“Wounded?”
“He killed Gaillard, heart of mine, and Gaillard was a good man at his weapons.”
Her vagueness did not work as a lure. Denise did not swoop to it; so Marpasse told the truth.
“There is nothing to fear. Messire Aymery was not born to die a bachelor.”
“Does he know that I am here?”
“How should he, heart of mine, when I left him asleep—tired out, and came up here at a venture.”
Denise fell again into a long silence. There was something in the poise of her head—and in the way she sat motionless in the long grass that betrayed troubled thoughts and deep self-questioning. Denise had the mirror of her life before her, and found it full of shadows, and of reflections that she could not smother.
“Marpasse.”
“Heart of mine.”
“He must never see me again; no—I could not bear it.”