COUNT HANNIBALA ROMANCE OF THE COURT OF FRANCE. By Stanley J. Weyman. 

SORORISUA CAUSSA CARAEPRO ERGA MATREM AMOREETIAM CARIORIHOC FRATER. 

CONTENTS

I. CRIMSON FAVOURSII. HANNIBAL DE SAULX, COMTE DE TAVANNESIII. THE HOUSE NEXT THE GOLDEN MAIDIV. THE EVE OF THE FEASTV. A ROUGH WOOINGVI. "WHO TOUCHES TAVANNES?"VII. IN THE AMPHITHEATREVIII. TWO HENS AND AN EGGIX. UNSTABLEX. MADAME ST. LOXI. A BARGAINXII. IN THE HALL OF THE LOUVREXIII. DIPLOMACYXIV. TOO SHORT A SPOONXV. THE BROTHER OF ST. MAGLOIREXVI. AT CLOSE QUARTERSXVII. THE DUELXVIII. ANDROMEDA, PERSEUS BEING ABSENTXIX. IN THE ORLEANNAISXX. ON THE CASTLE HILLXXI. SHE WOULD, AND WOULD NOTXXII. PLAYING WITH FIREXXIII. A MIND, AND NOT A MINDXXIV. AT THE KING'S INNXXV. THE COMPANY OF THE BLEEDING HEARTXXVI. TEMPERXXVII. THE BLACK TOWNXXVIII. IN THE LITTLE CHAPTER-HOUSEXXIX. THE ESCAPEXXX. SACRILEGE!XXXI. THE FLIGHT FROM ANGERSXXXII. THE ORDEAL BY STEELXXXIII. THE AMBUSHXXXIV. "WHICH WILL YOU, MADAME?"XXXV. AGAINST THE WALLXXXVI. HIS KINGDOM

CHAPTER I. CRIMSON FAVOURS. 

M. De Tavannes smiled. Mademoiselle averted her eyes, and shivered; asif the air, even of that close summer night, entering by the door at herelbow, chilled her. And then came a welcome interruption. 

"Tavannes!"

"Sire!"

Count Hannibal rose slowly. The King had called, and he had no choicebut to obey and go. Yet he hung a last moment over his companion, hishateful breath stirring her hair. 

"Our pleasure is cut short too soon, Mademoiselle, " he said, in the tone, and with the look, she loathed. "But for a few hours only. We shallmeet to-morrow. Or, it may be--earlier. "

She did not answer, and "Tavannes!" the King repeated with violence. "Tavannes! Mordieu!" his Majesty continued, looking round furiously. "Will no one fetch him? Sacre nom, am I King, or a dog of a--"

"I come, sire!" the Count cried hastily. For Charles, King of France, Ninth of the name, was none of the most patient; and scarce another inthe Court would have ventured to keep him waiting so long. "I come, sire; I come!" Tavannes repeated, as he moved from Mademoiselle's side. 

He shouldered his way through the circle of courtiers, who barred theroad to the presence, and in part hid her from observation. He pushedpast the table at which Charles and the Comte de Rochefoucauld had beenplaying primero, and at which the latter still sat, trifling idly withthe cards. Three more paces, and he reached the King, who stood in the_ruelle_ with Rambouillet and the Italian Marshal. It was the latterwho, a moment before, had summoned his Majesty from his game. 

Mademoiselle, watching him go, saw so much; so much, and the King'sroving eyes and haggard face, and the four figures, posed apart in thefuller light of the upper half of the Chamber. Then the circle ofcourtiers came together before her, and she sat back on her stool. Afluttering, long-drawn sigh escaped her. Now, if she could slip out andmake her escape! Now--she looked round. She was not far from the door;to withdraw seemed easy. But a staring, whispering knot of gentlemen andpages blocked the way; and the girl, ignorant of the etiquette of theCourt, and with no more than a week's experience of Paris, had not thecourage to rise and pass alone through the group. 

She had come to the Louvre this Saturday evening under the wing of Madamed'Yverne, her _fiance's_ cousin. By ill-hap Madame had been summoned tothe Princess Dowager's closet, and perforce had left her. Still, Mademoiselle had her betrothed, and in his charge had sat herself down towait, nothing loth, in the great gallery, where all was bustle and gaietyand entertainment. For this, the seventh day of the fetes, held tocelebrate the marriage of the King of Navarre and Charles's sister--amarriage which was to reconcile the two factions of the Huguenots and theCatholics, so long at war--saw the Louvre as gay, as full, and as livelyas the first of the fete days had found it; and in the humours of thethrong, in the ceaseless passage of masks and maids of honour, guards andbishops, Swiss in the black, white, and green of Anjou, and Huguenotnobles in more sombre habits, the country-bred girl had found recreationand to spare. Until gradually the evening had worn away and she hadbegun to feel nervous; and M. De Tignonville, her betrothed, placing herin the embrasure of a window, had gone to seek Madame. 

She had waited for a time without much misgiving; expecting each momentto see him return. He would be back before she could count a hundred; hewould be back before she could number the leagues that separated her fromher beloved province, and the home by the Biscay Sea, to which even inthat brilliant scene her thoughts turned fondly. But the minutes hadpassed, and passed, and he had not returned. Worse, in his placeTavannes--not the Marshal, but his brother, Count Hannibal--had foundher; he, whose odious court, at once a menace and an insult, had subtlyenveloped her for a week past. He had sat down beside her, he had takenpossession of her, and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on herfears and smiled at her dislike. Finally, whether she would or no, hehad swept her with him into the Chamber. The rest had been an obsession, a nightmare, from which only the King's voice summoning Tavannes to hisside had relieved her. 

Her aim now was to escape before he returned, and before another, seeingher alone, adopted his _role_ and was rude to her. Already the courtiersabout her were beginning to stare, the pages to turn and titter andwhisper. Direct her gaze as she might, she met some eye watching her, some couple enjoying her confusion. To make matters worse, she presentlydiscovered that she was the only woman in the Chamber; and she conceivedthe notion that she had no right to be there at that hour. At thethought her cheeks burned, her eyes dropped; the room seemed to buzz withher name, with gross words and jests, and gibes at her expense. 

At last, when the situation had grown nearly unbearable, the group beforethe door parted, and Tignonville appeared. The girl rose with a cry ofrelief, and he came to her. The courtiers glanced at the two and smiled. 

He did not conceal his astonishment at finding her there. "But, Mademoiselle, how is this?" he asked, in a low voice. He was asconscious of the attention they attracted as she was, and as uncertain onthe point of her right to be there. "I left you in the gallery. I cameback, missed you, and--"

She stopped him by a gesture. "Not here!" she muttered, with suppressedimpatience. "I will tell you outside. Take me--take me out, if youplease, Monsieur, at once!"

He was as glad to be gone as she was to go. The group by the doorwayparted; she passed through it, he followed. In a moment the two stood inthe great gallery, above the Salle des Caryatides. The crowd which hadparaded here an hour before was gone, and the vast echoing apartment, used at that date as a guard-room, was well-nigh empty. Only at rareintervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess of a door, a coupletalked softly. At the farther end, near the head of the staircase whichled to the hall below, and the courtyard, a group of armed Swiss loungedon guard. Mademoiselle shot a keen glance up and down, then she turnedto her lover, her face hot with indignation. 

"Why did you leave me?" she asked. "Why did you leave me, if you couldnot come back at once? Do you understand, sir, " she continued, "that itwas at your instance I came to Paris, that I came to this Court, and thatI look to you for protection?"

"Surely, " he said. "And--"

"And do you think Carlat and his wife fit guardians for me? Should Ihave come or thought of coming to this wedding, but for your promise, andMadame your cousin's? If I had not deemed myself almost your wife, " shecontinued warmly, "and secure of your protection, should I have comewithin a hundred miles of this dreadful city? To which, had I my will, none of our people should have come. "

"Dreadful? Pardieu, not so dreadful, " he answered, smiling, and strivingto give the dispute a playful turn. "You have seen more in a week thanyou would have seen at Vrillac in a lifetime, Mademoiselle. "

"And I choke!" she retorted; "I choke! Do you not see how they look atus, at us Huguenots, in the street? How they, who live here, point at usand curse us? How the very dogs scent us out and snarl at our heels, andthe babes cross themselves when we go by? Can you see the Place desGastines and not think what stood there? Can you pass the Greve at nightand not fill the air above the river with screams and wailings andhorrible cries--the cries of our people murdered on that spot?" Shepaused for breath, recovered herself a little, and in a lower tone, "Forme, " she said, "I think of Philippa de Luns by day and by night! Theeaves are a threat to me; the tiles would fall on us had they their will;the houses nod to--to--"

"To what, Mademoiselle?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and assuming atone of cynicism. 

"To crush us! Yes, Monsieur, to crush us!"

"And all this because I left you for a moment?"

"For an hour--or well-nigh an hour, " she answered more soberly. 

"But if I could not help it?"

"You should have thought of that--before you brought me to Paris, Monsieur. In these troublous times. "

He coloured warmly. "You are unjust, Mademoiselle, " he said. "There arethings you forget; in a Court one is not always master of one's self. "

"I know it, " she answered dryly, thinking of that through which she hadgone. 

