Her head drooped, her hair falling about her face. The long lashes flickered over the eyes like the flickering light of a taper before it dies in the darkness. Aymery dropped on his knees beside her. He was awed, shaken to the deeps, a man who looked upon the face of death, and knew that the great silence was falling upon the mouth of the woman whom he had kissed in dreams.
“Denise.”
He took her into his arms, for there was no power to gainsay him, and death, dread lord, still watched and waited. They were heart to heart for the moment, though life was melting within the span of the man’s arms. Denise opened her eyes once, and smiled, but it was the ghost of a smile that Aymery had.
“Denise!”
His mouth was close to hers.
“Lord, it is the end; do not judge me hardly.”
“Denise, my desire, am I here to judge?”
“It was Gaillard’s doing,” she said, “and God deserted me. I am very tired, so tired. Now, I am falling asleep.”
She gave a great sigh, and let her head lie upon his shoulder, her skin growing more white under the clouding of her hair. Aymery felt her hands grow cold as he knelt there looking at her in a stupor of awe, and wrath, and rebellious wonder. He believed that Denise would open her eyes no more, that the eternal silence was falling upon her mouth. This was death indeed, death that found him inarticulate and helpless.
He let her lie there upon the grass with her head resting upon a mossy root of the tree, and turned to call Marpasse back through the wood. And Marpasse came running, to stare at the deed her knife had done, and then to fall on her knees with a kind of blubbering fierceness, that was combative in its grief. She laid her hand on Denise’s bosom, and bent over her till her mouth nearly touched the silent lips. But Denise still breathed, and Marpasse sat back on her heels and began to unlace Denise’s tunic.