ess anger.

At last, 'I should like to have you tied up!' he said between his teeth.

'I should think that you had had enough of tying up for one day!' I
retorted. 'But there,' I went on contemptuously, 'it comes of making
officers out of the canaille. Dogs love blood. The teamster must lash
something if he can no longer lash his horses.'

We were back, a sombre little procession, at the wooden bridge when I
said this. He stopped.

'Very well,' he replied, nodding viciously. 'That decides me. Sergeant,
light me this way with a lanthorn. The rest of you to the village. Now,
Master Spy,' he continued, glancing at me with gloomy spite, 'Your road
is my road. I think I know how to spoil your game.'

I shrugged my shoulders in disdain, and together, the sergeant leading
the way with the light, we crossed the dim meadow, and passed through
the gate where Mademoiselle had kissed my hand, and up the ghostly walk
between the rose bushes. I wondered uneasily what the Lieutenant would
be at, and what he intended; but the lanthorn-light which now fell on
the ground at our feet, and now showed one of us to the other, high-lit
in a frame of blackness, discovered nothing in his grizzled face but
settled hostility. He wheeled at the end of the walk to go to the main
door, but as he did so I saw the flutter of a white skirt by the stone
seat against the house, and I stepped that way.

'Mademoiselle?' I said softly. 'Is it you?'

'Clon?' she muttered, her voice quivering. 'What of him?'

'He is past pain,' I answered gently. 'He is dead--yes, dead,
Mademoiselle, but in his own way. Take comfort.'

She stifled a sob; then before I could say more, the Lieutenant, with
his sergeant and light, were at my elbow. He saluted Mademoiselle
roughly. She looked at him with shuddering abhorrence.

'Are you come to flog me too, sir?' she said passionately. 'Is it not
enough that you have murdered my servant?'

'On the contrary, it was he who killed my Captain,' the Lieutenant
answered, in another tone than I had expected. 'If your servant is dead
so is my comrade.'

'Captain Larolle?' she murmured, gazing with startled eyes, not at him
but at me.

I nodded.

'How?' she asked.

'Clon flung the Captain and himself--into the river pool above the
bridge,' I said.

She uttered a low cry of awe and stood silent; but her lips moved and I
think that she prayed for Clon, though she was a Huguenot. Meanwhile,
I had a fright. The lanthorn,