a shower of tears force themselves through the hands clasped over his
face.

"Take her away, Monsieur," said the old doctor.

Camors gently pushed her out of the but and followed her. She took his
arm and descended the rugged path which led to her home.

It was a walk of twenty minutes from the wood. Half the distance was
passed without interchanging a word. Once or twice, when the rays of the
moon pierced through the clouds, Camors thought he saw her wipe away a
tear with the end of her glove. He guided her cautiously in the
darkness, although the light step of the young woman was little slower in
the obscurity. Her springy step pressed noiselessly the fallen leaves--
avoided without assistance the ruts and marshes, as if she had been
endowed with a magical clairvoyance. When they reached a crossroad, and
Camors seemed uncertain, she indicated the way by a slight pressure of
the arm. Both were no doubt embarrassed by the long silence--it was
Madame de Tecle who first broke it.

"You have been very good this evening, Monsieur," she said in a low and
slightly agitated voice.

"I love you so much!" said the young man.

He pronounced these simple words in such a deep impassioned tone that
Madame de Tecle trembled and stood still in the road.

"Monsieur de Camors!"