“Ah mon bien aimé—if I could have spared you this! David, give me your strength for these last minutes!”
“What do you mean?”
I looked from her to the two men and back again. Still I did not seize the situation. Then, all at once, the tense rigidity of their attitudes struck me. I had the feeling of arriving on the skirts of tragedy,—of something having happened before, of my being out of it—an intruder, a mere spectator—while something ominous and terrifying was moving to its culmination. I felt that and instinctively I caught her in my arms again, to hold her against the unseen thing that threatened us. I tried to collect my wits to piece together this mystery. If De Saint Omer were here—then he, too, knew. Bernoline had told him; with the child present no concealment was possible.
Then, I think for the first time, out of the blur, I became aware of the incongruity of Von Holwitz being there. I looked at him and saw the stone pallor on his face. Yet I did not understand.
“What is it? What are you all waiting for? Bernoline, why is that man here?”
Then I saw it in her face! Good God!
VI
When I next remember anything, Bernoline’s arms were around me, and I was staring at Von Holwitz, who was gasping for breath against the wall, a streak of blood curved on his cheek. De Saint Omer—he must have had arms of steel—had me by the collar, and I heard Bernoline crying,
“David, David, for my sake—don’t!”
I turned and looked at her,—a look that must have frightened her, for I heard her say: