The count, emboldened by so much kindness, took her hand; she let him
do so as though it were a great favor, and he kissed it tenderly.
"Oh! mademoiselle," he cried, on knowing himself beyond all danger,
"rely on me for life, for death. Though I owe you a gratitude equal to
that I owe my mother, it will be very difficult to restrain my
feelings to mere respect."
He sprang into the narrow pathway. After watching him till he reached
the rocks of Saint-Sulpice, Marie nodded her head in sign of
satisfaction, saying to herself in a low voice: "That fat fellow has
given me more than his life for his life! I can make him my creator at
a very little cost! Creature or creator, that's all the difference
there is between one man and another--"
She did not finish her thought, but with a look of despair she turned
and re-entered the Porte Saint-Leonard, where Hulot and Corentin were
awaiting her.
"Two more days," she cried, "and then--" She stopped, observing that
they were not alone--"he shall fall under your guns," she whispered to
Hulot.
The commandant recoiled a step and looked with a jeering contempt,
impossible to render, at the woman whose features and expression gave
no sign whatever of relenting. There is one thing remarkable about
women: they never reason about their blameworthy actions,--feeling
carries them off their feet; even in their dissimulation there is an
element of sincerity; and in women alone crime may exist without
baseness, for it often happens that they do not know how it came about
that they committed it.
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