"The wedding ring, Petio—it was handed to her as she entered the litter—it was poisoned! She put it on, poor soul—kissed it, no doubt:—well, it was poisoned, Petio!"
"And so she started alive, and now lies there dead—poor soul!"
The men muttered and crossed themselves; a few sat in moody thought.
"The sun—we need the sun," said one at last.
"And a little wind, not these stifling puffs—a little wind from heaven. 'Tis hot as hell!"
"Hush!"
How it rained! And a wind rose, but it scarcely seemed from heaven. The chestnuts moaned, tossing their branches.
"Hush!" said some one suddenly. "The dear Lord forgive my sins!—who comes?"
They heard a footstep; a hand was fumbling at the entrance of their tent.
"The Prince!"