"Bardelys the Magnificent?" he questioned, and I could not repress a smile.
"I am that overrated man."
"But then you are for the King!" And a note of disappointment crept into his voice. Before I could make him any answer, he had resumed. "No matter; Marcel de Bardelys is a gentleman, and party signifies little when a man is dying. I am Rene de Lesperon, of Lesperon in Gascony," he pursued. "Will you send word to my sister afterwards?"
I bowed my head without speaking.
"She is the only relative I have, monsieur. But"--and his tone grew wistful--"there is one other to whom I would have you bear a message." He raised his hand by a painful effort to the level of his breast. Strength failed him, and he sank back. "I cannot, monsieur," he said in a tone of pathetic apology. "See; there is a chain about my neck with a locket. Take it from me. Take it now, monsieur. There are some papers also, monsieur. Take all. I want to see them safely in your keeping."
I did his bidding, and from the breast of his doublet I drew some loose letters and a locket which held the miniature of a woman's face.
"I want you to deliver all to her, monsieur."
"It shall be done," I answered, deeply moved.
"Hold it--hold it up," he begged, his voice weakening. "Let me behold the face."
Long his eyes rested on the likeness I held before him. At last, as one in a dream-"Well-beloved," he sighed. "Bien aimee!" And down his grey, haggard cheeks the tears came slowly. "Forgive this weakness, monsieur," he whispered brokenly. "We were to have been wed in a month, had I lived." He ended with a sob, and when next he spoke it was more labouredly, as though that sob had robbed him of the half of what vitality remained. "Tell her, monsieur, that my dying thoughts were of her. Tell--tell her--I--"
"Her name?" I cried, fearing he would sink before I learned it. "Tell me her name."
He looked at me with eyes that were growing glassy and vacant. Then he seemed to brace himself and to rally for a second.
"Her name?" he mused, in a far-off manner. "She is--Ma-de-moiselle de ------"
His head rolled on the suddenly relaxed neck. He collapsed into Rodenard's arms.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
Rodenard nodded in silence.