And for seconds, she was unable to say another word.
"I looked at her in mute anguish and the suffering which drew her dear lips together seemed also to clutch at my heart. The vision which was in her eyes passed into mine, and I saw again the thin white face of Antonello, and the quick quivering of his eyelids, the waves of agony which seized his long worn body and shook it like a reed."
I threw the magazine upon the table.
"That is it," I said.
To cut the pages, I had used the knife with which M. Le Mesge had cut the cords of the bale, a short ebony-handled dagger, one of those daggers that the Tuareg wear in a bracelet sheath against the upper left arm.
I slipped it into the big pocket of my flannel dolman and walked toward the door.
I was about to cross the threshold when I heard M. Le Mesge call me.
"Monsieur de Saint Avit! Monsieur de Saint Avit!
"I want to ask you something, please."
"What is it?"