As a man beyond the pale of both church and society, because of his calling, Capeluche had experienced some doubt as to whether the worthy churchman would perform the ceremony.
As affairs went forward, his face retained its customary grim composure; but his eyes, resting on the entrancing creature who stood demurely at his side, held a light that fully signified his reaction to the potentialities of the occasion.
An hour passed, and old Jacques lay on his bed. He was fully dressed and wakeful and alert, despite the fact that his retiring-time had long since gone by. Presently there came to him the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
With the restless activity of a jack-in-the-box, he ran from his house and was in time to see the horseman dash up to the dwelling of Capeluche. The riders, of whom there were seven, wore masks. They pounded for admittance.
A light showed within, and old Jacques could see, through an open window, the headsman. He was making all secure against the attack. However, a window to the right—one that had just been closed—was reopened unexpectedly, and a woman's hand extended. From it there fluttered a handkerchief.
Two of the horsemen started toward the open window. But the hand was withdrawn swiftly, and a terrible shriek followed.
A moment later the door gave way. The attacking party hurtled into the dwelling stumbling over one another.
An appalling sight was before them. In the center of the room stood Capeluche, a scarlet Mephisto. His hands held the cleanly severed head of Mlle. Bonacieux, her beautiful tresses of hair depending almost to the floor. At his feet lay the long weapon of his office.
He extended the head before him.
"Perhaps," he said grimly, "the Comte de Mousqueton would relish a kiss from the lips of Madame Capeluche the wife of a headsman. She was very choice of those same lips—a Dauphin has felt them. And see! See how deliciously cupid they are!"
Suddenly Jacques' voice broke in.
"Before God!" exclaimed the old peasant, with tremendous satisfaction. "The portent!"
