"Seen you? I haven't seen you. I've sat outside a tomb on guard, I've marched beside a mummy case—and—and we've said so little—"
It was true. They had said little. The hours had been absorbed in action. Their words had always been of explanation, of reassurance, of anxious planning. Of the future, the future after safety had been achieved, they had said nothing. It had all been uncertain, nebulous, vague....
And now it was upon them.
"And I have never said Thank you," she murmured. "I—I think I began by saying Thank you, monsieur. I remember saying that my education had proceeded to the Ts!"
"If—if only you never want to unsay it," he muttered. "You don't know what's ahead—life's so uncertain—"
"No, I do not know what is ahead," she told him, "but I am free—free for whatever will come."
The brightness of that freedom shone suddenly from her upturned face.
"Anything is better than that man," she vowed. "Even if my aunt, that Madame Delcassé, should not like me—you see, I have thought of everything, and I am not afraid."
"Like you—? She'll love you," said Ryder bitterly. "She'll go mad over you and give you all she has—she'll marry you to a count—"
"Another marriage?" Aimée raised brows of mockery. "But I am through with the marriages of convenience—"