Livette, as she lay sick upon the best bed in the Icard farm-house, already had, in her sorrowing heart, an adorable feeling of indulgence for Renaud, which would have made the blessed maidens who laid the Crucified One in his shroud, smile with joy in the mystic heaven of the lofty chapel. She believed that she would die by her fiancé's fault, and she pitied him. Forgiveness sooner or later redeems him who receives, and consoles him who accords it. In the sentiment of compassion is hidden the divine future of mankind. Renaud was still ignorant of Livette's indulgence. Indeed, he could not deserve it until he had come to look upon himself as forever unworthy. For the moment, he had not gone to the bottom of the hell of evil thoughts. When he found Livette half drowned in the _gargate_, his first impulse, born of true love and pity for her, in absolute forgetfulness of himself, lasted but an instant--but it had existed. Renaud at first suffered for her and for her alone. His second impulse, almost immediate, and praiseworthy still, although there was a touch of selfishness in it, was to condemn himself, through fear of moral responsibility. Had he not with his own hand displaced the stakes that marked the path, with the idea, indefensible at best, that Rampal would be misled by that treacherous method of defence? Yes, almost immediately after he uttered his cry of agony, he shuddered with terror at the thought of the remorse that was in store for him, as soon as he felt that Livette was like a dead woman in his arms. When he had given her in charge of the women at the main farm-house of the Icard farm, where there was great excitement over such an adventure at that time of day, he questioned two old peasant-women who knew more than all the doctors in the province. After doing what was necessary for Livette, they cheerfully declared that the poor girl would not die of it; they even said that it was "nothing at all." He did not even try to understand how she had come so far to fall into the trap! She would not die! That was the essential thing at that moment. What a relief _to him_, for he was already accusing himself of his little sweetheart's death! He had been so afraid! And it turned out to be only a warning! God be praised, and blessed be the mighty saints who had performed such a miracle! But the devil rejoiced when he looked into Renaud's conscience, for he saw the course his ideas were about to take, a course that would lead him from bad to worse. Reassured as to Livette,--and as to himself,--he flew into a passion with the accursed gitana, the indirect cause, at least, of all this misery. "Ah! the beggar! I will kill her!--it will be easy to find her again. She can't be far away--I will kill her!" His wrath took full possession of him--he ran for his horse. Kill her!--kill her! Nothing could be more righteous.--And he went about it.