"But you do not know what happened!" he returned with impatience. "Youdo not understand that I am not to blame. Madame d'Yverne, when Ireached the Princess Dowager's closet, had left to go to the Queen ofNavarre. I hurried after her, and found a score of gentlemen in the Kingof Navarre's chamber. They were holding a council, and they begged, nay, they compelled me to remain. "

"And it was that which detained you so long?"

"To be sure, Mademoiselle. "

"And not--Madame St. Lo?"

M. De Tignonville's face turned scarlet. The thrust in tierce wasunexpected. This, then, was the key to Mademoiselle's spirt of temper. 

"I do not understand you, " he stammered. 

"How long were you in the King of Navarre's chamber, and how long withMadame St. Lo?" she asked with fine irony. "Or no, I will not temptyou, " she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "I heard you talking toMadame St. Lo in the gallery while I sat within. And I know how long youwere with her. "

"I met Madame as I returned, " he stammered, his face still hot, "and Iasked her where you were. I did not know, Mademoiselle, that I was notto speak to ladies of my acquaintance. "

"I was alone, and I was waiting. "

"I could not know that--for certain, " he answered, making the best of it. "You were not where I left you. I thought, I confess--that you had gone. That you had gone home. "

"With whom? With whom?" she repeated pitilessly. "Was it likely? Withwhom was I to go? And yet it is true, I might have gone home had Ipleased--with M. De Tavannes! Yes, " she continued, in a tone of keenreproach, and with the blood mounting to her forehead, "it is to that, Monsieur, you expose me! To be pursued, molested, harassed by a manwhose look terrifies me, and whose touch I--I detest! To be addressedwherever I go by a man whose every word proves that he thinks me game forthe hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. You are a man and you do notknow, you cannot know what I suffer! What I have suffered this week pastwhenever you have left my side!"

Tignonville looked gloomy. "What has he said to you?" he asked, betweenhis teeth. 

"Nothing I can tell you, " she answered, with a shudder. "It was he whotook me into the Chamber. "

"Why did you go?"

"Wait until he bids you do something, " she answered. "His manner, hissmile, his tone, all frighten me. And to-night, in all these there was asomething worse, a hundred times worse than when I saw him last--onThursday! He seemed to--to gloat on me, " the girl stammered, with aflush of shame, "as if I were his! Oh, Monsieur, I wish we had not leftour Poitou! Shall we ever see Vrillac again, and the fishers' huts aboutthe port, and the sea beating blue against the long brown causeway?"

He had listened darkly, almost sullenly; but at this, seeing the tearsgather in her eyes, he forced a laugh. 

"Why, you are as bad as M. De Rosny and the Vidame!" he said. "And theyare as full of fears as an egg is of meat! Since the Admiral was woundedby that scoundrel on Friday, they think all Paris is in a league againstus. "

"And why not?" she asked, her cheek grown pale, her eyes reading hiseyes. 

"Why not? Why, because it is a monstrous thing even to think of!"Tignonville answered, with the confidence of one who did not use theargument for the first time. "Could they insult the King more deeplythan by such a suspicion? A Borgia may kill his guests, but it was nevera practice of the Kings of France! Pardieu, I have no patience withthem! They may lodge where they please, across the river, or without thewalls if they choose, the Rue de l'Arbre Sec is good enough for me, andthe King's name sufficient surety!"

"I know you are not apt to be fearful, " she answered, smiling; and shelooked at him with a woman's pride in her lover. "All the same, you willnot desert me again, sir, will you?"

He vowed he would not, kissed her hand, looked into her eyes; thenmelting to her, stammering, blundering, he named Madame St. Lo. Shestopped him. 

"There is no need, " she said, answering his look with kind eyes, andrefusing to hear his protestations. "In a fortnight will you not be myhusband? How should I distrust you? It was only that while she talked, I waited--I waited; and--and that Madame St. Lo is Count Hannibal'scousin. For a moment I was mad enough to dream that she held you onpurpose. You do not think it was so?"

"She!" he cried sharply; and he winced, as if the thought hurt him. "Absurd! The truth is, Mademoiselle, " he continued with a little heat, "you are like so many of our people! You think a Catholic capable of theworst. "

"We have long thought so at Vrillac, " she answered gravely. 

"That's over now, if people would only understand. This wedding has putan end to all that. But I'm harking back, " he continued awkwardly; andhe stopped. "Instead, let me take you home. "

"If you please. Carlat and the servants should be below. "

He took her left hand in his right after the wont of the day, and withhis other hand touching his sword-hilt, he led her down the staircase, that by a single turn reached the courtyard of the palace. Here a mob ofarmed servants, of lacqueys, and footboys, some bearing torches, and somecarrying their masters' cloaks and _galoshes_, loitered to and fro. HadM. De Tignonville been a little more observant, or a trifle less occupiedwith his own importance, he might have noted more than one face whichlooked darkly on him; he might have caught more than one overt sneer athis expense. But in the business of summoning Carlat--Mademoiselle deVrillac's steward and major-domo--he lost the contemptuous"Christaudins!" that hissed from a footboy's lips, and the "Southerndogs!" that died in the moustachios of a bully in the livery of theKing's brother. He was engaged in finding the steward, and in aiding himto cloak his mistress; then with a ruffling air, a new acquirement, whichhe had picked up since he came to Paris, he made a way for her throughthe crowd. A moment, and the three, followed by half a dozen armedservants, bearing pikes and torches, detached themselves from the throng, and crossing the courtyard, with its rows of lighted windows, passed outby the gate between the Tennis Courts, and so into the Rue des Fosses deSt. Germain. 

Before them, against a sky in which the last faint glow of evening stillcontended with the stars, the spire and pointed arches of the church ofSt. Germain rose darkly graceful. It was something after nine: the heatof the August day brooded over the crowded city, and dulled the faintdistant ring of arms and armour that yet would make itself heard abovethe hush; a hush which was not silence so much as a subdued hum. AsMademoiselle passed the closed house beside the Cloister of St. Germain, where only the day before Admiral Coligny, the leader of the Huguenots, had been wounded, she pressed her escort's hand, and involuntarily drewnearer to him. But he laughed at her. 

"It was a private blow, " he said, answering her unspoken thought. "It islike enough the Guises sped it. But they know now what is the King'swill, and they have taken the hint and withdrawn themselves. It will nothappen again, Mademoiselle. For proof, see the guards"--they werepassing the end of the Rue Bethizy, in the corner house of which, abutting on the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, Coligny had his lodgings--"whom theKing has placed for his security. Fifty pikes under Cosseins. "

"Cosseins?" she repeated. "But I thought Cosseins--"

"Was not wont to love us!" Tignonville answered, with a confidentchuckle. "He was not. But the dogs lick where the master wills, Mademoiselle. He was not, but he does. This marriage has altered all. "

"I hope it may not prove an unlucky one!" she murmured. She feltimpelled to say it. 

"Not it!" he answered confidently. "Why should it?"

They stopped, as he spoke, before the last house, at the corner of theRue St. Honore opposite the Croix du Tiroir; which rose shadowy in themiddle of the four ways. He hammered on the door. 

"But, " she said softly, looking in his face, "the change is sudden, is itnot? The King was not wont to be so good to us!"

"The King was not King until now, " he answered warmly. "That is what Iam trying to persuade our people. Believe me, Mademoiselle, you maysleep without fear; and early in the morning I will be with you. Carlat, have a care of your mistress until morning, and let Madame lie in herchamber. She is nervous to-night. There, sweet, until morning! Godkeep you, and pleasant dreams!"

He uncovered, and bowing over her hand, kissed it; and the door beingopen he would have turned away. But she lingered as if unwilling toenter. 

"There is--do you hear it--a stir in _that_ quarter?" she said, pointingacross the Rue St. Honore. "What lies there?"

"Northward? The markets, " he answered. "'Tis nothing. They say, youknow, that Paris never sleeps. Good night, sweet, and a fair awakening!"

She shivered as she had shivered under Tavannes' eye. And still shelingered, keeping him. 

"Are you going to your lodging at once?" she asked--for the sake, itseemed, of saying something. 

"I?" he answered a little hurriedly. "No, I was thinking of payingRochefoucauld the compliment of seeing him home. He has taken a newlodging to be near the Admiral; a horrid bare place in the Rue Bethizy, without furniture, but he would go into it to-day. And he has a sort ofclaim on my family, you know. "

"Yes, " she said simply. "Of course. Then I must not detain you. Godkeep you safe, " she continued, with a faint quiver in her tone; and herlip trembled. "Good night, and fair dreams, Monsieur. "

He echoed the words gallantly. "Of you, sweet!" he cried; and turningaway with a gesture of farewell, he set off on his return. 

He walked briskly, nor did he look back, though she stood awhile gazingafter him. She was not aware that she gave thought to this; nor that ithurt her. Yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, and she had mountedthe cold, bare staircase of that day--when she had heard the dull echoingfootsteps of her attendants as they withdrew to their lairs and sleeping-places, and still more when she had crossed the threshold of her chamber, and signed to Madame Carlat and her woman to listen--it is certain shefelt a lack of something. 

