and late moonrise. As the lonely woman went farther along the dreary streets parallel with the quay, the dreadful suspicion grew stronger in Gustave's mind. From that instant he had but one thought; in that moment he put away from him for ever all sense of obligation to Madelon Frehlter; he shook off father, mother, sister, old associations, home ties, ambition, fortune--he lived alone for this woman, and the purpose of his life was to save her from despair and death. They emerged upon the quay at last. The long stretch of pavement was deserted. Ah, now she looked back--she looked on every side with wild unseeing eyes--and now there could be little doubt as to the purpose that brought her here. She crossed the road, and went upon the bridge, Gustave following close; in the next minute she was standing on the stone bench, a tremulous, fluttering figure, with arms stretched towards the water; in a breath she was clasped to Gustave's breast, clasped by arms that meant to hold her for ever. The shock of that surprise utterly unnerved the wretched creature. She shivered violently, and struggled to free herself from those strong arms. "Let me go!" she cried in English. "Let me go!" And then, finding herself powerless, she turned and looked at her captor. "M. Lenoble! O, why do you persecute me? Why do you follow me?" "Because I want to save you." "To save me! To snatch me back when I was going to find rest--an end for my weary life! O yes, I know that it is a sinful end; but my life has been all sin." "Your life all sin! Foolish one, I will never believe that." "It is true," she cried, with passionate self-reproach. "The sin of selfishness, and pride, and disobedience. There is no fate too hard for me--but, O, my fate is very hard! Why did you keep me from that river? You do not know how miserable my life is--you do not know. I paid my last penny to Madame Magnotte this morning. I have no money to take me back to England, even if I dared go there--and I dare not. I have prayed for courage, for strength to go back, but my prayers have not been heard; and there is nothing for me but to die. What would be the sin of my throwing myself into that river! I must die; I shall die of starvation in the streets." "No, no," cried Gustave passionately; "do you think I have dragged you back from death to give you to loneliness and despair? My dear one, you are mine--mine by right of this night. These arms that have kept you from death shall shelter you,--ah, let them shelter you! These hands shall work for you. My love, my love! you cannot tell how dear you are to me. If there must be want or trouble for either of us, it shall come to me first."