And then I told her of the grave which I had improvised, of how I had placed Pasdeloup’s body beside that of his master. She heard me to the end with shining eyes; and when I had ended she sat for a moment, her hand still in mine, her head bowed; and I knew that she was praying. “They are at peace,” she said at last, looking up at me with eyes tear-dimmed. “Nothing can harm them now. And God will avenge them.” “I am sure of it,” I answered, “for I am the instrument which He has chosen.” “The instrument?” “I have sworn to kill the scoundrel who set them on,” I said simply. “I know that He heard the oath and approved it.” She sat looking at me a moment longer, then passed her hand before her eyes and rose to her feet. “You will keep the vow, M. de Tavernay,” she said quietly; “I am sure of it. And the same God who listened and approved will see you safe through for your guerdon at the end.” “My guerdon!” I stammered, startled out of my self-control. “Ah, mademoiselle, I crave no guerdon; at least there is only one----” She was looking at me steadily, and the words died upon my lips, for the veil had fallen again between us. “Come, monsieur,” she said in another tone, “we must be setting forward. See--it is growing dark.” CHAPTER XIX. THE FIRST VENTURE. WE turned our faces westward toward the sun, whose last rays were gilding the clouds along the horizon, following the little valley which had been hollowed in the hills by the stream at which we had drunk. As we went on, this valley opened more and more, changing from a rough and precipitous aspect to one smooth and rolling, giving promise of human occupancy. Our most urgent need was food, and I determined to apply for it at the first house we came to, no matter what its appearance,--first with silver, and if that failed, with a loaded pistol as a persuasive. So I kept a sharp lookout, but for nearly an hour we pressed forward without catching a glimpse of any human habitation save a few shacks long since deserted and falling to decay. Plainly this country had not escaped the blight which had fallen on the rest of France--which swept the peasants into the armies, drove the nobles abroad, and left the fields deserted. Darkness closed in about us as we went; but I still kept my eyes to left and right, in the hope that they might be greeted by a ray of light from some welcome window. At last my companion, who had kept close at my heels, halted and sank down upon a hummock of earth with a sigh of weariness. “I fear I must ask a breathing-spell, my friend,” she said. “Of course,” I answered instantly. “I have been thoughtless;” and I dropped beside her. Even in the darkness I could see by the white face she bent upon me how utterly spent she was, and a sharp twinge of remorse seized me. “I strode along without considering you!” “You paid me the compliment of thinking me not entirely a weakling,” she corrected, and smiled wearily.