It sprang inward against us, a rush of air and a hollow murmur as of wind along the river, following it.
"Go—be quick!" said Madame de Ferrier.
"But how will you get out?"
"I shall get out when you are gone."
"O, Eagle, forgive me!" (Yet I would have dragged her in with me again!)
"I am in no danger. You are in danger. Goodbye, my liege."
Cautiously she pushed me through the door, begging me to feel for every step. I stood upon the top one, and held to her as I had held to her in passing through the other wall.
I thought of the heavy days before her and the blank before me. I could not let go her wrists. We were fools to waste our youth. I could work for her in America. My vitals were being torn from me. I should go to the devil without her. I don't know what I said. But I knew the brute love which had risen like a lion in me would never conquer the woman who kissed me in the darkness and held me at bay.
"O Louis—O Lazarre! Think of Paul and Cousin Philippe! You shall be your best for your little mother! I will come to you sometime!"
Then she held the door between us, and I went down around and around the spiral of stone.