"Do you think that he will be caught?"
"Not alive. Carbourd has suffered too much—the galleys, the corde, the triangle, everything but the guillotine. Carbourd has a wife and children—ah, yes, you know all about it. You remember that letter she sent: I can recall every word; can you?"
The girl paused, and then with a rapt sympathy in her face repeated slowly: "I am ill, and our children cry for food. The wife calls to her husband, my darlings say, 'Will father never come home?'"
Marie's eyes were moist.
"Mademoiselle, he was no common criminal. He would have died for the cause grandly. He loved France too wildly. That was his sin."
"Carbourd is free," she said, as though to herself.
"He has escaped." His voice was the smallest whisper. "And now my time has come."
"When? And where do you go?"
"To-night, and to join Carbourd, if I can, at the Pascal River. At King
Ovi's Cave, if possible."
The girl was very pale. She turned and looked at Angers, who still slept. "And then?"