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Sylvie shuddered as with icy cold . . . a darkness seemed to overwhelm her . . . she staggered a little, and Ruspardi caught her, wondering at the lightness and delicacy and beauty of her, as he assisted Madame Bozier to lead her to a deep fauteuil where she sank down, trembling in every nerve. "And he is dead?" she asked mechanically. Ruspardi bowed a grave assent.
He recognised in him a young Italian officer, named Ruspardi, an acquaintance of some years back, to whom he had chanced to be useful in a pressing moment of need. "Thanks! Arrange everything for me, will you, Ruspardi? And as quickly as possible!" "It is nearly midnight now," said Ruspardi in a low tone, "Shall we say five or six in the morning?" "Yes anything you like but quickly!"
"Will you " her voice faltered. But Ruspardi understood, and taking the flowers, respectfully kissed the little hand that gave them. "They shall be buried with him," he said. "His hand was clenched in death on a small knot of lace you perhaps might recognise it, yes? so! it shall be left as it was found." And, his melancholy errand being done, he bowed profoundly once more, and retired.
There are a few letters here see to them if I should not come back." "What are you going to do?" asked Ruspardi, his excitement beginning to cool a little, now that he saw the possible danger into which Fontenelle was voluntarily rushing.
Ruspardi, young and hotblooded, was of too mercurial a disposition to anticipate any really serious results of the night's adventure; his contempt for a coward was far greater than his fear of death, and he was delighted to think that in all probability the Marquis would use his riding-whip on Miraudin's back rather than honour him by a pistol shot.
"The business is urgent; the Capitano is the bearer of a letter to the Signora Contessa." "Remain with me, Katrine," said Sylvie after a pause, then to the servant "Show Captain Ruspardi in here."
He dressed quickly, wrote a few business letters, and was about to lie down for a rest of an hour or so when the swift and furious galloping of a horse's hoofs awoke the echoes of the quiet street, and almost before he had time to realise what had happened, his friend Ruspardi stood before him, breathless and wild with excitement.
She guessed her beloved pupil's heart's secret, but she was too tactful to dwell upon the subject, and before the brief, half-embarrassed pause between them had ended, a servant entered, asking, "Will the Signora Contessa receive the Capitano Ruspardi?" Sylvie rose from her seat with a look of surprise. "Ruspardi? I do not know the name."
"I will go after him!" said Fontenelle promptly, "Half an hour ahead, you say! Good! I will catch him up. Can I get a horse anywhere?" "Take mine," said Ruspardi eagerly, "he is perfectly fresh just out of the stable. Have you weapons?" "Yes," and the Marquis unlocked a case, and loading two, placed them in a travelling holder. Then, turning to Ruspardi he shook hands. "Thanks, a thousand times!
She paused a moment then forced herself to speak again. "How did it happen?" In brief, concise words Ruspardi gave the account of the quarrel with Miraudin, and Sylvie shrank back as though she had received a blow when she heard that her name had been the cause of the dispute. "And this morning, hearing no news," continued Ruspardi, "I made enquiries at the theatre.
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