"Ah! you will not kill him!" cried she.
"He is a spy," said Dixmer, whose usually placid countenance had assumed an expression of stern resolution,—"he is a spy, and therefore must die."
"A spy—he!" said Geneviève; "he a spy! Come here, Dixmer; I need only say one word to prove that you are strangely deceived."
Dixmer and Geneviève approached the window, and in a low voice she uttered a few words.
The master-tanner raised his head quickly.
"He!" said he.
"He himself," said Geneviève.
"You are certain, quite certain?"
This time the young woman did not reply, but smiling held out her hand to Maurice.
The features of Dixmer now assumed a singular expression of coolness and gentleness. He rested the butt-end of his musket on the ground.