"Serves him right. Is the Marquis du Plessy at the chateau?"
Her face grew shaded, as a cloud chases sunlight before it across a meadow. "Do you mean the new marquis, the old marquis' cousin, monsieur? He went away directly after the burial."
"What burial?"'
"The old marquis' burial. That was before St. John's day."
"Be careful what you say, my child!"
"Didn't you know he was dead, monsieur?"
"I have been on a journey. Was his death sudden?"
"He was killed in a duel in Paris."
I sat down on the grass with my head in my hands. Bellenger had told the truth.
One scant month the Marquis du Plessy fostered me like a son. To this hour my slow heart aches for the companionship of the lightest, most delicate spirit I ever encountered in man.