“But the Dauphin resented ecclesiastical interference. This aroused the ire of His Eminence, who straightway went to King Philippe. The net result is that the Dauphin has been dispatched on a tedious expedition to Sicilia, and I am ordered to convey the pretty person of Mlle. Bonacieux to you for decapitation.”
The two men resumed their walking.
“And this, then, you think,” came from the headsman, “accounts both for the ambiguity of the writ’s phraseology as well as the fact that Mlle. Bonacieux is spirited hither instead of being left to the hand of the headsman at Fontainebleau?”
“Undoubtedly, M. Capeluche.”
The headsman started away abruptly, in the manner of a man whose mind is suddenly made up. A light still burned in Mlle. Bonacieux’s quarters and he tapped at the door.
“Who is it?” called the woman.
“One whom you wished to see.”
“Please come in, M. Capeluche.”
Mlle. Bonacieux was in truth chilled by the grim expression of the man who now stood composedly studying her; but she gave no sign. Instead, her eyes were sparkling and she was a vision of loveliness as she reclined on the couch that had been provided for her by the Comte.
“An unpleasant business—for both of us, M. le Headsman,” she commented.