"By the Orleanists?"
"Yes." Horatia hesitated. "He ... he was shot in saving the life of that lady ... who was never what I thought her. His death prevented that."
"How do you know this?"
"Because in his delirium I heard everything."
"You were with him when he died?"
Horatia made a great effort. "Yes. My friend ... whom he loved ... whom he would have married had he not met me ... took him dying to her house ... and sent for me to be with him at the last."
"Yes?" said Dormer.
And Horatia went on, more and more agitated. "I shall see him lying in that bed fighting with death until I die ... and it was I who sent him to his death ... it was my hardness that drove him to someone who really loved him.... And ... and," she choked down a sob, "it was for her that he died ... not for me."
She came to a full stop.
"Yes, I see," said the priest, but in the tone of one who thinks there is more to come.