I saw the Concini beheaded, and Chalais ten years later--they gave him thirty-four blows; and when I was a boy I escaped from the college and viewed from a great distance Ravaillac torn by horses--that was in the year ten.

But the horrible cries I now heard, filled me, perhaps because I was alone and fresh from the sight of Mademoiselle, with loathing inexpressible.

The very wood, though the sun had not yet set, seemed to grow dark.

I ran on through it, cursing, until the hovels of the village came in sight.

Again the shriek rose, a pulsing horror, and this time I could hear the lash fall on the sodden flesh, I could see in fancy the dumb man, trembling, quivering, straining against his bonds.