Did you notice that he looked about rather
apprehensively when he arrived, at the station yesterday? No wonder, poor
devil."
III
Alexina moved off, making her way slowly, but finally was forced to halt
near the row of pillars. She was looking through the opposite door at the
fantastic illuminations of the hall and reception rooms beyond, when,
without a second's warning flicker, every light in the house went out.
Simultaneously the high clatter of voices ceased as if the old familiar cry
of "_Alerte_" had sounded in the street. Involuntarily, as people in real
life do act, her hands clutched her heart, her mouth opened to relieve her
lungs. A Frenchman whispered beside her. "The King! A plot!"
She waited to hear screams from the women, wild ejaculations from the men.
But the years of war and danger had extinguished the weak and exalted the
strong. Beyond the almost inaudible gasp of her neighbor Alexina heard
nothing. The silence was as profound as the darkness and that was abysmal;
she could not see the white of her gown.
All, she knew, were waiting for the sound of a pistol shot, or of a groan
as the King fell with a knife in his back.
Then she became aware that men were forcing their way through the crowd;
she was almost flung into the arms of a man behind her. Later she knew that
a group of officers had surrounded their King and rushed him up the room to
place him in front of the central pillar, but at the moment she believed
that they were either carrying out his body, or that a group of anarchists
was escaping.
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