The officer stepped forward threateningly; but Gabord said
something angrily in an undertone, and the other turned on his
heel and began walking up and down. This continued for a moment,
in which we all were very still and bitter cold--the air cut like
steel--and then my heart gave a great leap, for suddenly there
stepped into the yard Doltaire. Action seemed suspended in me, but
I know I listened with singular curiosity to the shrill creaking of
his boots on the frosty earth, and I noticed that the fur collar
of the coat he wore was all white with the frozen moisture of his
breath, also that tiny icicles hung from his eyelashes. He came
down the yard slowly, and presently paused and looked at Gabord
and the young officer, his head laid a little to one side in a
quizzical fashion, his eyelids drooping.
"What time was monsieur to be shot?" he asked of Captain Lancy.
"At seven o'clock, monsieur," was the reply.
Doltaire took out his watch. "It wants three minutes of seven,"
said he. "What the devil means this business before the stroke o'
the hour?" waving a hand towards me.
"We were waiting for the minute, monsieur," was the officer's
reply.
A cynical, cutting smile crossed Doltaire's face. "A charitable
trick, upon my soul, to fetch a gentleman from a warm dungeon and
stand him against an icy wall on a deadly morning to cool his heels
as he waits for his hour to die! You'd skin your lion and shoot him
afterwards--voila!" All this time he held the watch in his hand.
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