A man dressed in black was leaning over a dead body.
A man dressed in the uniform of the royal guards was kneeling on the opposite side of this body.
At three paces from them a third person was standing, with clasped hands and fixed eyes, gazing intently at them.
The dead body was that of a young man of from twenty-two to twenty-three years of age, the whole of whose blood appeared to have escaped through large wounds in his head and chest.
His chest was scarred with frightful gashes; the skin surrounding them was of a livid white; it appeared still to heave with the disdainful breathing of a hopeless defence.
His half-opened mouth, his head thrown back with an expression of pain and anger, recalled to the mind the beautiful statue of the dying gladiator.
“And life with a long groan fled to the abode of shadows.”
The man dressed in black was Gilbert.
The officer on his knees was the Count de Charny.
The man standing near them was Billot.
The corpse was that of the Baron George de Charny.
Gilbert, leaning over the body, gazed at it with that sublime intentness which with the dying retains life when about to escape, and with the dead almost recalls the soul which has taken flight.
“Cold, stiff; he is dead,—positively dead!” said he at length.
The Count de Charny uttered a hoarse groan, and pressing in his arms the insensible body, burst into sobs so heart-rending that the doctor shuddered, and Billot ran to hide his head in a corner of the small courtyard.
Then suddenly the count raised the body, placed it against the wall, and slowly withdrew, still looking at it as if he expected that his dead brother would become reanimated and follow him.
Gilbert remained still kneeling on one knee, his head reclining on his hand, pensive and motionless.
Billot then left his dark corner and went up to Gilbert; he no longer heard the count’s sobs, which had torn his heart.
“Alas! alas! Monsieur Gilbert,” said he, “this, then, is really what we have to expect in civil war, and that which you predicted to me is now happening; only it is happening sooner than I expected, and even sooner than you yourself expected. I saw these villains murdering unworthy people; and now I see these villains murdering honest people. I saw them massacre Flesselles; I saw them massacre Monsieur de Launay; I saw Foulon massacred; I saw Berthier massacred. I then shuddered in every limb, and I felt a horror for all men.
“And yet the men they were then killing were miserable wretches.
“It was then, Monsieur Gilbert, that you predicted the time would come when they would kill worthy people.
“They have killed the Baron de Charny. I no longer shudder,—I weep; I have no longer a horror of others,—I fear I may resemble them.”
“Billot!” cried Gilbert.
But without listening, Billot continued:—
“Here is a young man whom they have assassinated, Monsieur Gilbert. He was a mere boy; he was fairly combating; he was not assassinating, but he has been assassinated.”
Billot heaved a sigh, which seemed to issue from the bottom of his heart.
“Ah, the unhappy youth!” he cried. “I knew him when he was a child. I have seen him pass by when he was going from Boursonne to Villers-Cotterets on his little gray pony; he was carrying bread to the poor from his mother.
“He was a beautiful boy, with a fair, rosy complexion and large blue eyes; he was always smiling. Well! it is very extraordinary, since I saw him stretched out there, bloody and disfigured, it is not a corpse that I behold in him, but always the smiling child of former days, carrying a basket in his left hand and a purse in his right.
“Ah, Monsieur Gilbert, in truth I believe I have now had enough of it, and do not desire to see anything more; for you predicted this to me. The time will come when I shall also see you die, and then—”
Gilbert gently shook his head.
“Billot,” said he, “be calm; my hour has not yet come.”