Perhaps the chill that possessed her came of that lack, which she neitherdefined nor acknowledged. Or possibly it came of the night air, Augustthough it was; or of sheer nervousness, or of the remembrance of CountHannibal's smile. Whatever its origin, she took it to bed with her andlong after the house slept round her, long after the crowded quarter ofthe Halles had begun to heave and the Sorbonne to vomit a black-frockedband, long after the tall houses in the gabled streets, from St. Antoineto Montmartre and from St. Denis on the north to St. Jacques on thesouth, had burst into rows of twinkling lights--nay, long after theQuarter of the Louvre alone remained dark, girdled by this strangemidnight brightness--she lay awake. At length she too slept, and dreamedof home and the wide skies of Poitou, and her castle of Vrillac washedday and night by the Biscay tides. 

CHAPTER II. HANNIBAL DE SAULX, COMTE DE TAVANNES. 

"Tavannes!"

"Sire. "

Tavannes, we know, had been slow to obey the summons. Emerging from thecrowd, he found that the King, with Retz and Rambouillet, his Marshal desLogis, had retired to the farther end of the Chamber; apparently Charleshad forgotten that he had called. His head a little bent--he was talland had a natural stoop--the King seemed to be listening to a low butcontinuous murmur of voices which proceeded from the door of his closet. One voice frequently raised was beyond doubt a woman's; a foreign accent, smooth and silky, marked another; a third, that from time to time brokein, wilful and impetuous, was the voice of Monsieur, the King's brother, Catherine de Medicis' favourite son. Tavannes, waiting respectfully twopaces behind the King, could catch little that was said; but Charles, something more, it seemed, for on a sudden he laughed, a violent, mirthless laugh. And he clapped Rambouillet on the shoulder. 

"There!" he said, with one of his horrible oaths, "'tis settled! 'Tissettled! Go, man, and take your orders! And you, M. De Retz, " hecontinued, in a tone of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them!"

"I, sire?" the Italian Marshal answered, in accents of deprecation. Therewere times when the young King would show his impatience of the Italianring, the Retzs and Biragues, the Strozzis and Gondys, with whom hismother surrounded him. 

"Yes, you!" Charles answered. "You and my lady mother! And in God'sname answer for it at the day!" he continued vehemently. "You will haveit! You will not let me rest till you have it! Then have it, only seeto it, it be done thoroughly! There shall not be one left to cast it inthe King's teeth and cry, 'Et tu, Carole!' Swim, swim in blood if youwill, " he continued, with growing wildness. "Oh, 'twill be a merrynight! And it's true so far, you may kill fleas all day, but burn thecoat, and there's an end. So burn it, burn it, and--" He broke off witha start as he discovered Tavannes at his elbow. "God's death, man!" hecried roughly, "who sent for you?"

"Your Majesty called me, " Tavannes answered; while, partly urged by theKing's hand, and partly anxious to escape, the others slipped into thecloset and left them together. 

"I sent for you? I called your brother, the Marshal!"

"He is within, sire, " Tavannes answered, indicating the closet. "Amoment ago I heard his voice. "

Charles passed his shaking hand across his eyes. "Is he?" he muttered. "So he is! I heard it too. And--and a man cannot be in two places atonce!" Then, while his haggard gaze, passing by Tavannes, roved roundthe Chamber, he laid his hand on Count Hannibal's breast. "They give meno peace, Madame and the Guises, " he whispered, his face hectic withexcitement. "They will have it. They say that Coligny--they say that hebeards me in my own palace. And--and, _mordieu_, " with sudden violence, "it's true. It's true enough! It was but to-day he was for making termswith me! With me, the King! Making terms! So it shall be, by God andDevil, it shall! But not six or seven! No, no. All! All! There shallnot be one left to say to me, 'You did it!'"

"Softly, sire, " Tavannes answered; for Charles had gradually raised hisvoice. "You will be observed. "

For the first time the young King--he was but twenty-two years old, Godpity him!--looked at his companion. 

"To be sure, " he whispered; and his eyes grew cunning. "Besides, andafter all, there's another way, if I choose. Oh, I've thought andthought, I'd have you know. " And shrugging his shoulders, almost to hisears, he raised and lowered his open hands alternately, while his backhid the movement from the Chamber. "See-saw! See-saw!" he muttered. "And the King between the two, you see. That's Madame's king-craft. She's shown me that a hundred times. But look you, it is as easy tolower the one as the other, " with a cunning glance at Tavannes' face, "orto cut off the right as the left. And--and the Admiral's an old man andwill pass; and for the matter of that I like to hear him talk. He talkswell. While the others, Guise and his kind, are young, and I've thought, oh, yes, I've thought--but there, " with a sudden harsh laugh, "my ladymother will have it her own way. And for this time she shall, but, All!All! Even Foucauld, there! Do you mark him. He's sorting the cards. Doyou see him--as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat and histeeth showing? Why, God!" his voice rising almost to a scream, "thecandles by him are burning blue!" And with a shaking hand, his faceconvulsed, the young King clutched his companion's arm, and pinched it. 

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing. 

"D'you think we shall see them afterwards?" Charles resumed, in a sharp, eager whisper. "In our dreams, man? Or when the watchman cries, and weawake, and the monks are singing lauds at St. Germain, and--and the taperis low?"

Tavannes' lip curled. "I don't dream, sire, " he answered coldly, "and Iseldom wake. For the rest, I fear my enemies neither alive nor dead. "

"Don't you? By G-d, I wish I didn't, " the young man exclaimed. His browwas wet with sweat. "I wish I didn't. But there, it's settled. They'vesettled it, and I would it were done! What do you think of--of it, man?What do you think of it, yourself?"

Count Hannibal's face was inscrutable. "I think nothing, sire, " he saiddryly. "It is for your Majesty and your council to think. It is enoughfor me that it is the King's will. "

"But you'll not flinch?" Charles muttered, with a quick look ofsuspicion. "But there, " with a monstrous oath, "I know you'll not! Ibelieve you'd as soon kill a monk--though, thank God, " and he crossedhimself devoutly, "there is no question of that--as a man. And soonerthan a maiden. "

"Much sooner, sire, " Tavannes answered grimly. "If you have any ordersin the monkish direction--no? Then your Majesty must not talk to melonger. M. De Rochefoucauld is beginning to wonder what is keeping yourMajesty from your game. And others are marking you, sire. "

"By the Lord!" Charles exclaimed, a ring of wonder mingled with horror inhis tone, "if they knew what was in our minds they'd mark us more! Yet, see Nancay there beside the door? He is unmoved. He looks to-day as helooked yesterday. Yet he has charge of the work in the palace--"

For the first time Tavannes allowed a movement of surprise to escape him. 

"In the palace?" he muttered. "Is it to be done here, too, sire?"

"Would you let some escape, to return by-and-by and cut our throats?" theKing retorted, with a strange spirt of fury; an incapacity to maintainthe same attitude of mind for two minutes together was the most fatalweakness of his ill-balanced nature. "No. All! All!" he repeated withvehemence. "Didn't Noah people the earth with eight? But I'll not leaveeight! My cousins, for they are blood-royal, shall live if they willrecant. And my old nurse, whether or no. And Pare, for no one elseunderstands my complexion. And--"

"And Rochefoucauld, doubtless, sire?"

The King, whose eye had sought his favourite companion, withdrew it. Hedarted a glance at Tavannes. 

"Foucauld? Who said so?" he muttered jealously. "Not I! But we shallsee. We shall see! And do you see that you spare no one, M. Le Comte, without an order. That is your business. "

"I understand, sire, " Tavannes answered coolly. And after a moment'ssilence, seeing that the King had done with him, he bowed low andwithdrew; watched by the circle, as all about a King were watched in thedays when a King's breath meant life or death, and his smile made thefortunes of men. As he passed Rochefoucauld, the latter looked up andnodded. 

"What keeps brother Charles?" he muttered. "He's madder than ever to-night. Is it a masque or a murder he is planning?"

"The vapours, " Tavannes answered, with a sneer. "Old tales his old nursehas stuffed him withal. He'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if youcan divert him. "

"I will, if he come, " Rochefoucauld answered, shuffling the cards. "Ifnot 'tis Chicot's business, and he should attend to it. I'm tired, andshall to bed. "

"He will come, " Tavannes answered, and moved, as if to go on. Then hepaused for a last word. "He will come, " he muttered, stooping andspeaking under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "But play himlightly. He is in an ugly mood. Please him, if you can, and it mayserve. "

The eyes of the two met an instant, and those of Foucauld--so the Kingcalled his Huguenot favourite--betrayed some surprise; for Count Hannibaland he were not intimate. But seeing that the other was in earnest, heraised his brows in acknowledgment. Tavannes nodded carelessly inreturn, looked an instant at the cards on the table, and passed on, pushed his way through the circle, and reached the door. He was liftingthe curtain to go out, when Nancay, the Captain of the Guard, plucked hissleeve. 

"What have you been saying to Foucauld, M. De Tavannes?" he muttered. 

"I?"

"Yes, " with a jealous glance, "you, M. Le Comte. "

Count Hannibal looked at him with the sudden ferocity that made the man aproverb at Court. 

