Her grief was so intense that Bergenheim really pitied her.
"You did not understand me," he said, "he is not the man I killed."
She became motionless, dumb. He left her then, from a feeling of compassion, and returned to his seat. They remained for some time seated in this way, one on each side of the fireplace; he, with his head leaning against the mantel; she, crouched in her chair with her face concealed behind her hands; only the striking of the clock interrupted this silence and lulled their gloomy thoughts with its monotonous vibrations.
A sharp, quick sound against one of the windows interrupted this sad scene. Clemence arose suddenly as if she had received a galvanic shock; her frightened eyes met her husband's. He made an imperious gesture with his hand as if to order silence, and both listened attentively and anxiously.
The same noise was heard a second time. A rattling against the blinds was followed by a dry, metallic sound, evidently caused by the contact of some body against the window.
"It is some signal," said Christian in a low voice, as he looked at his wife. "You probably know what it means."
"I do not, I swear to you," replied Clemence, her heart throbbing with a new emotion.
"I will tell you, then; he is there and he has something to say to you.
Rise and open the window."
"Open the window?" said she, with a frightened look.
"Do what I tell you. Do you wish him to pass the night under your window, so that the servants may see him?"