“I must get aid,” I said thickly. “I must get you to some house.” She was clutching wildly at my sleeve, her face convulsed, her eyes bright with suffering. “Leave me,” she said, pulling me down to her. “Leave me. It is no more than I deserve. Save yourself. Only,” she added softly, “kiss me first.” For answer, I bent and lifted her tenderly in my arms, pressed her close against my heart and kissed her quivering lips, her shining eyes, and fragrant hair. “I love you,” I whispered--“more than ever I love you! Oh, I shall never be able to tell you how I love you!” She clung to me desperately, and I held her close--close--trembling with a great happiness. “Tell me,” I whispered; “I know it now--but tell me!” She lifted her face to mine, no longer pinched with suffering, but radiant with joy. “I love you!” she said. “Oh, why should I deny it?” Again I kissed her; then I set off down the hill, while she dropped her head upon my shoulder and sobbed silently--but I knew that it was not with pain. She was mine--mine! Nothing could alter that! Not all the oaths of heaven and hell could alter that! Not the scorn of the living nor the memory of the dead could alter that! I had happiness within my hand and I would hold it fast; there should be no paltering with it, no looking back, no question of this or that. How foolish all such questions seemed, now that the die was cast! At last I reached the road and for an instant hesitated, looking up and down. To ask aid of the Blues would be to court the guillotine, and yet I might blunder along the road for hours without coming to a house where help could be secured. Had I the right to condemn her to that suffering? Then I remembered Goujon. Better a sprained ankle than that infamy--better any suffering than that! And resolutely I set my face westward. “It will not be long,” I whispered. “We shall find a house. Be brave! Remember only that I love you!” She answered with a pressure of her arms about my neck, and I went on with new strength, my heart singing. At last, with a deep breath of thankfulness, I discerned the roof of a cottage rising above the hedge to the right. Was it occupied? There was no light at the window nor smoke rising from the chimney, but I hastened forward to its door and knocked. There was no response. I tried the door and found it barred, so I knocked again, or rather hammered savagely with my fist. This time a step approached. “Be off!” cried a harsh voice. “No entrance here.” “Citizen,” I said as mildly as I could, “I ask your aid--you will lose nothing by opening the door.” “Be off!” he cried again. “I will not open.” “Well then I shall kick it in,” I said, letting my wrath burst forth, “and shoot you down like the dog you are. Choose--a gold louis if you aid me, death if you refuse!” and I gave the door a premonitory kick which made the flimsy building tremble. “Come, is it war or peace?”