* * * * * * *
“And what are we to do now, Carinne?”
“Thou must be asking thyself that question,” said a voice—Crépin’s—that clanged suddenly in the vaulted labyrinth. The man himself stood looking down upon us. Beside him the gaunt figure of my guide held aloft a flambeau that talked with a resinous sputter. Its flare reddened the auburn curls of the Sectional President, and informed his dissolute face with a radiance that was like an inner consciousness of nobility.
“My task ends here,” he said, quietly. “And shall we cry quits, M. le Comte?”
I lay on the floor, my head in Carinne’s lap.
“Citizen Crépin,” I said, “thou hast acquitted thyself like a gentleman and a man of courage. I would not wish, for thy sake, that the risk had been less; I would not, for ours, know that it hath involved thee in the toils.”
“We are all in the toils nowadays,” said he; “and happy the lion that can find a mouse for his friend. To the extent of my power I have done; yet, I warn thee, thou art not out of the wood. If the weasel wakes to the manner of his outwitting, not a river of blood shall divert him from the scent till he has run thee down—thee, and me also. Oh! I desire thee, do not misapprehend the importance of my service.”
Carinne looked up. She made an involuntary gesture with her hands. This dear child, in her sweet surrender, became the archetype of womanhood.
“Monsieur,” she said, softly, “you have stood aside so honourably, you have made us so greatly your debtors, that you will not now stultify your own self-sacrifice by imposing upon us a heritage of remorse? If you are in such danger, why not remain here with us?”
He did not answer for some moments; but he shook his head very slightly as he gazed down on us.