“Briquet,” he said, “did more than I. He seems to have a great interest in you. He is a strange man.” I pondered over this for a time. “I do not know,” I said at last. “I fancy sometimes that we have met before, and yet I cannot be certain.” “But I have other news,” and Fronsac looked at me, his face crimson with happiness. “About Valérie and myself.” I understood, and held out my hand to him. “Yes,” he said, “M. le Comte has given his consent. We shall be married so soon as I can take you with me to Cadillac.” I pressed his hand with sincere warmth. “Then, indeed, I must hasten to get well!” I cried. “To think that I should be keeping you apart!” “You have not kept us apart,” he protested. “It was you brought us together. Valérie warned me not to approach her until I could bring you with me. I swear I am almost jealous of you, Marsan! The troop has heard the story of the escape--you will see how they will welcome you! M. le Comte himself remained until he was certain you were out of danger. You have quite won his heart, my friend!” I felt my lips trembling. “And after that scar!” I murmured. “Yes, after the scar! Think, I have even seen him kissing the hand that inflicted it--for he has taken Madame la Duchesse to his heart also. Well, I am glad, for she has need of a protector.” He read in my eyes the question which I dared not ask. “Roquefort died an hour after the wedding,” he said. “Do you know, Marsan, I fancy we never did him justice. He had his merits. He proved a man at the last!” Yes, he proved a man at the last! It is a man’s part to win--and he had won! “He died alone,” continued Fronsac, “alone, but for his surgeon. Briquet came to the tent almost before the wedding was concluded, and insisted on remaining at his master’s side. Madame la Duchesse thought her place, also, was there. Roquefort had dropped asleep, worn out by the excitement of the evening, and it seemed certain that he would sleep till morning. A couch was brought for her, and she lay down, leaving Briquet to watch the sleeper. Scarcely had she closed her eyes, when a loud cry startled her awake. Roquefort was sitting upright in the bed, the blood pouring from his mouth, staring in terror at Briquet, who was calmly wiping it away. Death caught him with that look still on his face--it was not good to see. There were some whispers that Briquet had interfered, but M. le Comte shut them off. He seemed to understand. “So I fancy there is an end to the feud between Cadillac and Roquefort,” he added, smiling. “The cousin from Valladolid has been sent about his business, swearing great oaths. Madame la Duchesse has already set about readjusting the rentals and rebuilding her peasants’ huts. They idolize her! There is a woman! What a duchesse she makes!” I could picture her to myself--she were worthy to mate with a prince, a king--to give a nation its rulers!