The aged woman had gone into her shell of sleep, and the muffled shot,
the confusion and wailing, did not wake her. Wachique and another slave
lifted the body and laid it on the quickly spread couch of pillows.
Nobody thought of Maria. She lay quite still, and made no sound in that
flurry of terror.
"He is badly hurt," said Angelique. "Lizette, bring linen, the first
your hand touches; and you, Achille, open his vest and find the wound
quickly."
"But it's no use, ma'amselle," whispered Wachique, lifting her eyes.
"Do not be afraid, poor Achille. I will show you how myself. We cannot
wait for any one to help us. What would my father and Colonel Menard
say, if they found Monsieur Reece Zhone killed in our house?"
In her panic Angelique tore the vest wide, and found the great stain
over the place where the heart should be. She was kneeling, and she
turned back to Peggy, who stood behind her.
Death is great or it is a piteous change, like the slaughter of brutes,
according as we bear ourselves in its presence.
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