Bérangère called me back:
"He's dead, isn't he?"
I felt intuitively that I ought not to tell her a truth which was too heavy for her to bear and which she was afraid of hearing and I declared:
"Not at all. . . . We haven't seen him. . . . He must have got away. . . ."
My answer seemed to relieve her; and she whispered:
"In any case, he is wounded. . . . I know I hit him."
"Rest, my darling," I said, "and don't worry any more about anything."
She did as she was told; and she was so weary that she soon fell asleep.
Before taking her home, the count and I went back to the body and lowered it down the slope of the ravine, which we followed to the wall that surrounded the estate. As there was a breach at this spot, the count gave it as his opinion that Velmot could not have entered anywhere but here. And in fact a little lower down, at the entrance to a lonely forest-road we discovered his car. We lifted the body into it, placed the revolver on the seat, drove the car to a distance of half a mile and left it at the entrance to a clearing. We met nobody on the road. The death would beyond a doubt be ascribed to suicide.
An hour later, Bérangère, now back to the lodge and lying on her bed, gave me her hand, which I covered with kisses. We were alone, with no more enemies around us. There was no hideous shape prowling in the dark. No one was any longer able to thwart our rightful happiness.