He lay very still now, conscious of the moisture seeping through his clothing, the dull pain spreading from his legs. Although there seemed to be a lot of blood, he supposed that it wasn't really all that bad—more the sort of wound that one prayed for at the front. After a while he heard their footsteps approaching—at least a dozen of her jealous lovers . . . Dunbar, Michard, Spangler . . . united at last to keep him from taking her away.

And their spokesman, his old friend, de Massloff . . . "Christ, Nicky. Christ, I swear I never meant this—"

"Why did you tell them, Vadime?" As if the answer weren't written in that eye of his.

"Nicky, you've got to understand, I was concerned. I didn't have a choice—"

"Why?" As if it wasn't written in all their eyes.

"Because, damn it, she's just not worth it."

He refused to listen, as he always had.

After that he only saw her from distances. He spent four days in a sealed ward; then they brought him to a clinic on the edge of Taverny—one more white room with barred windows. There, amid regular doses of morphine and a series of medical complications, she mostly appeared in dreams. Some were quite vivid, others prosaic . . . the sort of passing visions that had haunted him for years. Best of all, though, was the one of her in the night sky, pulling him up to her a thousand feet above the city she loved.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

THERE were two small ventilation slits cut into Margaretha's cell, two rectangular vents just below the ceiling. Although it was possible to peer out of these slits, the view was severely restricted. She could see a slice of the sky and a portion of the marshaling yard . . . but certainly she could not have been able to see Gray.

Still, on hearing those shots, she lapsed into a despair from which no one could recall her. The devoted Sister Leonide spent more than three hours trying, but Zelle would not say what was troubling her. The physician Bizard was called in, but he, too, failed. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the weeping stopped, and she grew quiet again, and although she stayed a little distant through the days that followed, it seemed that she had definitely found some peace to sustain her.

It is tempting to imagine Margaretha Zelle with Nicholas Gray locked in some psychic embrace, but perhaps it is best to say goodbye and to stop pretending that we can listen to her thoughts. Bizard has left us with enough in his memoirs to give us a feel of her last weeks. There are also statements from Sister Leonide, and the record of her attorney's attempt to save her.