She sighed,
shrugged, and:
"Tell me, M. Knox," she continued, "it was swift and merciful, eh?"
"Instantaneous," I replied, in a low voice.
"A good shot?" she asked, strangely.
"A wonderful shot," I answered, thinking that she imposed unnecessary
torture upon herself.
"They say he must be taken away, M. Knox, but I reply: not until I have
seen him."
"Madame," began Val Beverley, gently.
"Ah, my dear!" Madame de Staemer, without looking at the speaker,
extended one hand in her direction, the fingers characteristically
curled. "You do not know me. Perhaps it is a good job. You are a man,
Mr. Knox, and men, especially men who write, know more of women than
they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must
see him again?"
"Madame de Staemer," I said, "your courage is almost terrible."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am not proud to be brave, my friend. The animals are brave, but many
cowards are proud. Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?"
"None, Madame de Staemer."
"So Dr. Rolleston assures me. He died in his sleep? You do not think he
was awake, eh?"
"Most certainly he was not awake.
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