that to console me."

"Live!" he responded vehemently. "I live? I would rather die a thousand
times. A thousand times rather than live shamed! Than see you
sacrificed to that devil! Than go out with a brand on my brow, for every
man to point at me! I would rather die a thousand times!"

"And do you think that I would not?" she answered, shivering. "Better,
far better die than--than live with him!"

"Then why not die?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden stillness possessed her.
"How?" she whispered. "What do you mean?"

"That!" he said. As he spoke, he raised his hand and signed to her to
listen. A sullen murmur, distant as yet, but borne to the ear on the
fresh morning air, foretold the rising of another storm. The sound grew
in intensity, even while she listened; and yet for a moment she
misunderstood him. "O God!" she cried, out of the agony of nerves
overwrought, "will that bell never stop? Will it never stop? Will no
one stop it?"

"'Tis not the bell!" he cried, seizing her hand as if to focus her
attention. "It is the mob you hear. They are returning. We have but to
stand a moment at this open window, we have but to show ourselves to
them, and we need live no longer! Mademoiselle! Clotilde!--if you mean
what you say, if you are in earnest, the way is open!"

"And we shall die--together!"