"What I chose, M. Le Capitaine des Suisses!" he hissed. And his handclosed like a vice on the other's wrist. "What I chose, look you! Andremember, another time, that I am not a Huguenot, and say what I please. "

"But there is great need of care, " Nancay protested, stammering andflinching. "And--and I have orders, M. Le Comte. "

"Your orders are not for me, " Tavannes answered, releasing his arm with acontemptuous gesture. "And look you, man, do not cross my path to-night. You know our motto? Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes! Be warnedby it. "

Nancay scowled. "But the priests say, 'If your hand offend you, cut itoff!'" he muttered. 

Tavannes laughed, a sinister laugh. "If you offend me I'll cut yourthroat, " he said; and with no ceremony he went out, and dropped thecurtain behind him. 

Nancay looked after him, his face pale with rage. "Curse him!" hewhispered, rubbing his wrist. "If he were any one else I would teachhim! But he would as soon run you through in the presence as in the Preaux Clercs! And his brother, the Marshal, has the King's ear! AndMadame Catherine's too, which is worse!"

He was still fuming, when an officer in the colours of Monsieur, theKing's brother, entered hurriedly, and keeping his hand on the curtain, looked anxiously round the Chamber. As soon as his eye found Nancay, hisface cleared. 

"Have you the reckoning?" he muttered. 

"There are seventeen Huguenots in the palace besides their Highnesses, "Nancay replied, in the same cautious tone. "Not counting two or threewho are neither the one thing nor the other. In addition, there are thetwo Montmorencies; but they are to go safe for fear of their brother, whois not in the trap. He is too like his father, the old Bench-burner, tobe lightly wronged! And, besides, there is Pare, who is to go to hisMajesty's closet as soon as the gates are shut. If the King decides tosave any one else, he will send him to his closet. So 'tis all clear andarranged here. If you are forward outside, it will be well! Who dealswith the gentleman with the tooth-pick?"

"The Admiral? Monsieur, Guise, and the Grand Prior; Cosseins and Besmehave charge. 'Tis to be done first. Then the Provost will raise thetown. He will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or fourrendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up everywhere at once. Marcel, the ex-provost, has the same commission south of the river. Orders tolight the town as for a frolic have been given, and the Halles will beready. "

Nancay nodded, reflected a moment, and then with an involuntary shudder--

"God!" he exclaimed, "it will shake the world!"

"You think so?"

"Ay, will it not!" His next words showed that he bore Tavannes' warningin mind. "For me, my friend, I go in mail to-night, " he said. "Therewill be many a score paid before morning, besides his Majesty's. Andmany a left-handed blow will be struck in the _melee_!"

The other crossed himself. "Grant none light here!" he said devoutly. And with a last look he nodded and went out. 

In the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering. Itwas M. De Tignonville, who, seeing Nancay at his elbow, saluted him, andstood looking round. The young man's face was flushed, his eyes werebright with unwonted excitement. 

"M. De Rochefoucauld?" he asked eagerly. "He has not left yet?"

Nancay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man's flushedface and altered bearing. He noted, too, the crumpled paper he carriedhalf-hidden in his hand; and the Captain's countenance grew dark. Hedrew a step nearer, and his hand reached softly for his dagger. But hisvoice, when he spoke, was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-lovingCourt, smooth as the externals of all things in Paris that summerevening. 

"He is here still, " he said. "Have you news, M. De Tignonville?"

"News?"

"For M. De Rochefoucauld?"

Tignonville laughed. "No, " he said. "I am here to see him to hislodging, that is all. News, Captain? What made you think so?"

"That which you have in your hand, " Nancay answered, his fears relieved. 

The young man blushed to the roots of his hair. "It is not for him, " hesaid. 

"I can see that, Monsieur, " Nancay answered politely. "He has hissuccesses, but all the billets-doux do not go one way. "

The young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. He was handsome, with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the wayhe wore his Court suit. It was a trifle finer, too, than accorded withHuguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even asTeligny's and Foucauld's velvet capes and stiff brocades lost theirrichness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men. Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing thedainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he moreawkward than usual. 

"It is from a lady, " he admitted. "But a bit of badinage, I assure you, nothing more!"

"Understood!" M. De Nancay murmured politely. "I congratulate you. "

"But--"

"I say I congratulate you!"

"But it is nothing. "

"Oh, I understand. And see, the King is about to rise. Go forward, Monsieur, " he continued benevolently. "A young man should show himself. Besides, his Majesty likes you well, " he added, with a leer. He had anunpleasant sense of humour, had his Majesty's Captain of the Guard; andthis evening somewhat more than ordinary on which to exercise it. 

Tignonville held too good an opinion of himself to suspect the other ofbadinage; and thus encouraged, he pushed his way to the front of thecircle. During his absence with his betrothed, the crowd in the Chamberhad grown thin, the candles had burned an inch shorter in the sconces. But though many who had been there had left, the more select remained, and the King's return to his seat had given the company a fillip. An airof feverish gaiety, common in the unhealthy life of the Court, prevailed. At a table abreast of the King, Montpensier and Marshal Cosse were dicingand disputing, with now a yell of glee, and now an oath, that betrayedwhich way fortune inclined. At the back of the King's chair, Chicot, hisgentleman-jester, hung over Charles's shoulder, now scanning his cards, and now making hideous faces that threw the on-lookers into fits oflaughter. Farther up the Chamber, at the end of the alcove, MarshalTavannes--our Hannibal's brother--occupied a low stool, which was setopposite the open door of the closet. Through this doorway a slenderfoot, silk-clad, shot now and again into sight; it came, it vanished, itcame again, the gallant Marshal striving at each appearance to rob it ofits slipper, a dainty jewelled thing of crimson velvet. He failedthrice, a peal of laughter greeting each failure. At the fourth essay, he upset his stool and fell to the floor, but held the slipper. And notthe slipper only, but the foot. Amid a flutter of silken skirts anddainty laces--while the hidden beauty shrilly protested--he dragged firstthe ankle, and then a shapely leg into sight. The circle applauded; thelady, feeling herself still drawn on, screamed loudly and more loudly. All save the King and his opponent turned to look. And then the sportcame to a sudden end. A sinewy hand appeared, interposed, released; foran instant the dark, handsome face of Guise looked through the doorway. It was gone as soon as seen; it was there a second only. But more thanone recognised it, and wondered. For was not the young Duke in evilodour with the King by reason of the attack on the Admiral? And had henot been chased from Paris only that morning and forbidden to return?

They were still wondering, still gazing, when abruptly--as he did allthings--Charles thrust back his chair. 

"Foucauld, you owe me ten pieces!" he cried with glee, and he slapped thetable. "Pay, my friend; pay!"

"To-morrow, little master; to-morrow!" Rochefoucauld answered in the sametone. And he rose to his feet. 

"To-morrow!" Charles repeated. "To-morrow?" And on the word his jawfell. He looked wildly round. His face was ghastly. 

"Well, sire, and why not?" Rochefoucauld answered in astonishment. Andin his turn he looked round, wondering; and a chill fell on him. "Whynot?" he repeated. 

For a moment no one answered him: the silence in the Chamber was intense. Where he looked, wherever he looked, he met solemn, wondering eyes, sucheyes as gaze on men in their coffins. 

"What has come to you all?" he cried, with an effort. "What is the jest, for faith, sire, I don't see it?"

The King seemed incapable of speech, and it was Chicot who filled thegap. 

"It is pretty apparent, " he said, with a rude laugh. "The cock will layand Foucauld will pay--to-morrow!"

The young nobleman's colour rose; between him and the Gascon gentlemanwas no love lost. 

"There are some debts I pay to-day, " he cried haughtily. "For the rest, farewell my little master! When one does not understand the jest it istime to be gone. "

He was halfway to the door, watched by all, when the King spoke. 

"Foucauld!" he cried, in an odd, strangled voice. "Foucauld!" And theHuguenot favourite turned back, wondering. "One minute!" the Kingcontinued, in the same forced voice. "Stay till morning--in my closet. It is late now. We'll play away the rest of the night!"

"Your Majesty must excuse me, " Rochefoucauld answered frankly. "I amdead asleep. "

"You can sleep in the Garde-Robe, " the King persisted. 

"Thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay answer. "I know that bed! Ishall sleep longer and better in my own. "

The King shuddered, but strove to hide the movement under a shrug of hisshoulders. He turned away. 

"It is God's will!" he muttered. He was white to the lips. 

Rochefoucauld did not catch the words. "Good night, sire, " he cried. "Farewell, little master. " And with a nod here and there, he passed tothe door, followed by Mergey and Chamont, two gentlemen of his suite. 

Nancay raised the curtain with an obsequious gesture. "Pardon me, M. LeComte, " he said, "do you go to his Highness's?"

"For a few minutes, Nancay. "

"Permit me to go with you. The guards may be set. "

"Do so, my friend, " Rochefoucauld answered. "Ah, Tignonville, is ityou?"

"I am come to attend you to your lodging, " the young man said. And heranged up beside the other, as, the curtain fallen behind them, theywalked along the gallery. 

Rochefoucauld stopped and laid his hand on Tignonville's sleeve. 

"Thanks, dear lad, " he said, "but I am going to the Princess Dowager's. Afterwards to his Highness's. I may be detained an hour or more. Youwill not like to wait so long. "

M. De Tignonville's face fell ludicrously. "Well, no, " he said. "I--Idon't think I could wait so long--to-night. "

"Then come to-morrow night, " Rochefoucauld answered, with good nature. 

