De Baudri watched him coolly, wondering that the rapt face was so calm.
“When I give the order,� he said to the soldiers, “haul him up and let him hang twenty minutes. Now, rogue, where is the girl?�
No answer; the clear eyes looked straight toward the setting sun, over the beautiful valley of the Vaunage. The radiance of the west fell on his face, as though he looked through those golden gates into Paradise.
“Nom de St. Denis!� ejaculated de Baudri, “what a stubborn fool. Now, my men!�
He raised his hand carelessly and the cripple was drawn up by the feet to the limb of a tree, his head hanging with the face to the west. Ten minutes passed—twenty.
“Fire!� said M. de Baudri.
There was the crash of a volley, the blue smoke rose, the poor, misshapen body swung around in the red sunlight, and there was silence,—broken at last by the trample of horses as the troopers mounted and rode down the hill.
The sun set in a sea of gold; the gray clouds above turned the color of a red rose; a haze floated over Nîmes. In the wood, only the dead leaves rustled as they fell. In the upper room of the shop of Two Shoes, the candle before the shrine had burned down to the very end. It flickered and flared up, a single flame in the gloom, and then it went out forever.
CHAPTER XXV
THE SHIP AT SEA
Two weeks later a party of wayfarers came to the old mill at St. Cyr. The door was fastened, but they opened it, only to recoil with horror. They found a hideous old woman tied there. She had been dead a long while and the fearful distortion of her face sent them shrieking from the spot. Even in death Mère Tigrane had not lost her power to strike terror to the hearts of others.