“I should like very much to see him,” he said softly.
“Go and look.”
He walked to the table, hesitated a minute, then, summoning courage, uncovered a swollen face, a tall, motionless body in its rain-soaked garments.
“She has killed you at last, my old comrade!” murmured Planus, and fell on his knees, sobbing bitterly.
The officers had come forward, gazing curiously at the body, which was left uncovered.
“Look, surgeon,” said one of them. “His hand is closed, as if he were holding something in it.”
“That is true,” the surgeon replied, drawing nearer. “That sometimes happens in the last convulsions.
“You remember at Solferino, Commandant Bordy held his little daughter’s miniature in his hand like that? We had much difficulty in taking it from him.”
As he spoke he tried to open the poor, tightly-closed dead hand.
“Look!” said he, “it is a letter that he is holding so tight.”