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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"Under the Red Robe"

But Madame's pure faith, the
younger woman's tenderness--how was I to face these?
I cursed the Cardinal--would he had stayed at Luchon. I cursed
the English fool who had brought me to this, I cursed the years
of plenty and scarceness, and the Quartier Marais, and Zaton's,
where I had lived like a pig, and--
A touch fell on my arm. I turned. It was Clon. How he had
stolen up so quietly, how long he had been at my elbow, I could
not tell. But his eyes gleamed spitefully in their deep sockets,
and he laughed with his fleshless lips; and I hated him. In the
daylight the man looked more like a death's-head than ever. I
fancied that I read in his face that he knew my secret, and I
flashed into rage at sight of him.
'What is it?' I cried, with another oath. 'Don't lay your
corpse-claws on me!'
He mowed at me, and, bowing with ironical politeness, pointed to
the house.
'Is Madame served?' I said impatiently, crushing down my anger.
'Is that what you mean, fool?'
He nodded,
'Very well,' I retorted. 'I can find my way then. You may go!'
He fell behind, and I strode back through the sunshine and
flowers, and along the grass-grown paths, to the door by which I
had come I walked fast, but his shadow kept pace with me, driving
out the unaccustomed thoughts in which I had been indulging.


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