She arose without a word and followed me down the slope. Only, when at last I glanced back, did I perceive that she was bearing the hamper. “Why are you bringing that?” I demanded, wheeling sharp around. “Food is not plentiful enough in France to be wasted in that way,” she answered evenly. “What do you propose to do with it?” “I propose to leave it at the door of the first hut we reach;” and she made a motion as though to pass me. I seized the hamper roughly and strode on through the dusk, marvelling at the inconsistencies of a heart which could be at the same time so cruel and so tender. CHAPTER XXIII. FORTUNE FROWNS. WE gained the road again and turned westward along it, walking for some time in silence. I confess I was in bad humor. I was not altruist enough to burden myself willingly with that hamper, and more than once I was tempted to fling it into the ditch at the roadside, especially as minute followed minute and no house appeared. But at last at a turn of the road we came upon a miserable hovel supported by a pile of stone, without which it must inevitably have collapsed. I thought for an instant that the hut was empty, but as we drew near a child’s thin wail came to us through the open door. I set the hamper down, knocked and passed on, and I doubt not that in that family there still survives the legend of a heavenly visitation. My spirit cleared after that, perhaps as the reward of a good action, perhaps because I was rid of the hamper; at any rate, I could lift my head and look about me and take joy in the beauty of the night. There were only the stars to light us, for the moon had not yet risen. They looked down upon us from the high heavens, and it seemed to me that there was kindness and sympathy in their gaze--that they blessed us and wished us well. The road was much smoother than the one we had traversed the night before, and we got forward at a speed which warranted our reaching Coulonges in good time if nothing happened to delay us. We were both well rested and I already had good reason to know and wonder at my companion’s powers of endurance. I glanced down at her and saw that she was staring straight ahead at the road unrolling before us. How near we were to the moment of parting! With every step we approached the place where I must leave her. Even should I survive my pilgrimage of vengeance, it seemed most unlikely that I should see her again--certainly we should never be thrown together in this sweet, intimate, personal relation. And would I wish to see her in any other way? To gaze at her from a distance, to find her fenced about, to stand silent while some other gallant whispered in her ear--would not all that be as the rubbing of salt into an open wound?