As she put aside her cloak, and disclosed to me the pallor of her face and the disfiguring red about her gentle eyes, telling of tears and sleeplessness, all my own trouble seemed to vanish in the contemplation of her affliction.
We stood a moment confronting each other with no word spoken.

Then, dropping her glance, and advancing a step, in a faltering, hesitating manner "Monsieur, monsieur," she murmured in a suffocating voice.
In a bound I was beside her, and I had gathered her in my arms, her little brown head against my shoulder.
"Roxalanne!" I whispered as soothingly as I might--"Roxalanne!" But she struggled to be free of my embrace.
"Let me go, monsieur," she pleaded, a curious shrinking in her very voice.

"Do not touch me, monsieur.

You do not know--you do not know." For answer, I enfolded her more tightly still.
"But I do know, little one," I whispered; "and I even understand." At that, her struggles ceased upon the instant, and she seemed to lie limp and helpless in my arms.
"You know, monsieur," she questioned me--"you know that I betrayed you ?" "Yes," I answered simply.
"And you can forgive me?
I am sending you to your death and you have no reproaches for me! Oh, monsieur, it will kill me!" "Hush, child!" I whispered.

"What reproaches can I have for you?
I know the motives that impelled you." "Not altogether, monsieur; you cannot know them.