The dead face seemed to wear a smile as I looked at it.
Alphonse opened the man's shirt, and we looked at the small blue hole through which my bullet had found his heart.

Death must have been very quick.

I closed the gentle eyes, for they seemed to look at me from a woman's face.
"And now for his pockets!" I said, hardening my heart.
We turned them out one by one.

His purse contained but little, and in an inner pocket some Italian silver, for use across the frontier.

He had thought of everything, this careful scoundrel.