Paul and Marguerite watched the strange spectacle, hidden behind their roof wall; and their thoughts were busy with the same question:
“What of us now—the outcasts?”
Paul looked across the city to Fez Djedid and the East. From that quarter General Moinier’s column was advancing. One day—two days perhaps—three days at the most, and it would be here at the Bab Segma. There was little time!
He turned to find Marguerite’s eyes swimming in tears.
“Paul, can nothing be done to give you back your own place?”
“Nothing, Marguerite. Let us face it frankly! I went to Headquarters and warned them. Therefore I knew the danger. All the more, therefore, my place that night was with my company. Nothing can get over that.”
Marguerite with a sob buried her face in her hands.
“What I have cost you, Paul!”
“What you have given me, Marguerite!” he replied, and fell into a silence. When he spoke to her again he spoke with his eyes averted from her face, lest she should read more than he meant her to in his.
“Of course, Marguerite, you have done no wrong. . . . We have got to consider that, my dear. There isn’t really any reason why you should pay too. You wanted to take the risk. . . .”