The doctor approached, and drawing from the pocket of his robe a little mirror of steel, put it to the open mouth of Hardquanonne. Then with his fingers he opened the eyelids. They did not close again; the glassy eyeballs remained fixed.
The doctor rose up and said,—
"He is dead."
And he added,—
"He laughed; that killed him."
"'Tis of little consequence," said the sheriff. "After confession, life or death is a mere formality."
Then pointing to Hardquanonne by a gesture with the nosegay of roses, the sheriff gave the order to the wapentake,—
"A corpse to be carried away to-night."
The wapentake acquiesced by a nod.
And the sheriff added,—