It was her right hand that rested on the table, and as Marteau approached her left instinctively sought her heart. In his emotion he looked at her with steady, concentrated glance, so keen, so piercing, as if he sought to penetrate to the very depths of her heart, that she could scarcely sustain his gaze. He, too, had forgot cares and anxieties, anticipation, hopes, dreams; in his excitement and surprise everything had gone from him but her presence. Here was the woman he loved, looking at him in such a way, with such an air and such a bearing, her hand upon her heart—was that heart beating for him? Was she trying to still it, to control it, because——
His approach was slow, almost terribly deliberate, like the movement of the old Guard under Dorsenne—Le Beau Dorsenne!—against the heights of Pratzen on the glorious yet dreadful day of Austerlitz. His advance was irresistible, but unhurried, as if there must be a tremendous clash of arms in a moment to which haste could lend nothing, from the dignity and splendor of which hurry would detract. At another time the woman might have shrunk back faltering, she might have voiced a protest, or temporized, but now, in the presence of death itself, as it were, she stood steady waiting for him. Enjoying the luxury of looking upon him unrestrained, her heart going out to him as he drew nearer, nearer, nearer, she found herself tremblingly longing for his actual touch.
Now his arms went out to her, she felt them slowly fold around her, and then, like a whirlwind released, he crushed her against his breast, and, as she hung there, her throbbing heart making answer to the beating of his own, he kissed her again, again, again. Her heart almost stopped its beating. Beneath the fire of his lips her face burned. Her head drooped at last, her tense body gave way, she leaned upon him heavily, glad for the support of his strong arms.
"Laure," he whispered, "my little Laure, you love me. Oh, my God, you love me. It was true, then. I did not dream it. My ears did not mock me."
"Yes, yes," said the woman at last. "Whoever you are, whatever you are, wherever you go, I love you."
"And was it to tell me this that you came?"
"Yes. But not for this alone."
"What else?"
"I would have you live."
"For you?"