The Open Road
Though he felt the blood trickling down within his sleeve, a hot stream, yet it was too dark for the woman to see.
"Georges is—dead," he told her, shortly; "and ye'll find your son, madame, hidden in his rooms in the castle."
"Thank God!" She was silent for a moment. "My little son!" she said softly. "Ah, monsieur, you have saved him from—who knows what? How can I show my gratitude?"
"By forgetting the O'Rourke, madame," he said almost roughly.
"What do you mean?" She caught him by the sleeve as he turned away. "You are not going, monsieur?"
"Instantly, madame."
"But why—why?"
"Madame, because me work is done here. Goodnight, madame."
"But, monsieur, monsieur! Ah, stay!"
He shook his arm free, with no effort to ameliorate his rudeness.
"Good night, madame," he repeated stiffly, with his heart in his throat; and was off, swinging down the forest path.
He had not taken a dozen paces, however, before she had caught up with him; and he felt her arms soft and clinging about his neck.
"Ah, monsieur, monsieur!" she cried; and her tone thrilled the ardent man through every fiber of him. "You have not deceived me as to your motive, O most gallant and loyal gentleman!"
She drew his head down, though he resisted, and kissed him once, full upon the lips. Then, wistfully, "Au revoir, monsieur," she said, and permitted him to leave her.
For the second time that night he dropped upon his knee
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