Twice her flimsy garments had caught fire beneath the rain of sparks, but he had crushed it out. He wrapped his cloak around her and led her to the very edge of the stage, but it seemed as though the boards they stood on must burst into flame beneath the scorching breath that licked across them.
"Why did you come to me, monsieur?" she demanded. "You might surely have escaped, perhaps."
"There was no escape," he replied; "and—one does not. You were alone and I thought it might be less to you if you had someone."
"You are very brave and strong. I did not know that men were like that now. Will it be very painful when it comes, monsieur?"
"No," he replied; "we need not suffer that. One must not throw away one's life, but when the moment comes I will carry you down into the smoke beyond, and very soon it will be as though we fell asleep."
"You will hold me in your arms, monsieur? I fear that I may be a coward at the last, but I feel braver near you."
"I will hold you to the end, mademoiselle. Do not fear for yourself; I gather courage from you."
"I thank the kind God for sending you," she said earnestly. "I made my prayers while I was bound. Have you yet prepared, monsieur?"
"I have—thought of things differently," he replied. "You shall pray for me, if you will."
"I shall not cease to do so to the end. Farewell upon earth, dear friend."
The moment of their immolation had arrived. Hautepierre, half-blind and tottering, bent forward, when suddenly the ground opened at his feet. He had a confused thought that the stage was breaking up, but the next moment out of the abyss there rose a face—
