The man obeyed, creeping away through the mingled moonlight and firelight until he found another notch in the wood of the wall.
Luc again looked into the barn. The priest had now thrown on some powder that filled the whole building with smoke, the Italian was shouting short sentences in an uncouth language, and the third man had sprung forward and was staring at the corpse through the soft film of the bluish smoke.
“She does not speak!” he cried. “She does not speak!”
The priest gave a furious exclamation and cast something dark and heavy into the flames, and the Italian tore a chain from his neck and flung it in the lap of the dead woman. A towering red and orange flame, that seemed as if it would set the roof on fire, suddenly shot up from the brazier, an unearthly and awful voice called out—
“Beware of she who comes from Bohemia!”
This was cut short by a passionate ejaculation; who it came from Luc could not tell. All three men seemed to run together; the brazier was overturned, and there was perfect darkness, broken by a shriek, a groan, several short cries of fury, and the rip of unsheathing swords. Luc ran round to the doorless opening that was the main entrance to the barn; as he reached it a man came rushing out with a weapon in his hand, bare in the moonlight. Luc seized him and flung the sword away. The servant had come up now and stood ready with his pistol.
“Explain yourself,” demanded the Marquis.
The other, completely taken by surprise, wrenched himself free, but made no attempt to escape.
“Are you the Devil?” he asked, with more eagerness than fear.
“No,” answered Luc in brief disgust.