"With pleasure, " the other cried heartily, his relief evident. "Certainly. With pleasure. " And, nodding good night, they parted. 

While Rochefoucauld, with Nancay at his side and his gentlemen attendinghim, passed along the echoing and now empty gallery, the younger manbounded down the stairs to the great hall of the Caryatides, his faceradiant. He for one was not sleepy. 

CHAPTER III. THE HOUSE NEXT THE GOLDEN MAID. 

We have it on record that before the Comte de la Rochefoucauld left theLouvre that night he received the strongest hints of the peril whichthreatened him; and at least one written warning was handed to him by astranger in black, and by him in turn was communicated to the King ofNavarre. We are told further that when he took his final leave, aboutthe hour of eleven, he found the courtyard brilliantly lighted, and thethree companies of guards--Swiss, Scotch, and French--drawn up in rankedarray from the door of the great hall to the gate which opened on thestreet. But, the chronicler adds, neither this precaution, sinister asit appeared to some of his suite, nor the grave farewell whichRambouillet, from his post at the gate, took of one of his gentlemen, shook that chivalrous soul or sapped its generous confidence. 

M. De Tignonville was young and less versed in danger than the Governorof Rochelle; with him, had he seen so much, it might have been different. But he left the Louvre an hour earlier--at a time when the precincts ofthe palace, gloomy-seeming to us in the light cast by coming events, woretheir wonted aspect. His thoughts, moreover, as he crossed thecourtyard, were otherwise employed. So much so, indeed, that though hesigned to his two servants to follow him, he seemed barely conscious whathe was doing; nor did he shake off his reverie until he reached thecorner of the Rue Baillet. Here the voices of the Swiss who stood onguard opposite Coligny's lodgings, at the end of the Rue Bethizy, couldbe plainly heard. They had kindled a fire in an iron basket set in themiddle of the road, and knots of them were visible in the distance, moving to and fro about their piled arms. 

Tignonville paused before he came within the radius of the firelight, and, turning, bade his servants take their way home. "I shall follow, but I have business first, " he added curtly. 

The elder of the two demurred. "The streets are not too safe, " he said. "In two hours or less, my lord, it will be midnight. And then--"

"Go, booby; do you think I am a child?" his master retorted angrily. "I've my sword and can use it. I shall not be long. And do you hear, men, keep a still tongue, will you?"

The men, country fellows, obeyed reluctantly, and with a full intentionof sneaking after him the moment he had turned his back. But hesuspected them of this, and stood where he was until they had passed thefire, and could no longer detect his movements. Then he plunged quicklyinto the Rue Baillet, gained through it the Rue du Roule, and traversingthat also, turned to the right into the Rue Ferronerie, the mainthoroughfare, east and west, of Paris. Here he halted in front of thelong, dark outer wall of the Cemetery of the Innocents, in which, acrossthe tombstones and among the sepulchres of dead Paris, the living Parisof that day, bought and sold, walked, gossiped, and made love. 

About him things were to be seen that would have seemed stranger to himhad he been less strange to the city. From the quarter of the marketsnorth of him, a quarter which fenced in the cemetery on two sides, thesame dull murmur proceeded, which Mademoiselle de Vrillac had remarked anhour earlier. The sky above the cemetery glowed with reflected light, the cause of which was not far to seek, for every window of the tallhouses that overlooked it, and the huddle of booths about it, contributeda share of the illumination. At an hour late even for Paris, an hourwhen honest men should have been sunk in slumber, this strange brilliancedid for a moment perplex him; but the past week had been so full offetes, of masques and frolics, often devised on the moment and dependenton the King's whim, that he set this also down to such a cause, andwondered no more. 

The lights in the houses did not serve the purpose he had in his mind, but beside the closed gate of the cemetery, and between two stalls, was avotive lamp burning before an image of the Mother and Child. He crossedto this, and assuring himself by a glance to right and left that he stoodin no danger from prowlers, he drew a note from his breast. It had beenslipped into his hand in the gallery before he saw Mademoiselle to herlodging; it had been in his possession barely an hour. But brief as itscontents were, and easily committed to memory, he had perused it thricealready. 

"At the house next the Golden Maid, Rue Cinq Diamants, an hour beforemidnight, you may find the door open should you desire to talk fartherwith C. St. L. "

As he read it for the fourth time the light of the lamp fell athwart hisface; and even as his fine clothes had never seemed to fit him worse thanwhen he faintly denied the imputations of gallantry launched at him byNancay, so his features had never looked less handsome than they did now. The glow of vanity which warmed his cheek as he read the message, thesmile of conceit which wreathed his lips, bespoke a nature not of themost noble; or the lamp did him less than justice. Presently he kissedthe note, and hid it. He waited until the clock of St. Jacques struckthe hour before midnight; and then moving forward, he turned to the rightby way of the narrow neck leading to the Rue Lombard. He walked in thekennel here, his sword in his hand and his eyes looking to right andleft; for the place was notorious for robberies. But though he saw morethan one figure lurking in a doorway or under the arch that led to apassage, it vanished on his nearer approach. In less than a minute hereached the southern end of the street that bore the odd title of theFive Diamonds. 

Situate in the crowded quarter of the butchers, and almost in the shadowof their famous church, this street--which farther north was continued inthe Rue Quimcampoix--presented in those days a not uncommon mingling ofpoverty and wealth. On one side of the street a row of lofty gabledhouses, built under Francis the First, sheltered persons of goodcondition; on the other, divided from these by the width of the road anda reeking kennel, a row of peat-houses, the hovels of cobblers andsausage-makers, leaned against shapeless timber houses which totteredupwards in a medley of sagging roofs and bulging gutters. Tignonvillewas strange to the place, and nine nights out of ten he would have beenat a disadvantage. But, thanks to the tapers that to-night shone in manywindows, he made out enough to see that he need search only the one side;and with a beating heart he passed along the row of newer houses, lookingeagerly for the sign of the Golden Maid. 

He found it at last; and then for a moment he stood puzzled. The notesaid, next door to the Golden Maid, but it did not say on which side. Hescrutinised the nearer house, but he saw nothing to determine him; and hewas proceeding to the farther, when he caught sight of two men, who, ambushed behind a horse-block on the opposite side of the roadway, seemedto be watching his movements. Their presence flurried him; but much tohis relief his next glance at the houses showed him that the door of thefarther one was unlatched. It stood slightly ajar, permitting a beam oflight to escape into the street. 

He stepped quickly to it--the sooner he was within the house thebetter--pushed the door open and entered. As soon as he was inside hetried to close the entrance behind him, but he found he could not; thedoor would not shut. After a brief trial he abandoned the attempt andpassed quickly on, through a bare lighted passage which led to the footof a staircase, equally bare. He stood at this point an instant andlistened, in the hope that Madame's maid would come to him. At first heheard nothing save his own breathing; then a gruff voice from abovestartled him. 

"This way, Monsieur, " it said. "You are early, but not too soon!"

So Madame trusted her footman! M. De Tignonville shrugged his shoulders;but after all, it was no affair of his, and he went up. Halfway to thetop, however, he stood, an oath on his lips. Two men had entered by theopen door below--even as he had entered! And as quietly!

The imprudence of it! The imprudence of leaving the door so that itcould not be closed! He turned, and descended to meet them, his teethset, his hand on his sword, one conjecture after another whirling in hisbrain. Was he beset? Was it a trap? Was it a rival? Was it chance?Two steps he descended; and then the voice he had heard before criedagain, but more imperatively--

"No, Monsieur, this way! Did you not hear me? This way, and be quick, if you please. By-and-by there will be a crowd, and then the more wehave dealt with the better!"

He knew now that he had made a mistake, that he had entered the wronghouse; and naturally his impulse was to continue his descent and securehis retreat. But the pause had brought the two men who had entered faceto face with him, and they showed no signs of giving way. On thecontrary. 

"The room is above, Monsieur, " the foremost said, in a matter-of-facttone, and with a slight salutation. "After you, if you please, " and hesigned to him to return. 

He was a burly man, grim and truculent in appearance, and his followerwas like him. Tignonville hesitated, then turned and ascended. But assoon as he had reached the landing where they could pass him, he turnedagain. 

"I have made a mistake, I think, " he said. "I have entered the wronghouse. "

"Are you for the house next the Golden Maid, Monsieur?"

"Yes. "

"Rue Cinq Diamants, Quarter of the Boucherie?"

"Yes. "

"No mistake, then, " the stout man replied firmly. "You are early, thatis all. You have arms, I see. Maillard!"--to the person whose voiceTignonville had heard at the head of the stairs--"A white sleeve, and across for Monsieur's hat, and his name on the register. Come, make abeginning! Make a beginning, man. "

"To be sure, Monsieur. All is ready. "

"Then lose no time, I say. Here are others, also early in the goodcause. Gentlemen, welcome! Welcome all who are for the true faith!Death to the heretics! 'Kill, and no quarter!' is the word to-night!"

"Death to the heretics!" the last comers cried in chorus. "Kill and noquarter! At what hour, M. Le Prevot?"

