"Who cares?" muttered Sir Thorald. "I'm a beast—a dying beast. May I see Alixe?"
"Yes."
"Then tell her to come—now. Soon I'll wish to be alone; that's the way beasts die—alone."
He rambled on again about a battle somewhere in the south, and Jack went to the door and called, "Alixe!"
She came, pallid and weeping, carrying a lighted candle.
Jack took it from her hand and blew out the flame.
"They won't let us have a light; they fear bombardment. Go in now."
"Is he dying?"
"God knows."
"God?" repeated Alixe.