n her bed and stayed there for a while, not
resting, but thinking or trying to think.

Was she really a sort of number thirteen, a grain of spilt salt,
ill-omened, disastrous? Camille would not think so; but it seemed to
her that she had never been able to make anyone happy, and that there
must be some taint in her therefore, some flaw in her nature.

Now, here, at last, was a thing well worth doing. She must risk her
soul, lose it, perhaps, or rather, exchange it for a man's life. She
had hoarded it hitherto, had been miserly, selfish, seeking to save
the poor thing as though it were a pearl of price. Now she saw
herself as the veriest rag of flesh parading virtue, useless,
comfortless, helpless, clinging to her code, and justifying all the
trouble she gave to others by a reference to the impalpable, elusive
and possible non-existent immortal and inner self she had held so
dear. She was ashamed. Ah, now at last she would give ungrudgingly.
Her feet should not falter, nor her eyes be dimmed by any shadow of
fear or of regret, though she went by perilous ways to an almost
certain end.

Soon after noon she got up and prepared to face the world again, and
towards three o'clock she returned to the Villa Medici. She had to
ring the porter's bell as the garden gate was shut, and the old man
came grumblingly as usual.

"Monsieur Michelin will see no one. Did he not tell you so this
morning?"

"But I have come for Monsieur Gontrand," she said.

She hoped now above all things to find the black Gascon alone in his
_atelier_ near the Belvedere. The first move depended upon him, and
there was no time to spare. She determined to await his return in the
wood if he were out, but there was no need. He opened his door at once
in answer to her knocking.

"I have come--may I speak to you for a moment?" she began rather
confusedly. He looked tired and worried, and was so evidently alarmed
at the sight of her, and afraid of what she was going to say next,
that she could hardly help smiling. "I want to ask you two questions.
I hope you will answer them."

"I should be glad to please you, mademoiselle, but--"

She hurried on. "First, when are they going to fight? Oh, tell me,
tell me! I know you were to be with him. I know you are his friend. Be
mine too! What harm can it do? I swear I will keep it secret."

"Ah, well, if you promise that," he said. "It is to be to-morrow
afternoon."

"Where?"

He shook his head. "I really ca