ed, and gently disengaged herself. He made no further advance,
and they stood looking at each other for a minute: he, as one who had
come to look at something good he was never to see again; she, as at
something she hoped to see for ever. They had never before been where no
eyes could observe them. He ruled his voice to calmness.

"I am going away," he said, "and I have come to say good-bye."

Her eyes never wavered from his. Her voice was scarce above a whisper.

"Why do you go? Where are you going?"

"I have been here too long. I am what they call a villain and a
plunderer. I am going to-mon Dieu, I do not know!" He shrugged his
shoulders, and smiled with a sort of helpless disdain.

She leaned her hands on the table before her. Her voice was still that
low, clear murmur.

"What people say doesn't matter." She staked her all upon her words.
She must speak them, though she might hate herself afterwards. "Are you
going--alone?"

"Where I may have to go I must travel alone."

He could not meet her eyes now; he turned his head away. He almost hoped
she would not understand. "Sit down," he added; "I want to tell you of
my life."

He believed that telling it as he should, she would be horror-stricken,
and that the deep flame would die out of her eyes. Neither he nor she
knew how long they sat there, he telling with grim precision of the life
he had led. Her hands were clasped before her, and she shuddered once or
twice, so that he paused; but she asked him firmly to go on.

When all was told he stood up. He could not see her face, but he heard
her say:

"You have forgotten many things that were not bad. Let me say them."
She named things that would have done honour to a better man. He was
standing in the moonlight that came through the window. She stepped
forward, her hands quivering out to him. "Oh, Pierre," she said, "I know
why you tell me this: but it makes no difference-none! I will go with
you wherever you go."

He caught her hands in his. She was stronger than he was now. Her eyes
mastered him. A low cry broke from him, and he drew her almost fiercely
into his arms.

"Pierre! Pierre!" was all she could say.

He kissed her again and again upon the mouth. As he did so, he heard
footsteps and muffled voices without. Putting her quickly from him, he
sprang towards the door, threw it open, closed it behind him, and drew
his revolvers. A half-dozen men faced him. Two bullets whistled by his
head, and lodg