behind her quickly and stepped forward to meet me. She gave me
greeting in her cool even tones, the pallor of her face shining forth
from the hood of her garment."

"'Since you are so good as to come and see me,' she said, 'let us
walk here for a while. Captain Bertin is occupied; and we can watch
the clouds on the sand.'"

"We walked to and fro before the house. 'I saw your husband to-day,'
I told her."

"'He said so,' she answered. 'It was pleasant for him to talk with an
old comrade.'"

"One window in the house was lighted, with a curtain drawn across it.
As we paused, I saw the shadow of a man on the curtain--a man who
lurched and pressed both hands to his head. I could not tell whether
Madame Bertin saw it also; she continued to walk, looking straight
before her; her face was calm."

"'Doubtless he has his occupations here?' I ventured presently.
'There are matters in which he interests himself--non?'"

"'That is so,' she replied. 'And this evening he tells me he has a
letter to write, concerning some matters of importance. I have
promised him that for an hour he shall not be interrupted. What
wonderful color there is yonder?'"

"The shadow of a great cloud, blue-black like a moonlit sea, was
racing past us; it seemed to break like surf on a line of sandhills.
But while I watched it awe was creeping upon me. She was erect and
grave, with lips a little parted, staring before her; the heavy folds
of the bernouse were like the marble robe of a statue. I glanced
behind me at the lighted window, and the shadow of an arm moved upon
it, an arm that gesticulated and conveyed to me a sense of agony, of
appeal. I remembered the revolver; I felt a weakness overcome me."

"'Madame!' I cried. 'I fear--I doubt that it is safe to leave him for
an hour to-night.'"

"She turned to me with a faint movement of surprise. The moon showed
her to me clearly. Before the deliberate strength of her eyes, my
gaze faltered."

"'But I assure you,' she answered; 'nothing can be safer.'"

"I made one more effort. 'But if I might see him for an instant,' I
pleaded."

"She smiled and shook her head. I might have been an importunate
child. 'I promised him an hour,' she said. Her voice was indulgent,
friendly, commonplace; it made me powerless. I had it on my lips to
cry out, 'He is in there alone, working himself up to the point of
suicide!' But I could not utter it. I could no more say it than I
could have smitten her in the face