"For pity's sake, finish it!" he said, bitterly, but supplicatingly and humbly. "Be merciful, my dear, and don't torment me. Don't say these horrible things. It's very possible I don't understand you, but you, you _ought_ to understand me. Let us discuss, let us see together what is to be done. I--I will do whatever you wish. Haven't I always done so? Am I not good to you? Do you say I am not good to you? Tell me what I am to do, but don't doubt me! It's the last straw. If we lose our peace, our concord, what is there left for us?" He spoke softly, humbly, almost sweetly, but with that sweetness one employs towards a sick and fractious child. He took her hand and laid it on his knee, and on it he laid his own. Regina felt his hand pulsing and vibrating, but its fondness no longer had power to stir her blood. Yes, it was undeniable. He had always done her will. He was the weak one, and this was at once his crime and his defence. Yes, he was kind, too kind. He had given her in sacrifice not his spirit only, but his body; this miserable mortal flesh he had sold for her. He had given her all; he would still give her all. In a moment, if she demanded it of him, he would confess his shame. How could she have doubted it? Then she told him the whole story. "Listen. One day I went to see Gabrie, who had been ill----" CHAPTER VII She told him all with brief, quiet words. She spoke softly, her eyes, her fingers, resting on the embroidery of her dress. She seemed the guilty one, but dignified in her error, ready to be punished. She told of her doubts, how they had swelled and flamed. She repeated the reproaches she had made to herself, described her visions, her delirious cruelty, her suspicions, the dream, the presentiment, her intention of pardon. Meanwhile the sun went down. The golden serpent withdrew to the shore, following the sparkling veil of victorious water. The river was divided into two zones--one of tender violet under the pale heaven of the east, the other blood-stained beneath the burning west. But in water and sky the conflict was ended between the colours and the lights. All was unified and confounded into one supreme harmony of peace. The light had re-entered into the shadow; the shadow still sought the light. The pale water floated into the luminous zone, and the glowing waves retreated slowly towards a mysterious distance, beyond the horizon, whither the human gaze could not follow. The crowd of grey flowers slept on, motionless on the declivity. The leaves were silent; everything had become drowsy, lulled by the simple song of the trickle in the depth of the miniature abyss. And in all this harmonious silence, Regina, as she ended her tale, _felt_ the solemn indifference of nature for man and for his paltry fortunes.