“He was not likely to return hereabouts.  Master might have tried the new rifle upon him,” with a suppressed laugh.

“Well, if you do not know, I need only say that I am perfectly ignorant of his whereabouts.  I went to town without his escort, and I suppose—­if he has disappeared,” she concluded with emphasis, “that he has gone on a journey of pleasure, or is dead.”

“Dead,” uttered Hedwig, shuddering in her turn, “in what a singular tone you say that word.”

“What concern is it of mine?” questioned Madame Clemenceau, pursing up her lips to conceal a little fluttering from the dread she felt at the effectual way in which her lover had been removed from mortal knowledge.  “I do not mind declaring that, if I am given any choice in the matter, I should prefer his taking the latter course.”

Hedwig’s teeth chattered so that the other looked hard at her till she faltered the explanation: 

“Your way of saying things, madame, gives me cold shivers up and down the back—­ugh!  Why, that gentleman was over head and ears in love with you!”

“That is why he probably went under so quickly, and could not keep his head above water!”

“I thought you liked him a goodish bit—­”

“I—­oh!”

An explosion, very sharp and peculiarly splitting the air, resounded under the windows and caused Cesarine to clap her hands to her ears in terror.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE REVOLUTION IN ARTILLERY.

“Oh, what is that?” muttered Cesarine, with white lips.

Hedwig laughed, but going to the window, calmly replied: 

“It is only the master—­no, it is M. Antonino, who is trying the rifle they invented.  Isn’t it funny, though—­it does not use powder or anything of that sort—­it does not shoot out fire, but only the bullet, and there’s no smoke!  I never heard of such a thing, and I call it magic!”

“A gun without powder, and no fire or smoke,” repeated Madame Clemenceau.  “It is, indeed, a marvel!” and she approached the window in uncontrollable curiosity.  “Is he going to shoot again?”

“Well, he gets an appetite by popping at the sparrows before breakfast.  He is not much of a marksman like master, who is dead on the center, every military officer says—­but, in the morning, the birds’ wings are heavy with dew, and he makes a very pretty bag now and then.  What must the sparrows think to be killed and not smell any powder!”

“I wish you would tell him to go farther, or leave off!” said Cesarine, looking out at the young man with the light rifle, fascinated but fearing.

“The obedience will be more prompt if you would tell him, madame,” returned the maid, “for M. Antonino would do anything for you.  To think that there should really be something that frightens you!”

“After my illness, I am afraid of everything.”

“Very well, I will stop him.”