"No use," he moaned. "I couldn't see through the dark, anyway. Sacré, didn't I try it before, when you came along?"
Breathlessly they waited. There was nothing pleasant about this meeting people one couldn't see. It was just luck that the man beside him hadn't been one of Them. He wondered if the approaching person would stop before the crucifix or would go on.
The footsteps came nearer and nearer. Louder and louder they grew until the sound of them echoed clatteringly through the silence of the night. Then sudden deafening stillness.
As yet he could make out no form. He wondered what was happening. Slowly he realized that the gloom-merged mass of the crucifix had been seen and that the feet were coming toward it. A long half minute and then something soft and cold brushed his cheek. A quick, half-smothered cry. A woman had reached him with her outstretched hands. Her fingers had touched his face.
"Mon Dieu!" She whispered. "Then I am not alone? Mon Dieu! Who are you?"
He answered her.
"I've lost my way. I'm waiting for the dawn."
"You will not hurt me?" Her whimpered words betrayed her fear. "You will let me stay to wait the daylight with you?"
"That makes three of us," he said, "waiting for morning."
"Non—non; how is it then three?"