Silence--only the crackling of a pitchy stick.

And then he heard a muffled sound, soft, soft as the beating of a heart in the night, and regularly pulsing.

It hurt him infinitely, and he called gently: "Jack, why are you weeping ?" She started up with her fingers twisted at the butt of her gun.
"It's a lie," called a tremulous voice.

"Why should I weep ?" And then she ran to him.
"Oh, Pierre, I thought you were gone!" That silence which came between them was thick with understanding greater than speech.

He said at last: "I've made my plan.