Geneviève looked timidly toward him.
"We invite you in all kindness," said she.
"I accept your invitation, Citizen," said he, bowing.
"I will go and secure our companions," said Dixmer; "in the mean time, warm yourself, my dear sir."
He went out. Maurice and Geneviève remained alone.
"Ah, Monsieur!" said the young woman, in an accent to which she in vain tried to convey a tone of reproach, "you have failed in your word; you have been exceedingly indiscreet."
"Madame," cried Maurice, "have I in any way compromised you? Ah! in that case, pardon me; I will retire, and never—"
"Goodness!" said she, rising, "you are wounded in the breast; your shirt is stained with blood."
Indeed, upon the fine, white shirt of Maurice—a shirt forming a strange contrast to his coarser clothes—a large red spot of blood had spread itself, and had dried there.