"Your murder shall be avenged—"
"Be, then, yourself accursed! You who say 'No!' to the prayer of an expiring man—to the prayer of an old soldier—who weeps—you see it. Is it agony?—is it weakness?—I know not, but I weep—"
And large drops of tears rolled down his face that gradually grew more livid.
"Good Marion, your kindheartedness distresses me! You, imploring mercy for your murderer!"
"Who else would take an interest in the unhappy fellow—if I did not?" he answered with an expression of ineffable mercifulness.
"Oh! Marion, those words are worthy of the young man of Nazareth, whom my ancestress Genevieve saw put to death in Jerusalem!"
"Friend Schanvoch—mercy—you will say nothing—I rely upon your promise—"
"No! No! Your celestial mercifulness only renders the crime more atrocious. No pity for the monster who slew his friend!"
"Go away from me!" feebly murmured Marion, sobbing.
"It is you who harrow my last moments! Eustace only slew my body—but you, pitiless before my agony, you torture my very soul!"