"Oh!" It was one word, in a tone indicating fearful mental anguish. She shut her eyes and lay still, breathing hard.
"Judith!" he attempted to take her hand.
"Be still!" she hissed. "I am his murderess. Tell me the truth, Agenor. Did he die the day after I fled?"
"No," he assured her. "Some weeks after."
"It is all the same. It was from sorrow about me. Why did you lie in saying he was prosecuting us?"
"It was no lie. He began proceedings and Raphael has carried them on. So I have heard from home."
"It is quite likely. Raphael is a good son, and will avenge his father's death. If he only knew how superfluous it was! 'Revenge is mine,' saith the Lord. If he only knew how God himself has begun the work--and he will carry it out; I feel it. My poor, innocent baby!"
He fell at the foot of her couch, and lifted his hands towards her. "Just because of the child, Judith, it may turn out well."
She shook her head gloomily. "No happiness can be built on curses and lies. Was he dead when I was married to you?"
He made no answer.