I could scarcely believe that there was not some atom of good in this man so fearless.
And no face but one no face I think in the world, but one--could have drawn my eyes from him.

But that one face was beside him.

I clutched Marie's arm, and pointed to the bareheaded figure at Bezers' right hand.
It was Louis himself: our Louis de Pavannes, But he was changed indeed from the gay cavalier I remembered, and whom I had last seen riding down the street at Caylus, smiling back at us, and waving his adieux to his mistress! Beside the Vidame he had the air of being slight, even short.

The face which I had known so bright and winning, was now white and set.

His fair, curling hair--scarce darker than Croisette's--hung dank, bedabbled with blood which flowed from a wound in his head.