"
The commandant rushed into the guard-room and saw on a camp bedstead a
bloody body which had just been laid there. He went up to the supposed
marquis, raised the hat which covered the face, and fell into a chair.
"I suspected it!" he cried, crossing his arms violently; "she kept
him, cursed thunder! too long."
The soldiers stood about, motionless. The commandant himself
unfastened the long black hair of a woman. Suddenly the silence was
broken by the tramp of men and Corentin entered the guardroom,
preceding four soldiers who bore on their guns, crossed to make a
litter, the body of Montauran, who was shot in the thighs and arms.
They laid him on the bedstead beside his wife. He saw her, and found
strength to clasp her hand with a convulsive gesture. The dying woman
turned her head, recognized her husband, and shuddered with a spasm
that was horrible to see, murmuring in a voice almost extinct: "A day
without a morrow! God heard me too well!"
"Commandant," said the marquis, collecting all his strength, and still
holding Marie's hand, "I count on your honor to send the news of my
death to my young brother, who is now in London. Write him that if he
wishes to obey my last injunction he will never bear arms against his
country--neither must he abandon the king's service."
"It shall be done," said Hulot, pressing the hand of the dying man.
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