Candles
were burning at his head and his feet, and two peasants sat dozing
in chairs near by. I could see Labrouk's face plainly in the
flickering light: a rough, wholesome face it was, refined by death,
yet unshaven and unkempt, too. Here was work for Voban's shears and
razor. Presently there was a footstep behind me, and, turning, I
saw in the half-light the widowed wife.
"Madame," said I in a whisper, "I too weep with you. I pray for
as true an end for myself."
"He was of the true faith, thank the good God," she said
sincerely. She passed into the room, and the two watchers, after
taking refreshment, left the house. Suddenly she hastened to the
door, called one back, and, pointing to the body, whispered
something. The peasant nodded and turned away. She came back into
the room, stood looking at the face of the dead man for a moment,
and bent over and kissed the crucifix clasped in the cold hands.
Then she stepped about the room, moving a chair and sweeping up a
speck of dust in a mechanical way. Presently, as if she again
remembered me, she asked me to enter the room. Then she bolted the
outer door of the house. I stood looking at the body of her husband,
and said, "Were it not well to have Voban the barber?"
"I have sent for him and for Gabord," she replied. "Gabord was
Jean's good friend. He is with General Montcalm. The Governor put
him in prison because of the marriage of Mademoiselle Duvarney, but
Monsieur Doltaire set him free, and now he serves General Montcalm.
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