Part 180 (2/2)
”Wait, sire. Do you suppose I want to leave my sword in the body of this wretch?” and De Mouy approached Maurevel, who lay apparently without sign of life.
But just as he took hold of his sword, which was run through Maurevel's body, the latter raised himself, and with the gun the soldier had dropped fired directly at De Mouy's breast.
The young man fell without a cry. He was killed outright.
Henry rushed at Maurevel, but the latter had fallen again, and the king's sword pierced only a dead body.
It was necessary to flee. The noise had attracted a large number of persons; the night watch might arrive at any moment. Henry looked around to see if there was any face he knew, and gave a cry of delight on recognizing La Huriere.
As the scene had occurred at the foot of the Croix du Trahoir, that is, opposite the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, our old friend, whose naturally gloomy disposition had been still further saddened since the death of La Mole and Coconnas, his two favorite lodgers, had left his furnaces and his pans in the midst of his preparations for the King of Navarre's supper, and had run to the fight.
”My dear La Huriere, I commend De Mouy to your care, although I greatly fear nothing can be done for him. Take him to your inn, and if he still live, spare nothing. Here is my purse. As to the other, leave him in the gutter, that he may die like a dog.”
”And yourself?” said La Huriere.
”I have a farewell to make. I must hasten, but in ten minutes I shall be with you. Have my horses ready.”
Henry immediately set out towards the Croix des Pet.i.ts Champs; but as he turned from the Rue de Grenelle he stopped in terror.
A large crowd was before the door.
”What is the matter?” asked Henry. ”What is going on in the house?”
”Oh!” answered the man addressed, ”a terrible affair, monsieur. A beautiful young woman has just been stabbed by her husband, to whom a note had been given informing him that his wife was here with her lover.”
”And the husband?” cried Henry.
”Has escaped.”
”And the wife?”
”She is in the house.”
”Dead?”
”Not yet, but, thank G.o.d, there is scarcely any hope.”
”Oh!” exclaimed Henry, ”I am accursed indeed!” and he rushed into the house.
The room was full of people standing around a bed on which lay poor Charlotte, who had been stabbed twice.
Her husband, who had hidden his jealousy for two years, had seized this opportunity to avenge himself on her.
”Charlotte! Charlotte!” cried Henry, pus.h.i.+ng through the crowd and falling on his knees before the bed.
Charlotte opened her beautiful eyes, already veiled by death, and uttered a cry which caused the blood to flow afresh from her two wounds.
Making an effort to rise, she said:
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