He stooped down and peered at her until she could no
longer hide her tear-stained eyes.
He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such
as the women of his race make when they drop and break some
household utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he
had always observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick
chamber. He laid this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair
that stood near.
Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the
darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch
slowly turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had come
to Desiree at the same moment.
They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Desiree
found the flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for
interminable moments, and then flared to meet the wick of the
candle. Barlasch watched Desiree as she held the light down to her
father's face. Sebastian's waiting was over. Barlasch had not
needed a candle to recognize death.
From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the
dead man's face--and he stepped back.
"Ah!" he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, "now I remember. I
was always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it
it was like that--like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place
de la Nation, on a tumbrel--going to the guillotine. He must have
escaped, as many did, by some accident or mistake.
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