He began to press the bravo and Boucher's followers were
silent. De Galisonniere was not the only one who had marked the change
in the hunter's eye.
"You will note, de Courcelles," said he, "that your man, Boucher, has
thrown his life away."
"He's not my man, de Galisonniere!"
"You compel me to repeat, de Courcelles, that your man, Boucher, has
thrown away his own life. It's not well to deal a foul blow at a
consummate swordsman. But I suppose it's hard for a murderer to change
his instincts. Ah, what a stroke! What a stroke! It was so swift that I
saw only a flash of light! And so, our friend, Boucher, has sped! And
when you seek the kernel of the matter, de Courcelles, it was you who
helped to speed him!"
De Courcelles, unable to bear more, strode away. Boucher was lying upon
his back, and the bravo had fought his last fight. Willet looked down at
him, shook his head a little, but he did not feel remorse. The ghosts of
the untrained boy, Gaston Lafitte, of the sick man, Raoul de
Bassempierre, and of Raymond de Neville, who had been murdered at dice,
guided his hand, and it was they who had struck the blow.
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