He wore a flat velvet cap with a single eagle feather fastened into it by a diamond clasp, which gleamed in the morning light.

But bright as was his gem, his dark eyes were brighter still, and sparkled from under his bushy brows with a mad brilliancy which bore with it something of menace and of terror.
His limbs jerked as he walked, his features twisted, and he carried himself like a man who strives hard to hold himself in when his whole soul is aflame with exultation.

Behind him again twelve more maroon-clad retainers brought up the rear of this singular procession.
The woman had faltered at the foot of the scaffold, but the man behind her had thrust her forward with such force that she stumbled over the lower step, and would have fallen had she not clutched at the arm of the priest.

At the top of the ladder her eyes met the dreadful block, and she burst into a scream, and shrunk backwards.

But again the man thrust her on, and two of the followers caught her by either wrist and dragged her forwards.
"Oh, Maurice! Maurice!" she screamed.