"
He could not meet her eyes now; he turned his head away. He almost hoped
she would not understand. "Sit down," he added; "I want to tell you of
my life."
He believed that telling it as he should, she would be horror-stricken,
and that the deep flame would die out of her eyes. Neither he nor she
knew how long they sat there, he telling with grim precision of the life
he had led. Her hands were clasped before her, and she shuddered once or
twice, so that he paused; but she asked him firmly to go on.
When all was told he stood up. He could not see her face, but he heard
her say:
"You have forgotten many things that were not bad. Let me say them."
She named things that would have done honour to a better man. He was
standing in the moonlight that came through the window. She stepped
forward, her hands quivering out to him. "Oh, Pierre," she said, "I know
why you tell me this: but it makes no difference-none! I will go with
you wherever you go."
He caught her hands in his. She was stronger than he was now. Her eyes
mastered him. A low cry broke from him, and he drew her almost fiercely
into his arms.
"Pierre! Pierre!" was all she could say.
He kissed her again and again upon the mouth. As he did so, he heard
footsteps and muffled voices without. Putting her quickly from him, he
sprang towards the door, threw it open, closed it behind him, and drew
his revolvers.
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