The fierce, burning eyes seemed to search into Brother Jacques's soul.

There was on that proud face neither fear nor horror. And this was the

hour Brother Jacques had planned and waited for! For this moment he

had donned the robes, isolated himself, taken vows, suffered physical

tortures! He had come to curse: he was offering absolution.

"Hypocrite, begone!" cried the marquis, seized with vertigo. He tried

to strike the bell, but the effort merely sent it jangling to the

floor. "Begone!"

"Monsieur!"

"Must I call for help?"

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Brother Jacques could stand no more. He rushed madly toward the door,

which he opened violently. Sister Benie stood in the corridor,

transfixed.

"My son?" she faltered. A pathetic little sob escaped her. Her arms

reached out feebly; she fell. Brother Jacques caught her, but she was

dead. Her heart had broken. With a cry such as Dante conceived in his

dream of hell, Brother Jacques fell beside her, insensible.

The marquis stared at the two prostrate figures, fumbling with his lips.

Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and Jehan, followed by the

Chevalier, entered.

"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" The marquis was throwing aside the

coverlet.

"Father!" cried the Chevalier.

"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" the marquis cried. "My clothes, my

clothes! Help me! I must dress!"

With trembling hands Jehan did as his master bade him. The Chevalier,

appalled, glanced first at his father, then at Brother Jacques and

Sister Benie. He leaned against the wall, dazed; understood nothing of

this scene.

"My shoes! Yes, yes! My sword!" rambled the dying man, in the last

frenzy. "Paul said I should die in bed, alone. No, no! . . . Now,

stand me on my feet . . . that is it! . . . Paul, it is you? Help me!

Take me to her! Margot, Margot? . . . There is my heart, Jehan, the

heart of the marquis. . . . Take me to her? And I thought I dreamed!

Take me to her! . . . Margot?" He was on his knees beside her,

kissing her hands and shuddering, shuddering.

"Margot is dead, Monsieur," said the aged valet. The tears rolled down

his leathery cheeks.

"Margot!" murmured the Chevalier. He had never heard this name before.

What did it mean? "Father?" He came swiftly toward the marquis.

"Dead!" The marquis staggered to his feet without assistance. He

swung dizzily toward the candles on the mantel. He struck them. "Away

with the lights, fools." The candles rolled and sputtered en the

floor. "Away with them, I say!" Toward the table he lurched, avoiding

the Chevalier's arms. From the table he dashed the candles. "Away

with the lights! The Marquis de Périgny shall die as he lived . . . in

the dark!"

He fell upon the bed, his face hidden in the pillows. When the

Chevalier reached his side he was dead.




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