"At daybreak, " the Provost answered importantly. "But have no fear, thetocsin will sound. The King and our good man M. De Guise have all inhand. A white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall rid Parisof the vermin! Gentlemen of the quarter, the word of the night is 'Kill, and no quarter! Death to the Huguenots!'"

"Death! Death to the Huguenots! Kill, and no quarter!" A dozen--theroom was beginning to fill--waved their weapons and echoed the cry. 

Tignonville had been fortunate enough to apprehend the position--and theperil in which he stood--before Maillard advanced to him bearing a whitelinen sleeve. In the instant of discovery his heart had stood a moment, the blood had left his cheeks; but with some faults, he was no coward, and he managed to hide his emotion. He held out his left arm, andsuffered the beadle to pass the sleeve over it and to secure the whitelinen above the elbow. Then at a gesture he gave up his velvet cap, andsaw it decorated with a white cross of the same material. 

"Now the register, Monsieur, " Maillard continued briskly; and waving himin the direction of a clerk, who sat at the end of the long table, havinga book and a ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer. 

Tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of the register, but theclerk's eye was on him. He had been fortunate so far, but he knew thatthe least breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summoning his witstogether he gave his name in a steady voice. "Anne Desmartins. " It washis mother's maiden name, and the first that came into his mind. 

"Of Paris?"

"Recently; by birth, of the Limousin. "

"Good, Monsieur, " the clerk answered, writing in the name. And he turnedto the next. "And you, my friend?"

CHAPTER IV. THE EVE OF THE FEAST. 

It was Tignonville's salvation that the men who crowded the long white-walled room, and exchanged vile boasts under the naked flaring lights, were of all classes. There were butchers, natives of the surroundingquarter whom the scent of blood had drawn from their lairs; and therewere priests with hatchet faces, who whispered in the butchers' ears. There were gentlemen of the robe, and plain mechanics, rich merchants intheir gowns, and bare-armed ragpickers, sleek choristers, and shabby led-captains; but differ as they might in other points, in one thing all werealike. From all, gentle or simple, rose the same cry for blood, the sameaspiration to be first equipped for the fray. In one corner a man ofrank stood silent and apart, his hand on his sword, the working of hisface alone betraying the storm that reigned within. In another, a Normanhorse-dealer talked in low whispers with two thieves. In a third, a gold-wire drawer addressed an admiring group from the Sorbonne; and meantimethe middle of the floor grew into a seething mass of muttering, scowlingmen, through whom the last comers, thrust as they might, had much ado toforce their way. 

And from all under the low ceiling rose a ceaseless hum, though nonespoke loud. "Kill! kill! kill!" was the burden; the accompaniment suchprofanities and blasphemies as had long disgraced the Paris pulpits, andday by day had fanned the bigotry--already at a white heat--of theParisian populace. Tignonville turned sick as he listened, and wouldfain have closed his ears. But for his life he dared not. And presentlya cripple in a beggar's garb, a dwarfish, filthy creature with mattedhair, twitched his sleeve, and offered him a whetstone. 

"Are you sharp, noble sir?" he asked, with a leer. "Are you sharp? It'ssurprising how the edge goes on the bone. A cut and thrust? Well, everyman to his taste. But give me a broad butcher's knife and I'll ask nohelp, be it man, woman, or child!"

A bystander, a lean man in rusty black, chuckled as he listened. 

"But the woman or the child for choice, eh, Jehan?" he said. And helooked to Tignonville to join in the jest. 

"Ay, give me a white throat for choice!" the cripple answered, withhorrible zest. "And there'll be delicate necks to prick to-night! Lord, I think I hear them squeal! You don't need it, sir?" he continued, againproffering the whetstone. "No? Then I'll give my blade another whet, inthe name of our Lady, the Saints, and good Father Pezelay!"

"Ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon. "MayI die if I do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of my hands!"

"And toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone. "And toeof my feet! A full score!"

"'Tis according to your sins!" the other, who had something of the air ofa Churchman, answered. "The more heretics killed, the more sinsforgiven. Remember that, brother, and spare not if your soul beburdened! They blaspheme God and call Him paste! In the paste of theirown blood, " he continued ferociously, "I will knead them and roll themout, saith the good Father Pezelay, my master!"

The cripple crossed himself. "Whom God keep, " he said. "He is a goodman. But you are looking ill, noble sir?" he continued, peeringcuriously at the young Huguenot. 

"'Tis the heat, " Tignonville muttered. "The night is stifling, and thelights make it worse. I will go nearer the door. "

He hoped to escape them; he had some hope even of escaping from the roomand giving the alarm. But when he had forced his way to the threshold, he found it guarded by two pikemen; and glancing back to see if hismovements were observed--for he knew that his agitation might haveawakened suspicion--he found that the taller of the two whom he had left, the black-garbed man with the hungry face, was watching him a-tiptoe, over the shoulders of the crowd. 

With that, and the sense of his impotence, the lights began to swimbefore his eyes. The catastrophe that overhung his party, the fate sotreacherously prepared for all whom he loved and all with whom hisfortunes were bound up, confused his brain almost to delirium. He stroveto think, to calculate chances, to imagine some way in which he mightescape from the room, or from a window might cry the alarm. But he couldnot bring his mind to a point. Instead, in lightning flashes he foresawwhat must happen: his betrothed in the hands of the murderers; the fairface that had smiled on him frozen with terror; brave men, the fightersof Montauban, the defenders of Angely, strewn dead through the dark lanesof the city. And now a gust of passion, and now a shudder of fear, seized him; and in any other assembly his agitation must have led todetection. But in that room were many twitching faces and tremblinghands. Murder, cruel, midnight, and most foul, wrung even from themurderers her toll of horror. While some, to hide the nervousness theyfelt, babbled of what they would do, others betrayed by the intentnesswith which they awaited the signal, the dreadful anticipations thatpossessed their souls. 

Before he had formed any plan, a movement took place near the door. Thestairs shook beneath the sudden trampling of feet, a voice cried "De parle Roi! De par le Roi!" and the babel of the room died down. The throngswayed and fell back on either hand, and Marshal Tavannes entered, wearing half armour, with a white sash; he was followed by six or eightgentlemen in like guise. Amid cries of "Jarnac! Jarnac!"--for to himthe credit of that famous fight, nominally won by the King's brother, waspopularly given--he advanced up the room, met the Provost of themerchants, and began to confer with him. Apparently he asked the latterto select some men who could be trusted on a special mission, for theProvost looked round and beckoned to his side one or two of higher rankthan the herd, and then one or two of the most truculent aspect. 

Tignonville trembled lest he should be singled out. He had hiddenhimself as well as he could at the rear of the crowd by the door; but hisdress, so much above the common, rendered him conspicuous. He fanciedthat the Provost's eye ranged the crowd for him; and to avoid it andefface himself he moved a pace to his left. 

The step was fatal. It saved him from the Provost, but it brought himface to face and eye to eye with Count Hannibal, who stood in the firstrank at his brother's elbow. Tavannes stared an instant as if he doubtedhis eyesight. Then, as doubt gave slow place to certainty, and surpriseto amazement, he smiled. And after a moment he looked another way. 

Tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed to stand still. Thelights whirled before his eyes, there was a roaring in his ears. Hewaited for the word that should denounce him. It did not come. Andstill it did not come; and Marshal Tavannes was turning. Yes, turning, and going; the Provost, bowing low, was attending him to the door; hissuite were opening on either side to let him pass. And Count Hannibal?Count Hannibal was following also, as if nothing had occurred. As if hehad seen nothing!

The young man caught his breath. Was it possible that he had imaginedthe start of recognition, the steady scrutiny, the sinister smile? No;for as Tavannes followed the others, he hung an instant on his heel, their eyes met again, and once more he smiled. In the next breath he wasgone through the doorway, his spurs rang on the stairs; and the babel ofthe crowd, checked by the great man's presence, broke out anew, andlouder. 

Tignonville shuddered. He was saved as by a miracle; saved, he did notknow how. But the respite, though its strangeness diverted his thoughtsfor a while, brought short relief. The horrors which impended overothers surged afresh into his mind, and filled him with a maddening senseof impotence. To be one hour, only one short half-hour without! To runthrough the sleeping streets, and scream in the dull ears which a King'sflatteries had stopped as with wool! To go up and down and shake intolife the guests whose royal lodgings daybreak would turn to a shamblesreeking with their blood! They slept, the gentle Teligny, the bravePardaillan, the gallant Rochefoucauld, Piles the hero of St. Jean, whilethe cruel city stirred rustling about them, and doom crept whispering tothe door. They slept, they and a thousand others, gentle and simple, young and old; while the half-mad Valois shifted between two opinions, and the Italian woman, accursed daughter of an accursed race, cried, "Hark!" at her window, and looked eastwards for the dawn. 

And the women? The woman he was to marry? And the others? In an accessof passion he thrust aside those who stood between, he pushed his way, disregarding complaints, disregarding opposition, to the door. But thepikes lay across it, and he could not utter a syllable to save his life. He would have flung himself on the doorkeepers, for he was losing controlof himself; but as he drew back for the spring, a hand clutched hissleeve, and a voice he loathed hummed in his ear. 

