f her mantle and appeared in her white
gown _a l'antique_, which displayed all the warm fulness of her shape.

"You are cold, perhaps," she said, "I will light the fire; it is already
laid."

She struck the flint and put a lighted match to the fire.

Philippe took her in his arms with the gentleness that bespeaks
strength, and she felt a strange, delicious thrill. She was already
yielding beneath his kisses when she snatched herself from his arms,
crying:

"Let me be."

Slowly she uncoiled her hair before the chimney-glass; then she looked
mournfully at the ring she wore on the ring-finger of her left hand, a
little silver ring on which the face of Marat, all worn and battered,
could no longer be made out. She looked at it till the tears confused
her sight, took it off softly and tossed it into the flames.

Then, her face shining with tears and smiles, transfigured with
tenderness and passion, she threw herself into Philippe's arms.

The night was far advanced when the _citoyenne_ Blaise opened the outer
door of the flat for her lover and whispered to him in the darkness:

"Good-bye, sweetheart! It is the hour my father will be coming home. If
you hear a noise on the stairs, go up quick to the higher floor and
don't come down till all danger is over of your being seen. To have the
street-door opened, give three raps on the _concierge's_ window.
Good-bye, my life, good-bye, my soul!"

The last dying embers were glowing on the hearth when Elodie, tired and
happy, dropped her head on the pillow.

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods are Athirst, by Anatole France

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