When the girl at length returned she found him lying still, his face to the wall. The black cat was in her path as she crossed the room, so that she had to thrust it out of the way with her foot, and she called it names for moving with such lethargy.
"Here is the coffee at last," she said. "I made it fresh. And I have brought some brioches. Will you sit up and have the tray on your knees?"
"Thank you," said Ste. Marie. "I do not wish anything."
"You do not--" she repeated after him. "But I have made the coffee especially for you," she protested. "I thought you wanted it. I don't understand."
With a sudden movement the man turned toward her a white and drawn face.
"Mademoiselle," he cried, "it would have been more merciful to let your gardener shoot again yesterday. Much more merciful, Mademoiselle."
She stared at him under her straight, black brows.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "More merciful? What do you mean by that?"
Ste. Marie stretched out a pointing finger, and the girl followed it. She gave, after a tense instant, a single, sharp scream. And upon that:
"No, no! It's not true! It's not possible!"