It
was at that moment that the shot which killed Merle was heard, like an
echo of the disastrous war which these gay and noble conspirators were
about to make against the Republic. Madame du Gua quivered with
pleasure at the thought that she was freed from her rival; the guests
looked at each other in silence; the marquis rose from the table and
went out.
"He loved her!" said Madame du Gua, sarcastically. "Follow him,
Monsieur de Fontaine, and keep him company; he will be as irritating
as a fly if we let him sulk."
She went to a window which looked on the courtyard to endeavor to see
Marie's body. There, by the last gleams of the sinking moon, she
caught sight of the coach being rapidly driven down the avenue of
apple-trees. Mademoiselle de Verneuil's veil was fluttering in the
wind. Madame du Gua, furious at the sight, left the room hurriedly.
The marquis, standing on the portico absorbed in gloomy thought, was
watching about a hundred and fifty Chouans, who, having divided their
booty in the gardens, were now returning to finish the cider and the
rye-bread provided for the Blues. These soldiers of a new species, on
whom the monarchy was resting its hopes, dispersed into groups. Some
drank the cider; others, on the bank before the portico, amused
themselves by flinging into the lake the dead bodies of the Blues, to
which they fastened stones.
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