n him, to feel her tremble; she had need of him. This
unlooked-for pleasure turned his head; he saw nought else but Beatrix,
and he clasped her round the waist.

"What!" she said, with an imposing air.

"Will you never be mine?" he demanded, in a voice that was choked by the
tumult of his blood.

"Never, my friend," she replied. "I can only be to you a Beatrix,--a
dream. But is not that a sweet and tender thing? We shall have no
bitterness, no grief, no repentance."

"Will you return to Conti?"

"I must."

"You shall never belong to any man!" cried Calyste, pushing her from him
with frenzied violence.

He listened for her fall, intending to spring after her, but he heard
only a muffled sound, the tearing of some stuff, and then the thud of
a body falling on the ground. Instead of being flung head foremost down
the precipice, Beatrix had only slipped some eight or ten feet into the
cavity where the box-bush grew; but she might from there have rolled
down into the sea if her gown had not caught upon a point of rock, and
by tearing slowly lowered the weight of her body upon the bush.

Mademoiselle des Touches, who saw the scene, was unable in her horror to
cry out, but she signed to Gasselin to come. Calyste was leaning forward
with an expression of savage curiosity; he saw the position in which
Beatrix lay, and he shuddered. Her lips moved,--she seemed to be
praying; in fact, she thought she was about to die, for she felt the
bush beginning to give way. With the agility which danger gives to
youth, Calyste slid down to the ledge below the bush, where he was able
to grasp the marquise and hold her, although at the risk of their both
sliding down into the sea. As he held her, he saw that she had fainted;
but in that aerial spot he could fancy her all his, and his first
emotion was that of pleasure.

"Open your eyes," he said, "and forgive me; we will die together."

"Die?" she said, opening her eyes and unclosing her pallid lips.

Calyste welcomed that word with a kiss, and felt the marquise tremble
under it convulsively, with passionate joy. At that instant Gasselin's
hob-nailed shoes sounded on the rock above them. The old Breton was
followed by Camille, and together they sought for some means of saving
the lovers.

"There's but one way, mademoiselle," said Gasselin. "I must slide down
there, and they can climb on my shoulders, and you must pull them up."

"And you?" said Camille.

The man seemed surpris