They laid him on his back, but he was already dead, his face ghastly still under the moon, his right hand still a-clutch of the rapier.
Yes; it is indeed a marvellous easy thing to kill a man.
We saluted his friends and were about to depart, when Felix Pasquini detained me.
"Pardon me," I said.

"Let it be to-morrow." "We have but to move a step aside," he urged, "where the grass is still dry." "Let me then wet it for you, Sainte-Maure," Lanfranc asked of me, eager himself to do for an Italian.
I shook my head.
"Pasquini is mine," I answered.

"He shall be first to-morrow." "Are there others ?" Lanfranc demanded.
"Ask de Goncourt," I grinned.

"I imagine he is already laying claim to the honour of being the third." At this, de Goncourt showed distressed acquiescence.

Lanfranc looked inquiry at him, and de Goncourt nodded.
"And after him I doubt not comes the cockerel," I went on.
And even as I spoke the red-haired Guy de Villehardouin, alone, strode to us across the moonlit grass.
"At least I shall have him," Lanfranc cried, his voice almost wheedling, so great was his desire.
"Ask him," I laughed, then turned to Pasquini.