“That’s a fine turnout. I wish I was in the place of the one who is riding inside!”
“So do I!” returned the other.
And Pierre thought, philosophically: “Poor fools! If they only knew!”
CHAPTER XVIII. “THERE IS NO NEED OF ACCUSING ANYONE.”
At the first streak of daylight, Marsa descended, trembling, to the garden, and approached the little gate, wondering what horror would meet her eyes.
Rose-colored clouds, like delicate, silky flakes of wool, floated across the blue sky; the paling crescent of the moon, resembling a bent thread of silver wire, seemed about to fade mistily away; and, toward the east, in the splendor of the rising sun, the branches of the trees stood out against a background of burnished gold as in a Byzantine painting. The dewy calm and freshness of the early morning enveloped everything as in a bath of purity and youth.
But Marsa shuddered as she thought that perhaps this beautiful day was dawning upon a dead body. She stopped abruptly as she saw the gardener, with very pale face, come running toward her.
“Ah, Mademoiselle, something terrible has happened! Last night the dogs barked and barked; but they bark so often at the moon and the shadows, that no one got up to see what was the matter.”
“Well—well?” gasped Marsa, her hand involuntarily seeking her heart.