It came in harsh and strident tones. He was angered at the depth of her feeling for St. Just, and it made him pitiless and heedless of the pain his words would cause.
"Never in this world will you see St. Just again," he said. "He lies buried in the desert, slain by your father's orders."
At this dreadful news, so suddenly and cruelly imparted, his hearer swayed as though she would have fallen; but, with an effort, she so far controlled herself as to stagger to a divan, on which she dropped.
"It is not true, it cannot be true," she cried; "you are deceiving me for your own ends. Why should my father slay him? No, I believe you not."
Buonaparte took no notice of her words. He merely stepped to the open window and called out, "Roustan, bring up the prisoners."
The Arab girl sprang to her feet and advanced to him. "Prisoners?" she asked wonderingly. "Who are they? Why are they here?"
"You say you disbelieve me. They bring you proof of what I have just told you."
Even while he spoke the tramp of men could be heard outside, and, in another moment, Roustan entered with the three Arab soldiers and their guards.
Buonaparte cross-examined them in Halima's presence, and she herself put such questions to them as she chose. They told her of the capture of St. Just by members of her father's tribe and all that had followed, to his final fall from the rock. They were so evidently the witnesses of truth that Halima could not fail to be convinced that St. Just was dead.
She waved her hand to them as a signal that they were to go, and Buonaparte dismissed them.