nternal
convulsions. "Listen! we are here. I am going to speak to you. This is
the Greve. This is an extreme point. Destiny gives us to one another. I
am going to decide as to your life; you will decide as to my soul. Here
is a place, here is a night beyond which one sees nothing. Then listen
to me. I am going to tell you...In the first place, speak not to me
of your Phoebus. (As he spoke thus he paced to and fro, like a man who
cannot remain in one place, and dragged her after him.) Do not speak to
me of him. Do you see? If you utter that name, I know not what I shall
do, but it will be terrible."

Then, like a body which recovers its centre of gravity, he became
motionless once more, but his words betrayed no less agitation. His
voice grew lower and lower.

"Do not turn your head aside thus. Listen to me. It is a serious matter.
In the first place, here is what has happened.--All this will not be
laughed at. I swear it to you.--What was I saying? Remind me! Oh!--There
is a decree of Parliament which gives you back to the scaffold. I have
just rescued you from their hands. But they are pursuing you. Look!"

He extended his arm toward the City. The search seemed, in fact, to
be still in progress there. The uproar drew nearer; the tower of the
lieutenant's house, situated opposite the Greve, was full of clamors
and light, and soldiers could be seen running on the opposite quay with
torches and these cries, "The gypsy! Where is the gypsy! Death! Death!"

"You see that they are in pursuit of you, and that I am not lying to
you. I love you.--Do not open your mouth; refrain from speaking to me
rather, if it be only to tell me that you hate me. I have made up my
mind not to hear that again.--I have just saved you.--Let me finish
first. I can save you wholly. I have prepared everything. It is yours at
will. If you wish, I can do it."

He broke off violently. "No, that is not what I should say!"

As he went with hurried step and made her hurry also, for he did not
release her, he walked straight to the gallows, and pointed to it with
his finger,--

"Choose between us two," he said, coldly.

She tore herself from his hands and fell at the foot of the gibbet,
embracing that funereal support, then she half turned her beautiful
head, and looked at the priest over her shoulder. One would have said
that she was a Holy Virgin at the foot of the cross. The priest remained
motionless, his finger still raised toward the gibbet,