"Miraudin!
Is he killed also?"
"Yes, Madame! Both shots must have been fired with deadly aim. They
had no seconds. Miraudin had hired a common fiacre to escape in from
the city, and the police will offer a reward for the discovery of
the driver. My horse, which my unfortunate friend Fontenelle rode,
is gone, and if it could be discovered, its possessor might furnish
a clue;--but I imagine it will be difficult, if not impossible to
trace the witnesses of the combat. The woman Richaud is on her way
to Paris. But by this time all Rome knows of the death of Miraudin;
and in a few hours all the world will know!"
"And what of the Marquis Fontenelle?" asked Madame Bozier.
"Madama, I posted all the letters he entrusted to my charge. The one
I have brought to the Contessa was enclosed in an envelope to me and
marked 'To be personally delivered in case of my death.' But among
the letters for the post was one to the Marquis's only sister, the
Abbess of a convent in Paris--she will probably claim her brother's
remains."
He was silent. After a pause Sylvie rose unsteadily, and detached a
cluster of violets she wore at her neck.
"Will you--" her voice faltered.
But Ruspardi understood, and taking the flowers, respectfully kissed
the little hand that gave them.
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