scended the tree to the ground. He threw himself towards the familiar spot. The flower appeared to be dark; its leaves were curled up and stood forth clearly in the dewy grass.
"The last one," murmured the madman. "The last! To-day, victory or death. But to me 'tis all the same now," said he, gazing at the sky. "I'll soon be with you."
He seized the flower; crushing it in his hand, and holding on to it, he returned through the same path to his room. The old watchman slept. The madman scarcely managed to get to his bed, and fell down upon it unconscious.
In the morning he was found dead. His face was calm and clear; the harassed features, with thin lips and deeply-sunken, closed eyes, seemed to express some proud happiness. When they laid him on the litter they tried to unclasp his hand and to remove the red flower. But the hand had become stiffened, and he took the trophy with him into the grave.
