Light flooded the place. He stood away from her. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me.
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