And here Blaise did what I thought a strange and presumptuous thing. He approached mademoiselle, and, looking her keenly in the eyes, said, gravely:
"He said that you came from the governor of the province to betray M. de la Tournoire!"
"Blaise!" I cried, in great astonishment and anger. "How dare you even utter the calumny he spoke? Go you and look to the disposal of his body." And I motioned him away with a wrathful gesture.
He looked frowningly at mademoiselle and then at me, and went off, with a shrug of his shoulders, to the place where De Berquin lay.
I turned to mademoiselle; she stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on the empty air before her. Yet she seemed to know when my look fell on her, for at that instant a slight tremor passed through her.
"Tremble not for M. de Berquin, mademoiselle," said I, thinking of that divine gentleness in a woman which makes her pity even those who have persecuted her. "Indeed, he must have wished to die. He well knew that a certain way to death was to tempt my sword with a black lie of the truest lady in France."
"You killed him," she murmured, in a low, pitying voice, "because he said—I came from the governor—to betray you!"
"Why else, mademoiselle? What is the matter? Why do you look so?"
For all life and consciousness seemed to be about to leave her countenance.
"Mon dieu!" she said, weakly, "I cannot tell—I—"