At last she could make him out. He was close to the chateau now, and she
noticed that his right arm was bandaged and hanging in a sling. And then
a scream broke from her, and she bit her lip hard to keep another in
check, for she had seen the horseman's face, and it was Fortunio's.
Fortunio--and wounded! Then, assuredly, Marius was dead!

She swayed where she stood. She set her hand on her bosom, above her
heart, as if she would have repressed the beating of the one, the
heaving of the other; her soul sickened, and her mind seemed to turn
numb, as she waited there for the news that should confirm her fears.

The hoofs of his horse thundered over the planks of the drawbridge,
and came clatteringly to halt as he harshly drew rein in the courtyard
below. There was a sound of running feet and men sprang to his
assistance. Madame would have gone below to meet him; but her limbs
seemed to refuse their office. She leaned against one of the merlons of
the embattled parapet, her eyes on the spot where he should emerge from
the stairs, and thus she waited, her eyes haggard, her face drawn.

He came at last, lurching in his walk, being overstiff from his long
ride. She took a step forward to meet him. Her lips parted.

"Well?" she asked him, and her voice sounded harsh and strained. "How
has the venture sped?"

"The only way it could," he answered. "As you would wish it."

At that she thought that she must faint. Het lungs seemed to writhe for
air, and she opened her lips and took long draughts of the rising mist,
never speaking for a moment or two until she had sufficiently recovered
from this tremendous revulsion from her fears.

"Then, where is Marius?" she asked at last.

"He has remained behind to accompany the body home. They are bringing it
here."

"They?" she echoed. "Who are they?"

"The monks of Saint Francis of Cheylas," he answered.

A something in his tone, a something in his shifty eyes, a cloud upon
his fair and usually so ingenuous looking countenance aroused her
suspicions and gave her resurrected courage pause.

She caught him viciously by the arms, and forced his glance to meet her
own in the fading daylight.

"It is the truth you are telling me, Fortunio?" she snapped, and her
voice was half-angry, half-fearful.

He faced her now, his eyes bold. He raised a hand to lend emphasis to
his words.

"I swear, madame, by my salvation, that Monsieur Marius is sound and
well."

She was satisfied. S