“I had thought at first,” I explained, “of endeavoring to get for you a disguise somewhat like my own, but I saw the folly of the plan when I came to consider it.”
“Why, pray?”
“Oh, mademoiselle,” I said, “you would be no less beautiful in the dress of a peasant than in the robe of a queen! Such a disguise would deceive no one. On the contrary, it would serve only to attract attention, since a diamond is never so brilliant as in a tarnished setting.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” she said, bowing. “That was very prettily turned. But since you slumbered all the afternoon, where did you find those garments? Had some one thrown them away?”
“No, mademoiselle,” I stammered, turning red and white, for I had not expected the question. “I—that is——”
“What is it?” she demanded, looking at me steadily. “Do not fear to tell me. Oh, I have been selfish! I have been thinking only of myself! Where are the others, M. de Tavernay? Where are our friends? Did they, also, escape?”
With her clear eyes upon me, it was impossible to lie as I had intended doing.
“No,” I answered in a low voice, “they did not escape.”
“They were captured?” she cried, her face livid.
“Oh, not so bad as that! Thank God, not so bad as that! Madame was killed by that first shot and died in the arms of the man she loved, smiling up at him. M. le Comte and Pasdeloup met the end as brave men should, facing the enemy. It was only I who ran away,” I added, the tears blinding me.