Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: "Do you feel it beat?"
In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them. When Mme. Walter heard him near her, she snatched her fingers from Georges's clasp and covered her face with them. After the man had disappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another place of meeting than La Trinite: "Where shall I see you to-morrow?"
She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a statue of prayer. He continued: "Shall I meet you to-morrow at Park Monceau?"
She turned a livid face toward him and said unsteadily: "Leave me—leave me now—go—go away—for only five minutes—I suffer too much near you. I want to pray—go. Let me pray alone—five minutes—let me ask God—to pardon me—to save me—leave me—five minutes."
She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word and asked with some hesitation: "Shall I return presently?"
She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left her. She tried to pray; she closed her eyes in order not to see Georges. She could not pray; she could only think of him. She would rather have died than have fallen thus; she had never been weak. She murmured several words of supplication; she knew that all was over, that the struggle was in vain. She did not however wish to yield, but she felt her weakness. Some one approached with a rapid step; she turned her head. It was a priest. She rose, ran toward him, and clasping her hands, she cried: "Save me, save me!"
He stopped in surprise.
"What do you want, Madame?"
"I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not help me, I am lost!"
He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad.