That little scene completed my misery. After that I seemed to
take no heed of anything or anybody until I was aroused by the
grating of our gaoler's key in the lock, and became aware that he
was gone, and that we were alone in a small room under the tiles.
He had left the candle on the floor, and we three stood round it.
Save for the long shadows we cast on the walls and two pallets
hastily thrown down in one corner, the place was empty. I did
not look much at it, and I would not look at the others. I flung
myself on one of the pallets and turned my face to the wall,
despairing. I thought bitterly of the failure we had made of it,
and of the Vidame's triumph. I cursed St. Croix especially for
that last touch of humiliation he had set to it. Then,
forgetting myself as my anger abated, I thought of Kit so far
away at Caylus--of Kit's pale, gentle face, and her sorrow. And
little by little I forgave Croisette. After all he had not
begged for us--he had not stooped for our sakes, but for hers.

I do not know how long I lay at see-saw between these two moods.
Or whether during that time the others talked or were silent,
moved about the room or lay still. But it was Croisette's hand
on my shoulder, touching me with a quivering eagerness that
instantly communicated itself to my limbs, which recalled me to
the room and its shadows. "Anne!" he cried. "Anne! Are you
awake?"

"What is it?" I said, sitting up and looking at him.

"Marie," he began, "has--"

But there was no need for him to finish. I saw that Marie was