'Is it you?'
'Clon?' she muttered, her voice quivering. 'What of him?'
'He is past pain,' I answered gently. 'He is dead--yes, dead,
Mademoiselle, but in his own way. Take comfort.'
She stifled a sob; then before I could say more, the Lieutenant,
with his sergeant and light, were at my elbow. He saluted
Mademoiselle roughly. She looked at him with shuddering
abhorrence.
'Are you come to flog me too, sir?' she said passionately. 'Is
it not enough that you have murdered my servant?'
'On the contrary, it was he who killed my Captain,' the
Lieutenant answered, in another tone than I had expected. 'If
your servant is dead so is my comrade.'
'Captain Larolle?' she murmured, gazing with startled eyes, not
at him but at me.
I nodded.
'How?' she asked.
'Clon flung the Captain and himself--into the river pool above
the bridge,' I said.
She uttered a low cry of awe and stood silent; but her lips moved
and I think that she prayed for Clon, though she was a Huguenot.
Meanwhile, I had a fright. The lanthorn, swinging in the
sergeant's hand, and throwing its smoky light now on the stone
seat, now on the rough wall above it, showed me something else.
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