But I was not going to let her slip through my hands. I had paid for her with my honor. For her sake my hands were red, and Lignières lay stark and dead. I had earned my reward and would have it, and, mad at the thought of losing her, I gripped her by the arm, and--the shame of it--I told her I would slay her and myself, rather than lose her. She made no answer, but remained calmly looking at me as I stood in front of her, the hot blood throbbing in my head, my breath coming thick and fast. There, as we faced each other, the moon passed the shadow of the trees and threw its light on her, keeping me still in darkness. She was pale as the dead, but she neither flinched nor showed the slightest sign of fear, and we remained thus for a minute--a minute that might have been an hour, so slowly did it pass. At last she spoke. “Do you think I fear death? Not now, Vibrac! Not now! If it came it would be a just punishment--an expiation,” but even as she spoke I felt the sting of shame at my unmanly words, words uttered in the madness of one who was beside himself, and I loosed my hand from her arm. “God forgive me!” I cried, “I did not mean that.” “God has much to forgive us both, Vibrac. Oh, monsieur, we are both on the threshold of a great sin, and I am a weak woman and you a man. Give me strength! Help me to do what is right!” Help her! It was I who needed help, not Marie. “You never loved me!” I exclaimed in my bitterness. “I cannot love you in the way you want,” and then coming closer to me she placed her hand on my shoulder with a tender, almost caressing touch, and looked into my eyes. “Listen, monsieur!” she said. “If it will help you to be yourself I will tell you of myself. I never knew my own heart until I left you to-day--and I left you after hearing every word that passed between you and my husband. I thought his love was gone from me, and it was a desperate, foolish woman who promised you what she did. I know now that Marcilly loves me still, and with God’s help I mean to be a better woman and deserve his love. On the brink of the precipice I have saved myself and saved you, and, monsieur, my weakness has passed now, and I will do what is right.” She paused as if waiting for an answer, but I could say nothing. In my heart I knew she was right. Yet it was as if all the brightness had gone out of my life, and I stood there numbed and speechless. “Say something, Vibrac!” she exclaimed. “Tell me you have forgiven an erring woman, who has caused you all this pain. Say, you will try and do what I ask, and forget me!” I turned from her, and walked slowly across the ride, my head held down, my hands clenched in an agony. All that was good in me rose and clamored for her pleading. The strength that had come to her seemed to bring strength to me, and when I faced her again I was victor over myself. “Let it be as you wish,” I said hoarsely. “Good-by!” “Good-by!” And our hands met. And then womanlike she spoke again.