"But my life—I owe my life again to you!"
"We are quits, M. Rodolph. You told me—that I had—heart and honour. That word, you see—oh, I am choking! Sir, without—my asking—do me the honour—to give me your hand—I feel I am sinking."
"No, no! Impossible!" exclaimed the prince, bending towards the Chourineur, and clasping in his hands the icy hand of the dying man, "no—you will live—you will live!"
"M. Rodolph, there is something, you see, above—I killed—with a blow of a knife—I die from the blow of a knife!" said the Chourineur, who was sinking fast.
At this moment his eyes turned towards Fleur-de-Marie, whom he had not before perceived. Amazement was depicted on his dying features; he made a movement, and said:
"Ah!—the Goualeuse!"
"Yes, my daughter, who blesses you for having preserved her father!"
"She—your daughter—here? That reminds me of how our acquaintance began—M. Rodolph—and the blows—with the fist; but this blow with a knife will be the last—last blow. I slashed—and in my turn am slashed—stabbed. It is just." He heaved a deep sigh—his head fell back—he was dead.
The sound of horses without was heard; Rodolph's carriage had met that of Murphy and David, who, in their desire to rejoin the prince, had anticipated the hour fixed for their departure.
"David," said Rodolph, wiping his eyes, and pointing to the Chourineur, "is there no hope?"