"Clement," she stammered, in a voice full of tenderness, "my husband,
Clement!"
He directed toward her a glance of hatred.
"What do you wish?"
She did not know how to begin—she hesitated, trembled and sobbed.
"Hector would not kill himself," said she, "but I—"
"Well, what do you wish to say? Speak!"
"It was I, a wretch, who have killed you. I will not survive you."
An inexpressible anguish distorted Sauvresy's features. She kill herself! If so, his vengeance was vain; his own death would then appear only ridiculous and absurd. And he knew that Bertha would not be wanting in courage at the critical moment.
She waited, while he reflected.
"You are free," said he, at last, "this would merely be a sacrifice to Hector. If you died, he would marry Laurence Courtois, and in a year would forget even our name."