shook his head. His eyes were very hollow, in great caves, and his
face was the colour of ashes. Still he smiled. 'I thank you, Madame,' he
said, 'infinitely; everyone knows that Madame Dupin is kind; but when it
is done, I shall be free.'

'I am sure, M. Lecamus, that my husband--that M. le Maire--would not
wish you to trouble yourself, to be hurried--'

'No,' he said, 'not he, but I. Who else could write what I have to
write? It must be done while it is day.'

'Then there is plenty of time, M. Lecamus. All the best of the day is
yet to come; it is still morning. If you could but get as far as La
Clairiere. There we would nurse you--restore you.'

He shook his head. 'You have enough on your hands at La Clairiere,' he
said; and then, leaning upon the stones, he began to write again with
his pencil. After a time, when he stopped, I ventured to ask--'Monsieur
Lecamus, is it, indeed, Those----whom we have known, who are in Semur?'

He turned his dim eyes upon me. 'Does Madame Dupin,' he said, 'require
to ask?'

'No, no. It is true. I have seen and heard. But yet, when a little time
passes, you know? one wonders; one asks one's self, was it a dream?'

'That is what I fear,' he said. 'I, too, if life went on, might ask,
notwithstanding all that has occurred to me, Was it a dream?'

'M. Lecamus, you will forgive me if I hurt you. You saw--_her_?'

'No. Seeing--what is seeing? It is but a vulgar sense, it is not all;
but I sat at her feet. She was with me. We were one, as of old----.' A
gleam of strange light came into his dim eyes. 'Seeing is not
everything, Madame.'

'No, M. Lecamus. I heard the dear voice of my little Marie.'

'Nor is hearing everything,' he said hastily. 'Neither did she speak;
but she was there. We were one; we had no need to speak. What is
speaking or hearing when heart wells into heart? For a very little
moment, only for a moment, Madame Dupin.'

I put out my hand to him; I could not say a word. How was it possible
that she could go away again, and leave him so feeble, so worn, alone?

'Only a very little moment,' he said, slowly. 'There were other
voices--but not hers. I think I am glad it was in the spirit we met, she
and I--I prefer not to see her till--after----'

'Oh, M. Lecamus, I am too much of the world! To see them, to hear
them--it is for this I long.'

'No, dear Madame. I would not have it till--after----. But I must make
haste, I must write, I hear the hum approaching----'