And, suddenly, the moon shed a pale gleam over her features.
"Christine!" The sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips.

He could not keep it back...

He would have given anything to withdraw it, for that name, proclaimed in the stillness of the night, had acted as though it were the preconcerted signal for a furious rush on the part of the whole turn-out, which dashed past him before he could put into execution his plan of leaping at the horses' heads.

The carriage window had been closed and the girl's face had disappeared.

And the brougham, behind which he was now running, was no more than a black spot on the white road.
He called out again: "Christine!" No reply.