. .if possible."
He laughed, as Dante has told us that the devils laugh at the
sight of the torture of the damned. Marguerite had thought that by
now she had lived through the whole gamut of horror and anguish that
human heart could bear; yet now, when Desgas left the house, and she
remained alone in this lonely, squalid room, with that fiend for
company, she felt as if all that she had suffered was nothing compared
with this. He continued to laugh and chuckle to himself for awhile,
rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his triumph.
His plans were well laid, and he might well triumph! Not a
loophole was left, through which the bravest, the most cunning man
might escape. Every road guarded, every corner watched, and in that
lonely hut somewhere on the coast, a small band of fugitives waiting
for their rescuer, and leading him to his death--nay! to worse than death.
That fiend there, in a holy man's garb, was too much of a devil to allow
a brave man to die the quick, sudden death of a soldier at the post of duty.
He, above all, longed to have the cunning enemy, who had so
long baffled him, helpless in his power; he wished to gloat over him,
to enjoy his downfall, to inflict upon him what moral and mental
torture a deadly hatred alone can devise.
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