"Weep peacefully, little one," he said; "it does one good. Tears are the tisane which strengthens the soul."
"Ye-es.... But I am remembering that—that I was not very k-kind to him," she sobbed. "It hurts—here—" She pressed a slim hand over her breast.
"Allons! Friends quarrel. God understands. Thy friend back there—he also understands now."
"Oh, I hope he does!... He spoke to me so tenderly—yet so gaily. He was even laughing at me when they shot him. He was so kind—and droll—" She sobbed anew, clasping her hands and pressing them against her quivering mouth to check her grief.
"Was it an execution, then?" demanded the gendarme in his growling voice.[pg 210]
"They said he must be a franc-tireur to wear such a uniform——"
"Ah, the scoundrels! Ah, the assassins! And so they murdered him there under the tree?"
"Ah, God! Yes! I seem to see him standing there now—his grey, kind eyes—and no thought of fear—just a droll smile—the way he had with me—" whispered the girl, "the way—his way—with me——"
"Child," said the gendarme, pityingly, "it was love!"
But she shook her head, surprised, the tears still running down her tanned cheeks: