"Are you sorry I came?" he demanded vibrantly. "Are you sorry, Lorance?"
His eyes held hers; she threw pretence to the winds.
"No, monsieur; I am glad. For if we never meet again, we have had this."
"Aye. If I die to-night, I have had to-day."
Their voices were like the rune of the heart of the forest, like the music of deep streams. I turned away my head ashamed, and strove to think of nothing but the waking of Mme. de Nemours.
"I thought you dead," she moaned, her voice muffled against his cheek. "No one would tell me what happened last night. I could not devise any way of escape for you—"
"There is a tunnel from Ferou's house to the Rue de la Soierie. His mother—merciful angel—let me through."
"And you were not hurt?"
"Not a scratch, ma mie."
"But the wound before? Félix said—"