Then her foot ran against a corpse; she lowered her lamp; it was the guard who had had his head split open. He was quite dead.
A few feet further on the lieutenant, who had been struck by a bullet, was drawing his last breath.
Finally, before the bed lay a man whose face was as pale as death and who was bleeding from a double wound in his throat. He was clinching his hands convulsively in his efforts to rise.
It was Maurevel.
Catharine shuddered. She saw the empty bed, she looked around the room seeking in vain for the body she hoped to find among the three corpses.
Maurevel recognized Catharine. His eyes were horribly dilated and he made a despairing gesture towards her.
"Well," said she in a whisper, "where is he? what has happened? Unfortunate man! have you let him escape?"
Maurevel strove to speak, but an unintelligible sound came from his throat, a bloody foam covered his lips, and he shook his head in sign of inability and pain.
"Speak!" cried Catharine, "speak! if only one word!"
Maurevel pointed to his wound, again made several inarticulate gasps, which ended in a hoarse rattle, and fainted.