"It was mine."
Marius shuddered.
"What madness! poor child! But all the better; if that is your wound, it is nothing, so let me carry you to a bed. Your wound will be dressed, and people do not die of a bullet through the hand."
She murmured,—
"The bullet passed through my hand but came out of my back, so it is useless to move me from here. I will tell you how you can do me more good than a surgeon; sit down by my side on that stone."
He obeyed; she laid her head on his knees, and without looking at him, said,—
"Oh, how good that is, how comforting! See, I no longer suffer!"
She remained silent for a moment, then turned her head with an effort and gazed at Marius.
"Do you know this, Monsieur Marius? It annoyed me that you entered that garden, though it was very foolish of me, as I showed you the house; and then, too, I ought to have remembered that a young gentleman like you—"
She broke off, and leaping over the gloomy transitions which her mind doubtless contained, she added with a heart-rending smile,—