The Absolution of Monsieur Le Marquis de Perigny

"Margot?" he said, speaking to a shadow.

Jehan rose from his chair and approached his master. His withered,
leathery face had lost the power to express emotion; but his faded eyes
sparkled suspiciously.

"Monsieur?" he said.

"What o'clock is it?" asked the marquis, irritably.

"It is midnight, Monsieur."

"Monsieur le Comte has not come in yet? With his sponging friends, I
suppose; drinking and gaming at the Corne d'Abondance." Thus had the
marquis spoken in the Rochelle days. "A sip of wine; I am cold."
Jehan put his arm around the thin shoulders of his master and held the
glass to the trembling lips. A hectic flush superseded the pallor, and
the delusion was gone. The coal glowed. "It is you, Jehan? Well, my
faithful henchman, you will have to continue the journey alone. My
relays have given out. Go back to Périgny in the spring. I shall be
buried here."

Jehan shivered. The earth would be very cold here.

"The lad was a prophet. He told me that I should die in bed like this,
alone, without one of my blood near me at the end. He spoke of
phantoms, too. . . . They are everywhere. And without the consolation
of a friendly priest!"

"Monsieur, do you know me?"

"Why, yes, Jehan."

"Brother Jacques and Monsieur le Comte returned this day from the
wilderness. I have seen them."

The marquis's hands became still. "Pride has filled my path with black
pits. Jehan, after all, was it a dream?"

"What, Monsieur?"

"That duel with D'Hérouville"