“He is Leoline's twin brother—that accounts for it. When does she become your wife?”
“This very morning, God willing!” said Sir Norman, fervently.
“Amen! And may her life and yours be long and happy. What becomes of the rest?”
“Since Hubert is her brother, he shall come with us, if he will. As for the other, she, alas! is dead.”
“Dead!” cried La Masque. “How? When? She was living, tonight!”
“True! She died of a wound.”
“A wound? Surely not given by the dwarfs hand?”
“No, no; it was quite accidental. But since you know so much of the dwarf, perhaps you also know he is now the king's prisoner?”
“I did not know it; but I surmised as much when I discovered that you and Count L'Estrange, followed by such a body of men, visited the ruin. Well, his career has been long and dark enough, and even the plague seemed to spare him for the executioner. And so the poor mock-queen is dead? Well, her sister will not long survive her.”
“Good Heavens, madame!” cried Sir Norman, aghast. “You do not mean to say that Leoline is going to die?”