indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, "Feel!
this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am such a
fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can bring
down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to my
heart. Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion
that I am not a 'grand proprietaire,' much less imagine that I am a
chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long journey
beyond Paris that very day."

"She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well. Those still silent
ones are the devil. She'll be off during some of your absences, having
picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel."

"Bah!" said his voice; and then in a minute he added, "Let her go if she
will. But, where she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before you're
hurt."

By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation
turned on what they should do with it. I learnt that the dead man was
the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard of
as hunting with my husband. I had never seen him, but they spoke as if
he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant,
torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting
the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden
circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs
afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them,
and recognising M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought him
thither after nightfall. I heard him whom I called my husband, laugh his
little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead body had
been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it appeared
to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting
some sick person. He repeated some mocking reply of double meaning, which
he himself had given to some one who made inquiry. He enjoyed the play
upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And all the time the poor
helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to his dainty boot!
Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked up a letter
lying on the ground--a letter that had dropped out of M. de Poissy's
pocket--a letter from his wife, full of tender words of endearment and
pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud, with coarse ribald
comments on every sentence, each