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.
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