"But—my brother," said Henri, in a choking voice.
"Alas! M. le Comte, we do not know. He fought like a lion, but he survived the battle; as to the inundation I cannot say."
Henri shook his head sadly; then, after a minute's pause, said, "And the duke?"
"Comte, the duke fled one of the first. He was mounted on a white horse, with no spot but a black star on the forehead. Well, just now we saw the horse pass among a mass of wrecks, the foot of a rider was caught in the stirrup and was floating on the water."
"Great God!"
"Good heavens!" echoed Remy, who had drawn near and heard the tale.
"One of my men ventured down into the water and seized the reins of the floating horse, and drew it up sufficiently to enable us to see the white boot and gold spur that the duke wore. But the waters were rushing past, and the man was forced to let go to save himself, and we saw no more. We shall not even have the consolation of giving a Christian burial to our prince."
"Dead! he also? the heir to the crown! What a misfortune!"
Remy turned to his mistress, and with an expression impossible to describe, said,
"He is dead, madame, you see."