sigh; and, if I read aright what she expressed, it was a pitying recognition of the reason in that answer: he could not have expected anyone to love him, she seemed to say. And if that were so, then indeed had the finger of truth guided the duke in the penning of his epitaph.
We three, who were standing round the body, seemed sunk in our own thoughts, and it was Gustave de Berensac who went to the servant and bade him bring the carriage nearer to where we were; and when it was come, they two lifted the duke in and disposed his body as well as they could. The man mounted the box, and at a foot-pace we set out. The duchess had not spoken again, nor had Marie Delhasse; but when I took my place by Marie the duchess suffered Gustave to join her, and in this order we passed along. But before we had gone far, when indeed we had but just reached the road, we met four of the police hurrying along; and before they came to us or saw what was in the carriage, one cried:
“Have you seen a small spare man pass this way lately? He would be running perhaps, or walking fast.”
I stepped forward and drew them aside, signing the carriage to go on and to the others to follow it.
“I can tell you all there is to be told about him, if you mean the man whom I think you mean,” said I. “But I doubt if you will catch him now.”
And with that I told them the story briefly, and so far as it affected the matter they were
