"Also," she went on, "the assassin was very dark, his eyes of a piercing nature, his face white as a corpse--as _that_," and again she glanced at the dead man; "but the whiteness might be from horror, _mon Dieu!_ it was a terrible face, the face of a devil, terror-stricken; the face of a fiend. But no remorse, oh, no! only fear--it might be of himself." "And his clothes?" asked the chief. "What of them?" "Sombre, dark. All dark. Scarce any lace at sleeves or breast, neither aigrette nor cockade, nor galloon to his hat; no sword." "Not a bully, then, nor _filou?_ No appearance of a knight of the road? Hein?" "No," the woman replied, "no." Then, reflectively, she said, "It was, I think, no murder for gain nor greed. Nay, could not have been. He stooped not, went not near the--the body after it fell. More like, I think, a deed of hate, of bitter, hot rage. Who knows? Perhaps a wife stolen, a daughter wronged. All is possible. For see, _it_," and again she glanced down, "was young, and--and, _mon Dieu, il était beau!_" So they all said who gazed upon the handsome features now setting rigidly in the blaze of the moon. "_Il était beau!_" "Well," said the chief, "we must not stay here. He must be removed. Meanwhile, I must to the officers of the guard; none must pass the gates at daybreak except under strict scrutiny. And the body must be searched to see if we can gather who and what he is. Alas! alas! The woman speaks well. He was handsome." But now an exclamation arose from the crowd, while one or two stooped hurriedly to the earth, and the first picked up something that, as he held it out, glistened in his hand. It was an unset stone, a ruby. "_Tiens_," said the chief, turning it over in his hand, "what's this? A ruby, and unset," he repeated. Then meditatively, "It may have fallen from a setting worn by one or other, victim or murderer--from, say, a ring, a collar, a brooch for cravat, or ruffle. Has he upon his body," he said to his attendant, "any setting to which it might by chance belong?" The man bent down and inspected poor Douglas's form, then he rose and shook his head. "Neither ring nor chain that I can see. Nought that is likely to have held such as that stone." "Humph!" mused the chief, "humph!" Then he whispered to himself, "If anyone pass the gate to-morrow with an unfilled setting--bah! _Non! non! non!_ He that has the setting belonging to the ruby will scarcely show it. Yet, that the murderer owns it is most likely. If it had been lost by anyone who has lately worshipped here," and he glanced up at the cathedral over which the daffodil dawn was coming now from the east, "there would have been hue and cry enough. _Allons_," he said aloud. "To the watch house. And, _bonne femme_, come you with us to testify." Then, turning to his underlings, he said, "Bring him with you--find a plank or door. And--and--be gentle with him. _Pauvre garçon!_ Has he a mother, I wonder?"