“I think we belong together. I thank God always that we met. You were what I needed—the man God meant to complete me. Before you came I was worse than you were before I came. Thank God we met—no matter how!” “Not forgetting to thank the loaded gun! For a long time I have been sorry for the old man. It has not seemed long—but there are indications that the last cent has been reached. I would pay him back if I could!” “You never, never could!” laughed his wife. “But how much do you suppose we have spent?” “Don’t know! Don’t know,” she chanted. “That is the beauty of it. We don’t have to! No accounts to keep! Money carefully ahead of us at each stopping place! It is like a slot machine! You put in a nickel and get a thousand dollars!” “It’s wonderful how well he has done it. Hasn’t kicked or funked once! Well, when I get back to America I mean to hunt him up and get down on my knees and God bless him!” laughed Ravant. “We’ll go together!” said his wife. “Yes! And confess all! I’ll show him _you_! He’ll forgive us then and won’t regret—” “His poverty!” laughed Ravant’s happy wife. “Yes. Hang it! That’s the horror of it. Once I thought it would be the joy of it! And how he must have writhed under the newspapering! Such a sensitive chap as he is! It has been torture to even me. But I deserve that punishment.” “You do!” cooed his wife. “Let us go home,” said Ravant, “and live in a little house—alone!” “Done!” cried his wife. “We’ll change our names and the newspapers will not be able to find us!” “Done!” “But—there wasn’t any money here, you know” (it was Rouen). “Perhaps in a day or two.” So, at Rouen, they waited for the money to take them home to a new happiness. VII HER BIG TRUMP One day she got a big letter with the American postmark. She laughed, made a certain mystery of it, and kept it from him. “And this is my nurse!” he joyed. “Yes!” she admitted. He was opening a letter of his own which he was keeping from her. “But there must be no secrets between chums.” She tried to take the letter, but he withheld it. “Ah, I must first confess? Well—how much do you love me?” “As much as I can,” said her husband, seriously. “I know that to be a great deal. How much can you forgive?” Now she was in his arms. “As much as I love,” said Ravant. “Then I am quite safe.” She crept a little deeper into his arms and opened her letter. “Dearest, I married you under an assumed name.” “Thank God!” laughed Ravant—“unless it is a worse one than Brown.” “I could have been very happy as Mrs. Brown—as happy as I am as Mrs. Ravant.” She ignored the rest and withdrew the contents of the letter. They appeared to be a deed.