The search was unsuccessful.  The whole of the surrounding region being composed of ferruginous rocks and their debris, it would not, indeed, have been an easy matter to trace the march of an army by their footsteps.  The stain of blood, however, was nowhere discoverable, except on the spot where the body had been found.  The house itself furnished no particular evidence of the bloody scene of which it had been a witness.  The bones of those who had died long before were lying on the stones, it is true, broken and scattered; but, as the curious were wont to stop, and sometimes to enter among and handle these remains of mortality, there was nothing new or peculiar in their present condition.

The interior of the dead-house was obscure, and suited, in this particular at least, to its solemn office.  While making the latter part of their examination, the monk and the two nobles, who began to feel a lively interest in the late event, stood before the window, gazing in at the gloomy but instructive scene.  One body was so placed as to receive a few of the direct rays of the morning light, and it was consequently much more conspicuous than the rest, though even this was a dark and withered mummy that presented scarcely a vestige; of the being it had been.  Like all the others whose parts still clung together, it had been placed against the wall, in the attitude of one that is seated, with the head fallen forward.  The latter circumstance had brought the blackened and shrivelled face into the line of light.  It had the ghastly grin of death, the features being distorted by the process of evaporation, and was altogether a revolting but salutary monitor of the common lot.

“’Tis the body of the poor vine-dresser;” remarked the monk, more accustomed to the spectacle than his companions, who had shrunk from the sight; “he unwisely slept on yonder naked rock, and it proved to him the sleep of death.  There have been many masses for his soul, but what is left of his material remains still lie unclaimed.  But—­how is this!  Pierre, thou hast lately passed this place; what was the number of the bodies, at thy last visit?”

“Three, reverend clavier; and yet the ladies spoke of four.  I looked for the fourth when in the building, but there appeared none fresh, except this of poor Jacques Colis.”

“Come hither, and say if there do not appear to be two in the far corner—­here, where the body of thy old comrade the guide was placed, from respect for his calling; surely, there at least is a change in its position!”

Pierre approached, and taking off his cap in reverence, he leaned forward in the building, so as to exclude the external light from his eyes.

“Father!” he said, drawing back in surprise, “there is truly another; though I overlooked it when we entered the place.”

“This must be examined into!  The crime may be greater than we had believed!”