The body was lying on its face, and as I stared down at it, I fancied I saw something protruding from the back. I touched it--it was the handle of a knife. I drew it forth, not without some effort, and recognized the knife as mine--Pasdeloup’s--the knife I had used to cut the bread--the knife I had left lying in the hollow beside the bottles. Then I understood. “You!” I cried, staring at the bowed figure. “You!” She did not answer, only sat and shivered, her head in her arms. “You!” I said again. “It was you who saved me?” She raised her head and looked at me. “I saw--that--he--was choking--you,” she gasped. “God--guided my hand--to the knife;” and she held it up and looked at it with a kind of horror. I caught the hand and drew it to my lips. “Mademoiselle,” I said hoarsely, “I loved you before--I reverence you now. But where is the other? I thought there were two of them.” “There were,” she answered. “The other tried to stab you, but you struck him and he fled.” I started up in alarm. “Then must we flee too, and instantly,” I cried. “He will return and bring others with him. Come;” and I raised her to her feet. “But are you strong enough?” she asked. “Strong enough? I am strong as Hercules! Why should I not be since joy gives strength? Come.” Then I remembered her ragged shoes. What hope of escape was there when our flight must be at a snail’s pace? “Come,” I repeated; and held out my arms. “What do you mean?” she demanded, looking at me darkly. “I am to carry you, you know, until we reach the road. That is already settled, so we need not waste time arguing it over again.” “Indeed!” she retorted. “But that was under different circumstances. Besides, we are not going toward the road, are we?” “No,” I admitted; “we are going straight up this hill.” “Very well,” she said, “then our agreement is at an end, and I refuse to reconsider. It is you who are wasting time.” I saw she was immovable, and a mad impulse seized me to snatch her up despite her protests; to overpower her resistance.... Then my glance fell upon the body. In an instant I had dropped beside it and was pulling the rude, strong shoes from its feet. “What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down at me. “Sit here beside me,” I commanded, my heart beating triumphantly; and as she obeyed, still staring, I pulled off my own shoes and slipped them over hers. Worn in that way, they fitted as well as could be desired; they would at least protect her from the roughness of the road until better ones could be found. Then I stuffed the dead man’s shoes with grass until they fitted my own feet snugly. “Now,” I said, “we are ready to be off;” and I sprang to my feet and drew her after me. “You are a most ingenious man, M. de Tavernay,” she commented. “I am ready;” and she followed me up the hill and through a thicket of underbrush which crowned its summit.