With a supreme effort Jenny extended her arms to place her child in her husband's hands, faltering:
"Take her, I am dying," and without another word fell heavily at the feet of Cloarek, who, with his child strained to his breast, stood as if dazed, hearing nothing, seeing nothing.
CHAPTER V.
DEADLY ENMITY.
Twelve years after the events we have just related, late in the month of March, 1812, about two o'clock in the afternoon a traveller walked into the inn known as the Imperial Eagle, the only tavern in the town of Sorville, which was then the second station on the post-road between Dieppe and Paris.
This traveller, who was a man in the prime of life, wore a tarpaulin hat and a thick blue reefer jacket, and looked like a petty officer or a sailing master in the merchant service. His hair and whiskers were red, his complexion light, his expression stern and impassible, and he spoke French without the slightest accent though he was an Englishman.
Walking straight up to the landlord, he said: "Can you tell me if a dark-complexioned man dressed about as I am, but very dark-complexioned and with a strong Italian accent, did not come here this morning? His name is Pietri."
"I have seen no one answering either to that name or description, monsieur."
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Is there any other inn in the town?"