Herode, the death of a man is a grave thing, and though I cannot
suffer from remorse for this one, since I have committed no crime,
still, all the time I see Vallombreuse before me, lying, motionless and
ghastly, with the blood oozing slowly from his wound. It haunts me. I
cannot drive the horrid sight away."
"That is all wrong," said the tyrant, soothingly--for the other was much
excited--"for you could not have done otherwise. Your conscience should
not reproach you. You have acted throughout, from the very beginning to
the end, like the noble gentleman that you are. These scruples are owing
to exhaustion, to the feverishness due to the excitement you have gone
through, and the chill from the night air. We will gallop on swiftly in
a moment, to set our blood flowing more freely, and drive away these sad
thoughts of yours. But one thing must be promptly done; you must quit
Paris, forthwith, and retire for a time to some quiet retreat, until all
this trouble is forgotten. The violent death of the Duke of Vallombreuse
will make a stir at the court, and in the city, no matter how much pains
may be taken to keep the facts from the public, and, although he was not
at all popular, indeed very much the reverse, there will be much regret
expressed, and you will probably be severely blamed.
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