THE BARON'S STORY.—HE DISAPPEARS.
Sperver set out, carrying the body of Lieverlé in his cloak. I had refused to follow him, for I felt that duty compelled me to remain near this unhappy woman, and I could not have abandoned her without violating my conscience. Moreover, I am obliged to confess I was curious to examine more closely this mysterious being, and hardly had Sperver disappeared in the darkness of the defile before I began climbing the path to the cavern. A strange sight awaited me there. Upon a large fur cloak with green facings lay the old woman in a long purple robe, with a golden arrow stuck through her gray hair, her withered hands clutching her breast.
Time will never efface the image of this woman from my mind. Her vulture-like face, distorted by the last agonies of death, her staring eyes and half-opened mouth, were appalling to look upon. Such might have been the last hour of the terrible Queen Frédégonde. The Baron, on his knees beside her, tried to restore her to animation, but at the first glance it was evident to me that the unfortunate creature was dying, and it was not without a sentiment of profound pity that I kneeled to raise her arm.
"Leave her alone! How dare you touch her?" cried the young man bitterly.
"I am a doctor, monsieur."
"Ah, pardon me!"
He was deathly pale, and his lips trembled nervously. After a moment, he asked:
"What is your opinion, monsieur?"
"It is over. She is dead."
Without replying, he leaned back against the wall of the cavern, his forehead resting in his hands, and staring straight before him, motionless as marble. I sat near the fire, watching the flames as they climbed to the arched top of the cave, casting their vivid reflections upon the rigid features of the Black Plague.