Francine shrieked aloud.
"Pierre! Pierre! Pierre!" she cried in heart-rending tones, as she
followed her mistress.
The marquis closed the door on the astonished company. When he reached
the portico he was still holding the woman's wrist, which he clasped
convulsively, while Pille-Miche had almost crushed the bones of her
arm with his iron fingers, but Marie felt only the burning hand of the
young leader.
"You hurt me," she said.
For all answer he looked at her a moment.
"Have you some base revenge to take--like that woman?" she said. Then,
seeing the dead bodies on the heap of straw, she cried out,
shuddering: "The faith of a gentleman! ha! ha! ha!" With a frightful
laugh she added: "Ha! the glorious day!"
"Yes," he said, "a day without a morrow."
He let go her hand and took a long, last look at the beautiful
creature he could scarcely even then renounce. Neither of these proud
natures yielded. The marquis may have looked for a tear, but the eyes
of the girl were dry and scornful. Then he turned quickly, and left
the victim to Pille-Miche.
"God will hear me, marquis," she called. "I will ask Him to give you a
glorious day without a morrow."
Pille-Miche, not a little embarrassed with so rich a prize, dragged her
away with some gentleness and a mixture of respect and scorn. The
marquis, with a sigh, re-entered the dining-room, his face like that
of a dead man whose eyes have not been closed.
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