"No, fair play, noble sir; fair play!" the cripple Jehan muttered, forcibly drawing him aside. "All start together, and it's no man's loss. But if there is any little business, " he continued, lowering his tone andpeering with a cunning look into the other's face, "of your own, noblesir, or your friends', anything or anybody you want despatched, count onme. It were better, perhaps, you didn't appear in it yourself, and a manyou can trust--"

"What do you mean?" the young man cried, recoiling from him. 

"No need to look surprised, noble sir, " the lean man, who had joinedthem, answered in a soothing tone. "Who kills to-night does God service, and who serves God much may serve himself a little. 'Thou shalt notmuzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn, ' says good Father Pezelay. "

"Hear, hear!" the cripple chimed in eagerly, his impatience such that hedanced on his toes. "He preaches as well as the good father his master!So frankly, noble sir, what is it? What is it? A woman grown ugly? Arich man grown old, with perchance a will in his chest? Or a young heirthat stands in my lord's way? Whichever it be, or whatever it be, trustme and our friend here, and my butcher's gully shall cut the knot. "

Tignonville shook his head. 

"But something there is, " the lean man persisted obstinately; and he casta suspicious glance at Tignonville's clothes. It was evident that thetwo had discussed him, and the motives of his presence there. "Have thedice proved fickle, my lord, and are you for the jewellers' shops on thebridge to fill your purse again? If so, take my word, it were better togo three than one, and we'll enlist. "

"Ay, we know shops on the bridge where you can plunge your arm elbow-deepin gold, " the cripple muttered, his eyes sparkling greedily. "There'sBaillet's, noble sir! There's a shop for you! And there's the man'sshop who works for the King. He's lame like me. And I know the way toall. Oh, it will be a merry night if they ring before the dawn. It mustbe near daybreak now. And what's that?"

Ay, what was it? A score of voices called for silence; a breathless hushfell on the crowd. A moment the fiercest listened, with parted lips andstarting eyes. Then, "It was the bell!" cried one, "let us out!" "Itwas not!" cried another. "It was a pistol shot!" "Anyhow let us out!"the crowd roared in chorus; "let us out!" And they pressed in a furiousmass towards the door, as if they would force it, signal or no signal. 

But the pikemen stood fast, and the throng, checked in their first rush, turned on one another, and broke into wrangling and disputing; boasting, and calling Heaven and the saints to witness how thoroughly, howpitilessly, how remorselessly they would purge Paris of this leprosy whenthe signal did sound. Until again above the babel a man cried "Silence!"and again they listened. And this time, dulled by walls and distance, but unmistakable by the ears of fear or hate, the heavy note of a bellcame to them on the hot night air. It was the boom, sullen and menacing, of the death signal. 

The doorkeepers lowered their pikes, and with a wild rush, as of wolvesswarming on their prey, the band stormed the door, and thrust andstruggled and battled a way down the narrow staircase, and along thenarrow passage. "A bas les Huguenots! Mort aux Huguenots!" theyshouted; and shrieking, sweating, spurning with vile hands, viler faces, they poured pell-mell into the street, and added their clamour to theboom of the tocsin that, as by magic and in a moment, turned the streetsof Paris into a hell of blood and cruelty. For as it was here, so it wasin a dozen other quarters. 

Quickly as they streamed out--and to have issued more quickly would havebeen impossible--fiercely as they pushed and fought and clove their way, Tignonville was of the foremost. And for a moment, seeing the streetclear before him and almost empty, the Huguenot thought that he might dosomething. He might outstrip the stream of rapine, he might carry thealarm; at worst he might reach his betrothed before harm befell her. Butwhen he had sped fifty yards, his heart sank. True, none passed him; butunder the spell of the alarm-bell the stones themselves seemed to turn tomen. Houses, courts, alleys, the very churches vomited men. In atwinkling the street was alive with men, roared with them as with arushing tide, gleamed with their lights and weapons, thundered with thevolume of their thousand voices. He was no longer ahead, men wererunning before him, behind him, on his right hand and on his left. Inevery side-street, every passage, men were running; and not men only, butwomen, children, furious creatures without age or sex. And all the timethe bell tolled overhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder andlouder; and shots and screams, and the clash of arms, and the fall ofstrong doors began to swell the maelstrom of sound. 

He was in the Rue St. Honore now, and speeding westward. But the floodstill rose with him, and roared abreast of him. Nay, it outstripped him. When he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but a hundredpaces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass of people movingslowly to meet him. In the heart of the press the light of a dozentorches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed; whose eyes, asthey moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of the rabble about them, never left the gabled roofs on their right. On these from time to time awhite-clad figure showed itself, and passed from chimney-stack to chimney-stack, or, stooping low, ran along the parapet. Every time that thishappened, the men on horseback pointed upwards and the mob foamed withrage. 

Tignonville groaned, but he could not help. Unable to go forward, heturned, and with others hurrying, shouting, and brandishing weapons, hepressed into the Rue du Roule, passed through it, and gained the Bethizy. But here, as he might have foreseen, all passage was barred at the HotelPonthieu by a horde of savages, who danced and yelled and sang songsround the Admiral's body, which lay in the middle of the way; while toright and left men were bursting into houses and forcing new victims intothe street. The worst had happened there, and he turned panting, regained the Rue St. Honore, and, crossing it and turning left-handed, darted through side streets until he came again into the mainthoroughfare a little beyond the Croix du Tiroir, that marked the cornerof Mademoiselle's house. 

Here his last hope left him. The street swarmed with bands of menhurrying to and fro as in a sacked city. The scum of the Halles, therabble of the quarter poured this way and that, here at random, thereswayed and directed by a few knots of men-at-arms, whose corseletsreflected the glare of a hundred torches. At one time and within sight, three or four houses were being stormed. On every side roseheart-rending cries, mingled with brutal laughter, with savage jests, with cries of "To the river!" The most cruel of cities had burst itsbounds and was not to be stayed; nor would be stayed until the Seine ranred to the sea, and leagues below, in pleasant Normandy hamlets, men, forfear of the pestilence, pushed the corpses from the bridges with polesand boat-hooks. 

All this Tignonville saw, though his eyes, leaping the turmoil, lookedonly to the door at which he had left Mademoiselle a few hours earlier. There a crowd of men pressed and struggled; but from the spot where hestood he could see no more. That was enough, however. Rage nerved him, and despair; his world was dying round him. If he could not save her hewould avenge her. Recklessly he plunged into the tumult; blade in hand, with vigorous blows he thrust his way through, his white sleeve and thewhite cross in his hat gaining him passage until he reached the fringe ofthe band who beset the door. Here his first attempt to pass failed; andhe might have remained hampered by the crowd, if a squad of archers hadnot ridden up. As they spurred to the spot, heedless over whom theyrode, he clutched a stirrup, and was borne with them into the heart ofthe crowd. In a twinkling he stood on the threshold of the house, faceto face and foot to foot with Count Hannibal, who stood also on thethreshold, but with his back to the door, which, unbarred and unbolted, gaped open behind him. 

CHAPTER V. ROUGH WOOING. 

The young man had caught the delirium that was abroad that night. Therage of the trapped beast was in his heart, his hand held a sword. Tostrike blindly, to strike without question the first who withstood himwas the wild-beast instinct; and if Count Hannibal had not spoken on theinstant, the Marshal's brother had said his last word in the world. 

Yet as he stood there, a head above the crowd, he seemed unconsciousalike of Tignonville and the point that all but pricked his breast. Swartand grim-visaged, his harsh features distorted by the glare which shoneupon him, he looked beyond the Huguenot to the sea of tossing arms andraging faces that surged about the saddles of the horsemen. It was tothese he spoke. 

"Begone, dogs!" he cried, in a voice that startled the nearest, "or Iwill whip you away with my stirrup-leathers! Do you hear? Begone! Thishouse is not for you! Burn, kill, plunder where you will, but go hence!"

"But 'tis on the list!" one of the wretches yelled. "'Tis on the list!"And he pushed forward until he stood at Tignonville's elbow. 

"And has no cross!" shrieked another, thrusting himself forward in histurn. "See you, let us by, whoever you are! In the King's name, kill!It has no cross!"

"Then, " Tavannes thundered, "will I nail you for a cross to the front ofit! No cross, say you? I will make one of you, foul crow!"

And as he spoke, his arm shot out; the man recoiled, his fellow likewise. But one of the mounted archers took up the matter. 

"Nay, but, my lord, " he said--he knew Tavannes--"it is the King's willthere be no favour shown to-night to any, small or great. And this houseis registered, and is full of heretics. "

"And has no cross!" the rabble urged in chorus. And they leapt up anddown in their impatience, and to see the better. "And has no cross!"they persisted. They could understand that. Of what use crosses, ifthey were not to kill where there was no cross? Daylight was notplainer. Tavannes' face grew dark, and he shook his finger at the archerwho had spoken. 

"Rogue, " he cried, "does the King's will run here only? Are there noother houses to sack or men to kill, that you must beard me? And favour?You will have little of mine, if you do not budge and take your vile tailwith you! Off! Or must I cry 'Tavannes!' and bid my people sweep youfrom the streets?"

The foremost rank hesitated, awed by his manner and his name; while therearmost, attracted by the prospect of easier pillage, had gone offalready. The rest wavered; and another and another broke away. Thearcher who had put himself forward saw which way the wind was blowing, and he shrugged his shoulders. 

