"The Alps are very unpleasant in winter. Think if anything should happen to the boy. We must not have that on our conscience."
"When, then, do you propose to leave?"
"As soon as it is spring."
"In April. Very well, then. Your word of honor, Agenor."
"They will have arrested me before then," was his thought. "My word of honor," were his words.
"Once more, when is the baby to be baptized? It is six weeks old, and nurse complains she is laughed at on account of the little heathen."
"As soon as possible," he promised. "I have no papers with me to prove my authentic name. I wrote for them, but they have not yet arrived. It is so far."
"Yes, it is far," she sighed, gazing into space. "But you had better make the most of this beautiful day. Go for a row on the lake."
"Won't you go with me?" She declined. He took her cold hand in his, and said, tremulously, "Judith, whatever happens--" but his throat seemed to contract so as to forbid speech, and he left the room.
Mechanically he seized his hat and went to the lake. As he walked slowly along, one thought was ever present--how could he escape the dangers brought about by this letter? Perhaps by a speedy flight to Egypt or Sicily. But no, if the authorities had really been informed and were determined to prosecute, flight would be useless. The police would already be on his track, and only one thing remained--a bullet in his brain, or a jump into the clear water.