A moment later the door gave way. The attacking party hurtled into the dwelling stumbling over one another.
An appalling sight was before them. In the center of the room stood Capeluche, a scarlet Mephisto. His hands held the cleanly severed head of Mlle. Bonacieux, her beautiful tresses of hair depending almost to the floor. At his feet lay the long weapon of his office.
He extended the head before him.
“Perhaps,” he said grimly, “the Comte de Mousqueton would relish a kiss from the lips of Madame Capeluche, the wife of a headsman. She was very choice of those same lips—a Dauphin has felt them. And see! See how deliciously cupid they are!”
Suddenly Jacques’ voice broke in.
“Before God!” exclaimed the old peasant, with tremendous satisfaction. “The portent!”
The
HIDEOUS FACE
A Grim Tale of Frightful Revenge