"Then you think," she said, looking down, "that Barabant is guilty?"
"He shall die!"
She was smiling with a deceitful smile as she answered:
"You are perhaps right. Moderation is wrong. We have suffered much."
"Well said!" Javogues cried. "There speaks the patriot."
"Nicole! Nicole, come down!" cried the voice without.
"It is that traitor Dossonville," Nicole said, still smiling. "He does not know that Goursac is to die to-day. Call it down to him. That will enrage him."
With a gleam of joy, Javogues turned to the window; but before he had made two steps, Nicole, bounding forward, buried her dagger between the vast shoulders. The hands went frantically into the air, a hideous sound choked in the throat, and, spinning around, the great bulk tottered and collapsed at her feet. A moment before was martyrdom, now nothing but horror.
Hysterical, panic-stricken, holding out her hand before her,—the hand that bore the curse of blood,—the girl fled from the room, shrieking:
"I have killed him!"