His resolve was but half taken when he heard her stirring in the room behind him. He turned sharply to find that she had gained the door.
“Mademoiselle!” he called after her. She stopped, and as she turned, he observed that her lashes were wet. But in her heart there arose now a fresh hope, awakened by the name by which he had recalled her. “Whither are you going?” he asked.
“Away, Monsieur,” she answered. “I was realising that my journey had indeed been in vain.”
He looked at her a second in silence. Then stepping forward:
“Mademoiselle,” he said, very quietly, “your arguments have prevailed, and it shall be as you desire. The ci-devant Vicomte d'Ombreval shall go free.”
Her face seemed to grow of a sudden paler, and for an instant she stood still as if robbed of understanding. Then she came forward with hands outheld.
“Said I not that you were good and generous? Said I not that you could be noble, Monsieur?” she cried, as she caught his resisting hand and sought to carry it to her lips. “God will bless you, Monsieur—”
He drew his hand away, but without roughness. “Let us say no more, Mademoiselle,” he begged.
“But I will,” she answered him. “I am not without heart, Monsieur, and now that you have given me this proof of the deep quality of your love, I—” She paused, as if at a loss for words.
“Well, Mademoiselle?” he urged her.