"
So Jehan went in search of Sister Benie. When she came in her angelic
face was as white as the collaret which encircled her throat, and the
scar was more livid than usual. Alas, the marquis's mind had gone
a-wandering again: the coal dimmed. She put her hand on his brow to
still the wagging head.
"It was so long ago, Margot," he babbled. "It was all a mistake. . . .
A fool plunges into all follies, but a wise man avoids what he can. I
have been both the wise man and the fool. . . . And I struck you
across the face with the lash? Ah, the poor scar!" He touched the
scar with his hand, and she wavered. "I loved you. It is true. I did
not know it then. You are dead, and you know that I loved you. Do you
think the lad has really forgiven me for what I have done to him? . . .
I am weary of the contest; Death sits on his horse outside the door."
She was praying, praying for strength to go through this ordeal.
"Where did you go, Margot?" he asked. "I searched for you; you were
gone. Where did you go that day?"
Outside, in the corridor, Jehan was listening with eyes distended. And
the marquis did not know, being out of his mind again!
"Hush, Henriot!" said Sister Benie.
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