"Then you have no suspicion?"
"None." But he stooped to pick up a handkerchief he had dropped as he spoke the word. "I really must go now," he said when he had regained it. "I am dead tired, and—"
"But you saw him after he was dead?" she persisted, observing that his hand trembled, in spite of his efforts to prevent it.
"Yes, I saw him," he stammered.
"Was he shot?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Directly through the heart."
"Ah! then he did not suffer much. You should be glad he was killed at once, and—"
But it seemed to Pierrepont that he could bear it no longer. His accustomed indifference had already deserted him, and he felt that all his courage was as rapidly following. He cried out passionately, more passionately than she believed possible for him, even after the kiss she had seen him press upon Carlita's lips: