is head rolled backward over one shoulder, with eyes
wide open; and Thevenin Pensete's spirit had returned to Him who made
it.

Every one sprang to his feet; but the business was over in two twos. The
four living fellows looked at each other in rather a ghastly fashion,
the dead man contemplating a corner of the roof with a singular and ugly
leer.

"My God!" said Tabary, and he began to pray in Latin.

Villon broke out into hysterical laughter. He came a step forward and
ducked a ridiculous bow at Thevenin, and laughed still louder. Then he
sat down suddenly, all of a heap, upon a stool, and continued laughing
bitterly, as though he would shake himself to pieces.

Montigny recovered his composure first.

"Let's see what he has about him," he remarked; and he picked the dead
man's pockets with a practised hand, and divided the money into four
equal portions on the table. "There's for you," he said.

The monk received his share with a deep sigh, and a single stealthy
glance at the dead Thevenin, who was beginning to sink into himself and
topple sideways off the chair.

"We're all in for it," cried Villon, swallowing his mirth. "It's a
hanging job for every man Jack of us that's here--not to speak of those
who aren't." He made a shocking gesture in the air with his raised right
hand, and put out his tongue and threw his head on one side, so as to
counterfeit the appearance of one who has been hanged. Then he pocketed
his share of the spoil, and executed a shuffle with his feet as if to
restore the circulation.

Tabary was the last to help himself; he made a dash at the money, and
retired to the other end of the apartment.

Montigny stuck Thevenin upright in the chair, and drew out the dagger,
which was followed by a jet of blood.

"You fellows had better be moving," he said, as he wiped the blade on
his victim's doublet.

"I think we had," returned Villon, with a gulp. "Damn his fat head!" he
broke out. "It sticks in my throat like phlegm. What right has a man to
have red hair when he is dead?" And he fell all of a heap again upon the
stool, and fairly covered his face with his hands.

Montigny and Dom Nicolas laughed aloud, even Tabary feebly chiming in.

"Cry-baby!" said the monk.

"I always said he was a woman," added Montigny, with a sneer. "Sit
up, can't you?" he went on, giving another shake to the murdered body.
"Tread out that fire, Nick!"

But Nick was better employed; he was quietly taking Vill