"I do not know. There is a platform, with a ladder that goes up. I cannot see the top. Ah—there is the lady again. She goes up the ladder. Her hair is cut off, close to the head. That is not at all pretty, but it is the same lady, and the gentleman is there too."
"What gentleman?" asked Aline, in a clear voice.
"The same who was in the other picture, who put the ring upon your finger and kissed your forehead. It is he, a tall monsieur with blue eyes. He has no hat on, and his arms are tied behind him. Oh, I do not like this picture. Need I look any more?" and her voice took a wailing sound.
"No, it is enough," said Aline gently.
She drew the child away and sat down by Mlle Ange, who still rocked the sleeping baby. Marie leaned her head beside her brother's and shut her eyes. Ange Desaix put an arm about her too, and she slept.
But Aristide was still looking at Aline.
"I do not understand," he said under his breath. "You have none of the signs, none of them. Now she,"—he indicated Mme de Labédoyère, "one can see it at a glance. A short life, and a death of violence, but with you it is different. Give me your hand."
He was within reach, and she put it out half mechanically. He looked at it long, and then laid it back in her lap.
"You have a long life still," he said, "a long, prosperous life. The child was tired, she read amiss. The sign was not for you."
Aline shook her head. It did not seem to matter very much now. She was so tired. What was death? At least, if the vision were true, she would see her husband again. They would forgive one another, and she would be able to forget his bitter farewell look.