The sun was quite gone now, the roll of the tide was nearer, and water gleamed between us and the Mount. But we were beyond its utmost rise, save at a spring tide, and I waited long, too engrossed in my thoughts to be impatient for Marie's return. I did not even cross the wall to see how Bontet fared under the blow I had given him--whether he were dead, or lay still stunned, or had found life enough to crawl away. In truth, I cared not then. Presently across the sands, through the growing gloom, I saw a group approaching me. Marie I knew by her figure and gait and saw more plainly, for she walked a little in front as though she were setting the example of haste. The rest followed together; and, looking past them, I could just discern a carriage which had been driven some way on to the sands. One of the strangers wore top-boots and the livery of a servant. As they approached, he fell back, and the remaining two--a man and a woman on his arm--came more clearly into view. Marie reached me some twenty yards ahead of them. "I met no one till I was at the inn," she said, "and then this carriage was driving by; and I told them that a gentleman lay hurt on the sands, and they came to help you to carry him up." I nodded and walked forward to meet them; for by now I knew the man, yes, and the woman, though she wore a veil. And it was too late to stop their approach. Uncovering my head, I stepped up to them, and they stopped in surprise at seeing me. For the pair were Gustave de Berensac and the duchess. He had gone, as he told me afterward, to see the duchess, and they had spent the afternoon in a drive, and she was going to set him down at his friend's quarters in Pontorson, when Marie met them, and not knowing them nor they her (though Gustave had once, two years before, heard her sing) had brought them on this errand. The little duchess threw up her veil. Her face was pale, her lips quivered, and her eyes asked a trembling question. At the sight of me I think she knew at once what the truth was: it needed but the sight of me to let light in on the seemingly obscure story which Marie had told, of a duel planned, and then interrupted by a treacherous assault and attempted robbery. With my hand I signed to the duchess to stop; but she did not stop, but walked past me, merely asking: "Is he badly hurt?" I caught her by the arm and held her. "Yes," said I, "badly;" and I felt her eyes fixed on mine. Then she said, gently and calmly: "Then he is dead?" "Yes, he is dead," I answered, and loosed her arm.