La Chatre might have decided, at
any time, to change his plan. Perhaps he had done this, and, for lack of
means or for some other reason, had not tried to inform her, or had
tried in vain.
She stood like an accused woman before her judges, incapable of
formulating her defence, expressing her distress by an occasional low,
convulsive sob. What did her conduct mean? Was her demeanor genuine or
assumed? Why did she confess one thing and deny another? Why did she seem
guilty and not guilty?
"I am puzzled more and more," I said. "I thought that, when I saw you, I
should at least learn the truth. I should at least know whether to love
you as an angel, who had been wronged alike by circumstances and by
report, or as a beautiful demon, who would betray me to my death; but I
am not even to know what you are. You betrayed my hiding-place. So far,
at least, you are guilty; but you did not arrange the ambush that you
were to have arranged. For so much you claim credit. Whatever are your
wishes in regard to me, they shall be fulfilled. I am yours, to be sent
to my death, if that is your will. What would you have me do?"
"Save yourself!" she whispered, eagerly, her eyes suddenly aflame with a
kind of hope, as if the possibility had just occurred to her.
Was this pretence? Did she know that I could not escape, and did she yet
wish, for shame's or vanity's sake, to appear well in my eyes?
"I shall not leave you," I said, quietly.
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