Duc. Oh no, no, no--Margot, no. You’re cold. Or--(_Smiling._) Come, flatter me. Say it’s agitation--say it’s joy. Come, Margot, say that! Marquise. (_Drawing nearer._) They didn’t know what they were doing when they sent me with you. Duc. The ignorance of the fellows is extraordinary. Marquise. Because--everybody knew. Duc. Alas, I was never too discreet! (_More shouts are heard. The Guard in charge of the tumbril cries “Ready? We’re the last.”_) Hum! For to-day, I suppose he means! (_He looks at her; her lips are moving. He takes off his hat and stands bareheaded. The movement of her lips ceases and she turns to him. He smiles._) I think you can have little need of prayer. Marquise. You say that? You? Duc. Yes, I say that, Margot. (_They are at the foot of the scaffold now._) As for me--well, I have always followed the fashion--and prayers are not the fashion now. I was bitten by M. de Voltaire. By the way, perhaps he’s had something to do with this--and we made him the fashion! How whimsical! (_The National Guard turns and points his finger towards the scaffold._) What? Oh, at your service, monsieur. (_He turns to the_ MARQUISE, _smiling_.) I must leave you--this time in love. Marquise. (_Stretching out her hands._) Let me go first. Duc. On my soul, I couldn’t! (_Softly._) The way is dark, let me show it you. Marquise. Louis, Louis! Duc. And now--look now towards the river. Pray--towards the river! I want you to remember me at my best. And--Margot--you mustn’t--you mustn’t want the rouge. Your hand’s warm--still warm. Marquise. (_Vehemently._) I will go first. I--I can’t see you--I will go first. Duc. Your will is my law always. (_She turns to descend._) It has been pleasant to come with you. Marquise. It was--easier--to come with you. Duc. I am forgiven, Margot? Marquise. Louis, dear Louis! (_He raises her hand to his lips. She goes. He stands bareheaded, facing the scaffold while she suffers. Then he puts his hat on and mounts the scaffold. They carry past him the basket containing her head. A priest holds a crucifix before him. He starts and bows to the priest._) Duc. I beg your pardon, father, but--I knew the lady very well. She died bravely, eh? _Pardon?_ Think how we have lived as well as how we die? Yes, yes; most just and--er--apposite. Die truly penitent? Ah yes, yes. Forgive me--I’m not master of my time. (_He bows and turns to the executioner and his assistants._) Don’t keep me waiting. My desire is to follow Madame la Marquise. What? “The woman died well!” God save us--the woman! Well, as you please. Shall we say---- (_He places himself beneath the knife._) Shall we say--Margot? Nobody was ever like Margot. (_Smiles, then looks up._) Well? Oh, you wait for me. Good! _Messieurs, allez!_ THE RIDDLE OF COUNTESS RUNA I