Geneviève shuddered.
Dixmer made a motion with his hand to command her attention.
"The instant I strike him, dart into the second chamber, that of the queen. There is, as you are aware, no door, only a screen. You will exchange clothes with her while I despatch the other soldier. Then I shall take the queen's arm, and pass through the wicket with her."
"Very well," said Geneviève, coldly.
"You understand me?" said Dixmer. "You have been seen each evening in your black taffeta mantle which conceals your face. Place your mantle upon her Majesty, and arrange it on her precisely as you have been accustomed to arrange it on yourself."
"All shall be done as you desire, sir."
"It remains now for me to pardon and to thank you, Madame."
Geneviève shook her head with a scornful smile.
"I neither want your pardon nor your thanks, sir," said she, extending her hand. "What I have done, or rather am about to do, would efface a crime. I have only been guilty of a weakness; and again, this weakness—recall your own conduct, sir—you all but forced me to commit. I withdrew myself from him; you drove me back into his arms; so you are at the same time instigator, judge, and avenger. It remains for me to pardon you my death; and I do pardon you. It is I who should thank you for death, since life has become insupportable to me, separated from the only man I love; since that hour especially when you severed by your savage vengeance every tie that bound me to him."
Dixmer drove his nails into his flesh. He strove to reply, but his voice failed him.