H. Bedford-Jones

“ With a shuffling step, Frontin came to the verge of the cliff and swayed a little, the musket escaping from his grip. The man was dying where he stood, and Sieur Perrot was frozen by the sight.
"Well, M. Crawford was right!" Faint as was the voice, it was Frontin's old cool, sardonic tone. "He followed the Star of Dreams—and it led him across the horizon to which all men must attain. Yes, he was right; he alone has won this game! If you will regard the smile on his lips, my dear Perrot, you will see that he is happy. I think you are Sieur Perrot? Of course." ”

“ An inarticulate word escaped the older man, then he checked himself. Frontin held up the Star of Dreams, so that the level morning sunlight striking across the far forest leagues below drew from it a shimmer of flame. ”

“ Eh, bien! You played the game, you won your fight. Fall, my star, fall! When a star falls, they say, a soul has passed——"
Frontin jerked his hand. The jewel flew out into the air, blazed for an instant with a swift sheen of green and gold, then was gone with a long flash to the lake below. Frontin staggered for the second time, and looked sideways at Perrot. ”