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Sperver set out, carrying the body of Lieverle in his cloak. I had refused to follow him, for I felt that duty compelled me to remain near this unhappy woman, and I could not have abandoned her without violating my conscience. Moreover, I am obliged to confess I was curious to examine more closely this mysterious being, and hardly had Sperver disappeared in the darkness of the defile before I began climbing the path to the cavern. A strange sight awaited me there. Upon a large fur cloak with green facings lay the old woman in a long purple robe, with a golden arrow stuck through her gray hair, her withered hands clutching her breast.
Time will never efface the image of this woman from my mind. Her vulture-like face, distorted by the last agonies of death, her staring eyes and half-opened mouth, were appalling to look upon. Such might have been the last hour of the terrible Queen Fredegonde. The Baron, on his knees beside her, tried to restore her to animation, but at the first glance it was evident to me that the unfortunate creature was dying, and it was not without a sentiment of profound pity that I kneeled to raise her arm.