one
this for you. It is Jean who has lived through black hours where only
a courage and a heroic love, so splendid and so true that it will last
while life will last, has kept him from the single word, the single act
that could so easily have brought back to him again everything in the
world--save you." Her eyes were filling with tears. It was
Jean--Jean--Jean--who had done this for her. Jean who stood there with
irons upon his wrists--for her. Jean who had--

"Who is this woman?" the interpreter demanded abruptly of Jean. "Is
she any relation to you?"

There was no answer--save only in Jean's eyes, as he turned and looked
at her.

"Tell him, Marie-Louise," Jean's eyes seemed to say. "Tell him,
Marie-Louise, for it is you who must answer now--for always."

"You, then," the interpreter asked, addressing her. "Are you any
relation to this man?"

She felt her face grow very white.

"You must tell the truth," the interpreter cautioned sharply. "It is
evident on the face of it, from what happened out there in the hall,
that there is something between you. Tell the truth for your own sake.
This man is to be deported, and he will not be allowed to come back.
Do you understand that? If he is any relation to you, say so--unless
you want to be separated. Well?"

Separated! Marie-Louise raised her head a little--and looked at
Jean--and at the interpreter--and at the officers.

"I"--oh, it was true; true as life was true; true as love was true;
true in God's sight, as Jean had said it was true; true because all
through the years to come, through the sunshine and the storm and until
death it would be true!--"I--I am his wife," she said.

"Marie-Louise!"

She heard Jean breathe her name, she heard the half sob upon his lips,
she felt the cold steel of the handcuffs touch her wrist as his hand
found and closed on hers--but she was looking only at the officers,
hanging, her heart stilled in suspense, upon their every act, trying to
read their faces where she could not understand their words. And then,
involuntarily, because they told her nothing, because the seconds as
they passed were as eternities, she flung out her hands to the
interpreter.

"What are they saying? What are they saying?" she cried imploringly.

But it was Jean who answered--and his voice was lifted as though in
song, radiant, triumphant, deathless.

"You are to be sent back to France, Marie-Louise, Marie-Louise--with
me."

--