The Breton made no reply.
“Her Excellency?” the voice of Tsang pleaded.
He hesitated.
The wife unclasped her arms and, turning to Tsang, pointed into the darkened recesses.
“Go!” she faltered.
Stumbling, reluctant, the two peasants went into the darkness, then looking up into the Breton’s face she again put her little hands upon his breast. For a moment she wavered, then her eyes closed and softly as a flower whose stem is severed, she sank to the floor.
The Breton fell on his knees beside her and lifting her head to his breast brokenly endeavoured to coax back that consciousness which had left him alone in the depths of earth and dismay.
In the outer caverns the rumbling noises grew louder.
The fire smouldered though, and the red glow of the dying embers still lighted the two still forms.
One by one the embers darkened.