No answer—except that given by the objects lying on the table near the humiliated head. The obscurest soldier would have been too valuable to the other side to release, but L'Oiseleur was henceforth worthless; they could safely afford themselves the satisfaction of flinging him out. And the realization of this had beaten him to his knees.
"It is impossible," repeated Laurent, but with less assurance. "Did he—did he threaten this yesterday?"
The bronze head stirred, and then raised itself. But Aymar's expression was dazed, and after staring at him a moment he dropped his face again on his arms.
A wave of fierce, indignant pity surged over Laurent. Yes, that butcher and devil had knocked him out of time. Mercifully he could not witness his achievement. He knelt down and threw an arm across the bowed shoulders.
"Aymar," he said desperately, "let us think what is to be done. There is not very long."
But Aymar said in a choked voice, "I wonder you can bring yourself to touch me."
As an answer to that Laurent put his arm closer about him. "Do you think I pay a moment's heed to what that blackguard said? I have your secret. But, Aymar, the cost is too heavy!"
The locked hands twisted a moment. "The cost—my God!—the cost!" said the voice brokenly. Then L'Oiseleur lifted his head, his eyes fixed on the window. "You still think that of me? You will not think it much longer!"
"Am I so changeable?" asked Laurent gently. He possessed himself of a hand. "Yes, Aymar, the cost is too heavy. It is more than one man ought to pay for another . . . it is not right. I do implore you to reconsider, now, and—clear yourself!"
There was no answer for a moment. L'Oiseleur's hand lay impassive in his. He put his other over his eyes. Then, between a gasp and a sigh, he said, "I cannot. I cannot clear myself."