ned his eyes wildly,
the sword dropped from his grasp, and pressing his two hands to the
wound, he fell at full length on the floor.

"Curse the rapier!" murmured he, and expired; the strip of steel had
pierced his heart.

Still D'Harmental remained on guard, with his eyes fixed on the captain,
only lowering his sword as the dead man let his slip. Finally, he found
himself face to face with a corpse, but this corpse had its eyes open,
and continued to look at him. Leaning against the door, the chevalier
remained an instant thunderstruck; his hair bristled, his forehead
became covered with perspiration, he did not dare to move, he did not
dare to speak, his victory seemed to him a dream. Suddenly the mouth of
the dying man set in a last convulsion--the partisan was dead, and his
secret had died with him.

How to recognize, in the midst of three hundred peasants, buying and
selling horses, the twelve or fifteen pretended ones who were to carry
off the regent?

D'Harmental gave a low cry; he would have given ten years of his own
life to add ten minutes to that of the captain. He took the body in his
arms, raised it, called it, and, seeing his reddened hands, let it fall
into a sea of blood, which, following the inclination of the boards down
a channel in the floor, reached the door, and began to spread over the
threshold.

At that moment, the horse, which was tied to the shutter, neighed
violently.

D'Harmental made three steps toward the door, then he remembered that
Roquefinette might have some memorandum about him which might serve as a
guide. In spite of his repugnance, he searched the pockets of the
corpse, one after another, but the only papers he found were two or
three old bills of restaurateurs, and a love-letter from La Normande.

Then, as he had nothing more to do in that room, he filled his pockets
with gold and notes, closed the door after him, descended the stairs
rapidly, left at a gallop toward the Rue Gros Chenet, and disappeared
round the angle nearest to the Boulevard.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE SAVIOR OF FRANCE.

While these terrible events were going forward in the attic of Madame
Denis's house, Bathilde, uneasy at seeing her neighbor's window so long
shut, had opened hers, and the first thing she saw, was the dappled gray
horse attached to the shutter; but as she had not seen the captain go
in, she thought that the steed was for Raoul, and that reflection
immediately recalled both her