The
entrance was entirely cleared! undoubtedly the crowds were returning
to the village after the General's pardon. . . . Desnoyers was half way
down the avenue when he heard a howling sound composed of many voices, a
hair-raising shriek such as only womanly desperation can send forth. At
the same time, the air was vibrating with snaps, the loud cracking sound
that he knew from the day before. Shots! . . . He imagined that on
the other side of the iron railing there were some writhing bodies
struggling to escape from powerful arms, and others fleeing with bounds
of fear. He saw running toward him a horror-stricken, sobbing woman with
her hands to her head. It was the wife of the Keeper who a little while
before had joined the desperate group of women.
"Oh, don't go on, Master," she called stopping his hurried step. "They
have killed him. . . . They have just shot him."
Don Marcelo stood rooted to the ground. Shot! . . . and after the
General's pardon! . . . Suddenly he ran back to the castle, hardly
knowing what he was doing, and soon reached the salon. His Excellency
was still at the piano humming in low tones, his eyes moistened by the
poesy of his dreams. But the breathless old gentleman did not stop to
listen.
"They have shot him, Your Excellency. . . . They have just killed him in
spite of your order."
The smile which crossed the Count's face immediately informed him of his
mistake.
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