On her hair sat a
small round cap of the same material, with a rim of amber beads. Was
it possible that, save for these past six hours, he had been this
woman's companion for more than five weeks; that she had accepted each
new discomfort and peril without complaint; that he had guarded her
night after night in the lonely forests? A slender thread of golden
flame encircled her throat, and disappeared below the ruffle of lace.
Doubtless it was a locket; and perchance poor Victor's face lay close
to that warmly beating heart. What evil star shone over him that day
when he crushed her likeness beneath his foot without looking at it?
He sighed. As the last black ash whirled up the gaping chimney she
regained her height. She faced him.
"Four men have died because of that," waving her hand toward the fire;
"and one had a great soul."
"Ah, Madame, not an hour passes that I do not envy his sleep."
"Monsieur, before this evil tide swept over us, I sent you a letter.
Have you read it?" All her color was gone now, back to her fluttering
heart.
"A letter? You sent me a letter?" He did not recall the episode at
once.
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