Then passing his arm round Lignières’ neck, he raised his head, and held a crucifix before those glazing eyes, which opened once, to close again forever. There was a sigh, a quiver of the limbs, and a strong man was dead—slain for a light word and a foolish jest.
It was then that Ponthieu caught me by the arm.
“Go!” he said. “We will see to the rest.”
“You bear witness, gentlemen, that he forced it on me—that it was in fair fight,” I said hoarsely, and there was a murmur of assent.
“Go!” repeated Ponthieu, and I walked to the bench for my hat and coat. As I stooped to get them, I found the Capuchin by my side. He helped me with my things, and as he did so whispered low:
“There is no need to fear: Monsieur did the Queen-Mother and the State a great service when he took off his coat for this little affair,” and he half turned toward the group gathered in the centre of the courtyard. I barely caught the words, though they came back to me with their full force very shortly. At the time, however, all that I wanted was to put a distance between myself and the still figure lying there, that but a moment before had been so full of life and strength. I made no answer to the friar, spoke no word of farewell to the others; but fastening the clasp of my cloak, and pulling my hat over my brows, went out, red-handed, into the street.
CHAPTER III
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
I walked rapidly toward the Vallée Misère, looking neither to the right nor to the left of me. What had happened had not been my fault. The quarrel was none of my seeking, and Lignières would have surely killed me if the luck had been with him. And yet I shuddered at it all. Though I had taken life before, it was in the heat of battle, and the thing had left no impression upon me. But work of this kind was new to me, and, despite my four campaigns and a soldier’s life, it was the first time that a man had died thus at my hands. I felt it as a presage of ill-fortune to come, and full of useless regrets and gloomy forebodings, I moodily paced the foreshore of the river watching the sunset fade from gold to purple, and from purple to gray, that lightened again as the moon rose and hung heavily in the sky, throwing her soft beams on the shadowy, irregular lines of the city and gleaming in scales of silver on the lapping waters of the Seine.
It was whilst I stood thus for a moment that I once more heard the voice of the Capuchin uttering his dismal cry:
“Alms! Alms! He who giveth unto the poor, lendeth unto the Lord.”