ean-Baptiste Grandissime; "give her a run for life.
Old woman, rise up. We propose to let you go. Can you run? Never mind,
we shall see. Achille, put her upon her feet. Now, old woman, run!"

She walked rapidly, but with unsteady feet, toward the fields.

"Run! If you don't run I will shoot you this minute!"

She ran.

"Faster!"

She ran faster.

"Run!"

"Run!"

"Run, Clemence! Ha, ha, ha!" It was so funny to see her scuttling and
tripping and stumbling. "_Courri! courri, Clemence! c'est pou to' vie!_
ha, ha, ha--"

A pistol-shot rang out close behind Raoul's ear; it was never told who
fired it. The negress leaped into the air and fell at full length to the
ground, stone dead.

CHAPTER LVIII

DYING WORDS

Drivers of vehicles in the rue Royale turned aside before two slight
barriers spanning the way, one at the corner below, the other at that
above, the house where the aged high-priest of a doomed civilization lay
bleeding to death. The floor of the store below, the pavement of the
corridor where stood the idle volante, were covered with straw, and
servants came and went by the beckoning of the hand.

"This way," whispered a guide of the four ladies from the Grandissime
mansion. As Honore's mother turned the angle half-way up the muffled
stair, she saw at the landing above, standing as if about to part, yet
in grave council, a man and a woman, the fairest--she noted it even in
this moment of extreme distress--she had ever looked upon. He had
already set one foot down upon the stair, but at sight of the ascending
group drew back and said:

"It is my mother;" then turned to his mother and took her hand; they had
been for months estranged, but now they silently kissed.

"He is sleeping," said Honore. "Maman, Madame Nancanou."

The ladies bowed--the one looking very large and splendid, the other
very sweet and small. There was a single instant of silence, and Aurora
burst into tears.

For a moment Madame Grandissime assumed a frown that was almost a
reminder of her brother's, and then the very pride of the Fusiliers
broke down. She uttered an inaudible exclamation, drew the weeper firmly
into her bosom, and with streaming eyes and choking voice, but yet with
majesty, whispered, laying her hand on Aurora's head:

"Never mind, my child; never mind; never mind."

And Honore's sister, when she was presently introduced, kissed Aurora
and murmured:

"The good God bless thee! It is He who has bro