She held out her hand with a quick gesture of sympathy and understanding.
“It was for my sake,” she said softly. “Never forget that, my friend. In telling the story over to yourself never forget that.”
“You are kind,” I murmured with full heart. “That thought alone consoles me—it was not for myself I fled.”
And then I told her of the grave which I had improvised, of how I had placed Pasdeloup’s body beside that of his master. She heard me to the end with shining eyes; and when I had ended she sat for a moment, her hand still in mine, her head bowed; and I knew that she was praying.
“They are at peace,” she said at last, looking up at me with eyes tear-dimmed. “Nothing can harm them now. And God will avenge them.”
“I am sure of it,” I answered, “for I am the instrument which He has chosen.”
“The instrument?”
“I have sworn to kill the scoundrel who set them on,” I said simply. “I know that He heard the oath and approved it.”
She sat looking at me a moment longer, then passed her hand before her eyes and rose to her feet.
“You will keep the vow, M. de Tavernay,” she said quietly; “I am sure of it. And the same God who listened and approved will see you safe through for your guerdon at the end.”