"You left him!" He bounced from his chair, raging. "You--Peng! Where's
my cap?"
Quick as he was, the dark-eyed girl stood blocking his way.
"Not you, Mr. Heywood," she said quietly. "I must go stay with him."
They confronted each other, man and woman, as if for a combat of will.
The outbreak of voices was cut short; the whole company stood, like
Homeric armies, watching two champions. Chantel, however, broke
the silence.
"Nobody must go." He eyed them all, gravely. "I left him, yes. He does
not need any one. Personne. Very sudden. He went to the school sick this
morning. Swollen axillae--the poor fool, not to know!--et
puis--enfin--He is dead."
Heywood pitched his cap on the green field of the billiard-cloth.
"The poor pedagogue!" he said bitterly. "_He_ was going Home."
Sudden, hot and cold, like the thrust of a knife, it struck Rudolph that
he had heard the voice of this first victim,--the peevish voice which
cried so weakly for a little silence, at early daylight, that very
morning. A little silence: and he had received the great.
A gecko fell from the ceiling, with a tiny thump that made all start.
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