rth of an unutterable desire for vengeance. With death beside her,
the sense of impotence almost strangled her. A whirlwind of passion
and madness rose in her head; the blood which boiled in her veins made
everything about her seem like a conflagration. Instead of killing
herself, she seized the sword and thrust it though the marquis. But the
weapon slipped between his arm and side; he caught her by the wrist and
dragged her from the room, aided by Pille-Miche, who had flung himself
upon the furious creature when she attacked his master. Francine
shrieked aloud. "Pierre! Pierre! Pierre!" she cried in heart-rending
tones, as she followed her mistress.

The marquis closed the door on the astonished company. When he reached
the portico he was still holding the woman's wrist, which he clasped
convulsively, while Pille-Miche had almost crushed the bones of her arm
with his iron fingers, but Marie felt only the burning hand of the young
leader.

"You hurt me," she said.

For all answer he looked at her a moment.

"Have you some base revenge to take--like that woman?" she said. Then,
seeing the dead bodies on the heap of straw, she cried out, shuddering:
"The faith of a gentleman! ha! ha! ha!" With a frightful laugh she
added: "Ha! the glorious day!"

"Yes," he said, "a day without a morrow."

He let go her hand and took a long, last look at the beautiful creature
he could scarcely even then renounce. Neither of these proud natures
yielded. The marquis may have looked for a tear, but the eyes of the
girl were dry and scornful. Then he turned quickly, and left the victim
to Pille-Miche.

"God will hear me, marquis," she called. "I will ask Him to give you a
glorious day without a morrow."

Pille-Miche, not a little embarrassed with so rich a prize, dragged
her away with some gentleness and a mixture of respect and scorn. The
marquis, with a sigh, re-entered the dining-room, his face like that of
a dead man whose eyes have not been closed.

Merle's presence was inexplicable to the silent spectators of this
tragedy; they looked at him in astonishment and their eyes questioned
each other. Merle saw their amazement, and, true to his native
character, he said, with a smile: "Gentlemen, you will scarcely refuse a
glass of wine to a man who is about to make his last journey."

It was just as the company had calmed down under the influence of these
words, said with a true French carelessness which pleased the Vendeans,
tha