It sickened my heart to do it, but I could only shake my head sadly and say:
"No, Madame, Monsieur de Merri can never come to speak for you."
"Why not?" she cried, all the hope rushing out of her face again.
"He is dead—slain in a duel." I said in a voice as faint as a whisper.
Her face seemed to turn to marble.
"Who killed him?" she presently asked in a horrified tone.
I knelt at her feet, with averted eyes, as one who is all contrition but dare not ask a pardon.
"You!" she whispered.
"When I found this message upon him afterward," said I, "I saw what injury was done. I could only come in his place, and offer myself. By one means and another, I learned who it was had sent for him."
"That brave young gentleman," said she, following her own thoughts; "that he should die so soon! And you, with his blood on your hands."—she drew back from me a step—"come to offer your service to me who, little as I was to him, must yet be counted among his friends! Monsieur, what could you think of my loyalty?"