Advancing cautiously, I discovered the light came from a lanthorn, by the aid of which a priest was examining the bodies, hoping, no doubt, to discover some unfortunate who needed his ministrations. He would serve me for Sarennes.
“Mon père,” I said, advancing, “may I beg your assistance for a wounded officer?”
“Willingly. Lead me to him. Who is he?
“M. de Sarennes.”
“Ah, I know him well.”
I directed him to where Sarennes lay, and then returned to Margaret.
“I must wait until I see if anything can be done here before we go. Come with me for a moment.”
The priest took no notice of us as we knelt beside the dying man, and Margaret, exclaiming with pity as she saw him, lifted his head and supported it in her lap.
Sarennes opened his eyes and looked up into her face. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his moving lips.
“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, Et lux perpetua luceat ei,”