gone sweeping forward to kneel
by the dead and his duty. Two sad-robed sisters looked on with the
placidity of canvas saints. Mother Carron was roaring. Carron himself
flitted about with a lantern like a will o' the wisp whose tremulous
flare shot the firelight with pallid citrine. It served at least to show
the singular tableau at the foot of the stairs where Bibi-Ri had picked
himself up.

A gladiator in the arena might have turned to Caesar as he turned to the
girl on her pedestal. He was stripped to the waist, his jacket in
shreds, his compact torso white and gleaming. And there we could
see--any one might have seen who knew and was minded--the curious
scarlet line of the birthmark about his neck which had shaped his
destiny for him to this very moment: the Red Mark.

"Do you believe me now?" asked Bibi-Ri.

Wide-eyed, she stood at gaze.

"Will you believe me now?" asked Bibi-Ri.

As the child in the fairy tale when the ice fell away from about her
heart: so with Zelie. The steeled, unnatural restraint dropped from her.
The generous, quivering pulse sprang in her veins. She groped: she
swayed toward him.

"Bibi--what have you done? Your chance!... Fly while you can!"

"Too late," he said, in his turn.

"But the heritage--your great future! Your riches! Your happiness!
Nothing counts but that!... Name of God, you've lost it!"

"I find this better: to have you think kindly of it once--and of me."

"What else should I think of?" And oh, the impassioned miracle of her
voice! "... It is your right. You should have it--you must have it,
yourself, in freedom, without hindrance! For that I would have given
anything--everything. For that I tried to drive you away!"

"Zelie!" he cried, in wonder. "Is this true? Did you feel so?... It was
for my sake!"

"What else?... Though it tore me: though I died for it! I was not fit
for you, but you should have your desire and I could help--a little,
however little--to set you on the road. I could free you from danger of
Maman--her blackmailing. For always. It was my own hope. But now--!...
Oh Bibi!... Bibi!..."

She must have fallen if he had not caught her. And that was the way of
it at long end. She loved him. They loved. The convict and the daughter
of convicts: lovers of New Caledonia. With what somber consummation!

"But you must escape!" she gasped. The knocking at the door was like to
splinter the panels. "There may yet be time.... The militaires are
coming! Be