“Monsieur de Vibrac—I have come to warn you. You are amongst the suspected—you must leave Paris at once.”
“Monsieur de Vibrac,” I repeated a little bitterly; but she took no notice, and continued in the same quick, hurried manner.
“Go! I implore you! Go! It will be too late to-morrow. They have taken the Vidame, and my—my husband has fled.”
“Marcilly gone! And left you!”
A rush of color came to her cheeks.
“I warned him. It was the merest chance that I found out—and—and——”
She made no answer, and then, with the room swimming around me, I dropped on my knee before her, and, taking her hand—it was as cold as mine—pleaded with all my soul.
“Madame! I have got your letter, and I know now all your unhappiness—and I know, too, another thing—else you had not come here to save my life. Oh, Madame!” And rising, I stood beside her. “The world is not made for sorrow——”
“You are mad,” she murmured, but her hand still lay in mine. I was mad, and she spoke the truth, and the desperate words burst from me.
“Marie, I love you. Come with me, and let us end this life of misery for you and for me. You love me—”