"It must have been," she answered, "as we at first thought, a murder in the hope of robbery afterwards."
"Or," said Bertie, "as sometimes I think now, the offshoot of another--an undiscovered murder. What if those vagabonds who called themselves Gascon gentlemen had previously slain someone else who was possessed of all that jewellery, and Douglas had come across them at the time, and, in endeavouring to save that other, was slain himself?"
"No," she said, "no. That is impossible. No other victim's body was found, and there was no place where they could have hidden it away, or, having hidden it, could not also have disposed of his. Besides, remember: The woman--the concierge--saw only one other slay him, and that other was neither of the Gascons. Nor was his sword drawn. No, we must seek elsewhere for the solution of that crime."
Thus they talked it over and over whenever they met. Surely it was natural that they should do so, seeing how much he had been to them, and how awful a blow his assassination was, but never did they arrive at any thought or idea of who was the actual murderer.
And, as they so discussed it day by day, the autumn departed as the summer had done, and the winter was almost upon them. Already the leaves lay in heaps at the roots of the trees, the swallows were all gone, the nights were long and dark, and Douglas slept unavenged in his grave. And still the troubles, the griefs and sorrows of this luckless man and woman were not yet at an end.
Another blow was still to fall upon them--it was close at hand now, though they knew it not.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
"WHICH WAY I FLY IS HELL--MYSELF AM HELL!"
It was the feast of St. Denys, the patron saint of France.
Over all the land, from north to south and east to west, the churches and cathedrals were crowded on that day with worshippers bringing offerings and gifts to the altars, praying for the saint's aid to be still continued to them, asking for pardon for past sins, for prosperity in the future. On that day the King himself went in state to Nôtre Dame, accompanied by his brilliant court. In the provinces, governors of fortresses and of departments did the same thing at the local cathedrals; prisoners were released because of the anniversary of St. Denys, while some of the worst among them were executed--both as an example, and because it was the great fête-day and a holiday when other people required to be amused.