And then, as he called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon
her knees at his side, and his arms went about her, insensible to
their hurt--and her hot face was against his neck, and his lips
crushed in the smothering sweetness of her hair. He made no effort
to speak, beyond that first calling of her name. He could feel her
heart throbbing against him, and her hands tightened at his
shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so near that
the breath of it was on his lips. Then, seeing what was in his
eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken
throb in her throat she whispered,
"Has it all ended--right--David?"
He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no
word in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he
loved. Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said,
but at the end Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was
looking at him, her eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks
beautiful as the petals of a wild rose. And he could see the
throbbing in her white throat, like the beating of a tiny heart.
"And you'll take me with you?" she whispered joyously.
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