sed
herself, and tried to smile. "_Mon ami_, I'm a little tired to-night,
a little nervous; I was thinking about the letters! I shall feel so
much safer when they're burnt."

"I'll go at once--just one moment. Arithelli, you do believe that I
love you, and that I want nothing? See, I'll not even touch your hand
if it doesn't please you."

The soft hand was laid gently on his. "But if it _does_ please me,
_mon camarade_--"

"_Dieu_! How sweet you are! But don't call me '_Camarade_,' _mon
petit_. Those wolves above call each other that!"

"I won't, if you hate it. Yes, that's really love to give all and take
nothing." Arithelli spoke dreamily. "Emile made me sing to him before
he went away; you remember 'L'Adieu' of Schubert? He loved it.

"La mort est une amie,
Qui rend la liberte."

"C'est bien vrai ca! I used to sing it without thinking at one time.
How alike all those songs are. Always Death;--Death and Liberty!"

"Don't talk of those things, dear. It's going to be Life for both of
us--after to-morrow."

"I was thinking of poor Emile."

"He was always fond of you. He'll be glad when he hears you're married
and safe."

"Yes, he'll be glad. Don't talk any more for a minute, dear, then just
say _au revoir_ to me and go as quickly as you can. I want to be
quiet. It's good to be loved. How gentle you are! Emile was always
so rough when he touched me."

Vardri hung over her, caressing her with infinite tenderness. Of all
men in the world he was surely the happiest to have known this sweet
and womanly Arithelli, the Arithelli that no one else had ever seen.
He kissed the heavy, closed lids and stroked back the hair from her
forehead.

A faint intoxicating odour of jasmine hovered about her, for she was
Eastern in her love of perfumes. The stifling, dirty hut became a
Paradise while she lay thus in his arms.

Once again they kissed and clung together. Though Arithelli's lips
burnt, they scorched with the fires of despair rather than with those
of passion.

In silence Vardri helped her to her feet, and they walked together to
the door.

"You'll come to me to-morrow," Arithelli said.

"To-morrow we shall be safe. We'll be out of this hell altogether in
another day or two, _a la bonne heure_! You're not afraid, Fatalite?"

"I shan't be--when the letters are safe. Take care of yourself, _mon
ami, et a bientot_!"

"_Mon Dieu_! what pluck you have! How I love you for it!