"Well, my lord, as you will, " he said sullenly. "All the same I wouldadvise you to close the door and bolt and bar. We shall not be the lastto call to-day. " And he turned his horse in ill-humour, and forced it, snorting and plunging, through the crowd. 

"Bolt and bar?" Tavannes cried after him in fury. "See you my answer tothat!" And turning on the threshold, "Within there!" he cried. "Openthe shutters and set lights, and the table! Light, I say; light! Andlay on quickly, if you value your lives! And throw open, for I sup withyour mistress to-night, if it rain blood without! Do you hear me, rogues? Set on!"

He flung the last word at the quaking servants; then he turned again tothe street. He saw that the crowd was melting, and, looking inTignonville's face, he laughed aloud. 

"Does Monsieur sup with us?" he said. "To complete the party? Or willhe choose to sup with our friends yonder? It is for him to say. Iconfess, for my part, " with an awful smile, "their hospitality seems atrifle crude, and boisterous. "

Tignonville looked behind him and shuddered. The same horde which had solately pressed about the door had found a victim lower down the street, and, as Tavannes spoke, came driving back along the roadway, a mass oftossing lights and leaping, running figures, from the heart of which rosethe screams of a creature in torture. So terrible were the sounds thatTignonville leant half swooning against the door-post; and even the ironheart of Tavannes seemed moved for a moment. 

For a moment only: then he looked at his companion, and his lip curled. 

"You'll join us, I think?" he said, with an undisguised sneer. "Then, after you, Monsieur. They are opening the shutters. Doubtless the tableis laid, and Mademoiselle is expecting us. After you, Monsieur, if youplease. A few hours ago I should have gone first, for you, in thishouse"--with a sinister smile--"were at home! Now, we have changedplaces. "

Whatever he meant by the gibe--and some smack of an evil jest lurked inhis tone--he played the host so far as to urge his bewildered companionalong the passage and into the living-chamber on the left, where he hadseen from without that his orders to light and lay were being executed. Adozen candles shone on the board, and lit up the apartment. What thehouse contained of food and wine had been got together and set on thetable; from the low, wide window, beetle-browed and diamond-paned, whichextended the whole length of the room and looked on the street at theheight of a man's head above the roadway, the shutters had beenremoved--doubtless by trembling and reluctant fingers. To such eyes ofpassers-by as looked in, from the inferno of driving crowds and gleamingweapons which prevailed outside--and not outside only, but throughoutParis--the brilliant room and the laid table must have seemed strangeindeed!

To Tignonville, all that had happened, all that was happening, seemed adream: a dream his entrance under the gentle impulsion of this man whodominated him; a dream Mademoiselle standing behind the table withblanched face and stony eyes; a dream the cowering servants huddled in acorner beyond her; a dream his silence, her silence, the moment ofwaiting before Count Hannibal spoke. 

When he did speak it was to count the servants. "One, two, three, four, five, " he said. "And two of them women. Mademoiselle is but poorlyattended. Are there not"--and he turned to her--"some lacking?"

The girl opened her lips twice, but no sound issued. The third time--

"Two went out, " she muttered in a hoarse, strangled voice, "and have notreturned. "

"And have not returned?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. "Then I fearwe must not wait for them. We might wait long!" And turning sharply tothe panic-stricken servants, "Go you to your places! Do you not see thatMademoiselle waits to be served?"

The girl shuddered and spoke. 

"Do you wish me, " she muttered, in the same strangled tone, "to play thisfarce--to the end?"

"The end may be better, Mademoiselle, than you think, " he answered, bowing. And then to the miserable servants, who hung back afraid toleave the shelter of their mistress's skirts, "To your places!" he cried. "Set Mademoiselle's chair. Are you so remiss on other days? If so, "with a look of terrible meaning, "you will be the less loss! Now, Mademoiselle, may I have the honour? And when we are at table we cantalk. "

He extended his hand, and, obedient to his gesture, she moved to theplace at the head of the table, but without letting her fingers come intocontact with his. He gave no sign that he noticed this, but he strode tothe place on her right, and signed to Tignonville to take that on herleft. 

"Will you not be seated?" he continued. For she kept her feet. 

She turned her head stiffly, until for the first time her eyes lookedinto his. A shudder more violent than the last shook her. 

"Had you not better--kill us at once?" she whispered. The blood hadforsaken even her lips. Her face was the face of a statue--white, beautiful, lifeless. 

"I think not, " he said gravely. "Be seated, and let us hope for thebest. And you, sir, " he continued, turning to Carlat, "serve yourmistress with wine. She needs it. "

The steward filled for her, and then for each of the men, his shakinghand spilling as much as it poured. Nor was this strange. Above the dinand uproar of the street, above the crash of distant doors, above thetocsin that still rang from the reeling steeple of St. Germain's, thegreat bell of the Palais on the island had just begun to hurl its note ofdoom upon the town. A woman crouching at the end of the chamber burstinto hysterical weeping, but, at a glance from Tavannes' terrible eye, was mute again. 

Tignonville found voice at last. "Have they--killed the Admiral?" hemuttered, his eyes on the table. 

"M. Coligny? An hour ago. "

"And Teligny?"

"Him also. "

"M. De Rochefoucauld?"

"They are dealing with M. Le Comte now, I believe, " Tavannes answered. "He had his chance and cast it away. " And he began to eat. 

The man at the table shuddered. The woman continued to look before her, but her lips moved as if she prayed. Suddenly a rush of feet, a roar ofvoices surged past the window; for a moment the glare of the torches, which danced ruddily on the walls of the room, showed a severed headborne above the multitude on a pike. Mademoiselle, with a low cry, madean effort to rise, but Count Hannibal grasped her wrist, and she sankback half fainting. Then the nearer clamour sank a little, and thebells, unchallenged, flung their iron tongues above the maddened city. Inthe east the dawn was growing; soon its grey light would fall on coldhearths, on battered doors and shattered weapons, on hordes of wretchesdrunk with greed and hate. 

When he could be heard, "What are you going to do with us?" the man askedhoarsely. 

"That depends, " Count Hannibal replied, after a moment's thought. 

"On what?"

"On Mademoiselle de Vrillac. "

The other's eyes gleamed with passion. He leaned forward. 

"What has she to do with it?" he cried. And he stood up and sat downagain in a breath. 

Tavannes raised his eyebrows with a blandness that seemed at odds withhis harsh visage. 

"I will answer that question by another question, " he replied. "How manyare there in the house, my friend?"

"You can count. "

Tavannes counted again. "Seven?" he said. Tignonville noddedimpatiently. 

"Seven lives?"

"Well?"

"Well, Monsieur, you know the King's will?"

"I can guess it, " the other replied furiously. And he cursed the King, and the King's mother, calling her Jezebel. 

"You can guess it?" Tavannes answered; and then with sudden heat, as ifthat which he had to say could not be said even by him in cold blood, "Nay, you know it! You heard it from the archer at the door. You heardhim say, 'No favour, no quarter for man, for woman, or for child. Sosays the King. ' You heard it, but you fence with me. Foucauld, withwhom his Majesty played to-night, hand to hand and face to face--Foucauldis dead! And you think to live? You?" he continued, lashing himselfinto passion. "I know not by what chance you came where I saw you anhour gone, nor by what chance you came by that and that"--pointing withaccusing finger to the badges the Huguenot wore. "But this I know! Ihave but to cry your name from yonder casement, nay, Monsieur, I have butto stand aside when the mob go their rounds from house to house, as theywill go presently, and you will perish as certainly as you have hithertoescaped!"

For the second time Mademoiselle turned and looked at him. 

"Then, " she whispered, with white lips, "to what end this--mockery?"

"To the end that seven lives may be saved, Mademoiselle, " he answered, bowing. 

"At a price?" she muttered. 

"At a price, " he answered. "A price which women do not find it hard topay--at Court. 'Tis paid every day for pleasure or a whim, for rank orthe _entree_, for robes and gewgaws. Few, Mademoiselle, are privilegedto buy a life; still fewer, seven!"

She began to tremble. "I would rather die--seven times!" she cried, hervoice quivering. And she tried to rise, but sat down again. 

"And these?" he said, indicating the servants. 

"Far, far rather!" she repeated passionately. 

"And Monsieur? And Monsieur?" he urged with stern persistence, while hiseyes passed lightly from her to Tignonville and back to her again, theirdepths inscrutable. "If you love Monsieur, Mademoiselle, and I believeyou do--"

"I can die with him!" she cried. 

"And he with you?"

She writhed in her chair. 

"And he with you?" Count Hannibal repeated, with emphasis; and he thrustforward his head. "For that is the question. Think, think, Mademoiselle. It is in my power to save from death him whom you love; tosave you; to save this _canaille_, if it so please you. It is in mypower to save him, to save you, to save all; and I will save all--at aprice! If, on the other hand, you deny me that price, I will ascertainly leave all to perish, as perish they will, before the sun thatis now rising sets to-night!"

Mademoiselle looked straight before her, the flicker of a dreadfulprescience in her eyes. 

"And the price?" she muttered. "The price?"

"You, Mademoiselle. "

"I?"

"Yes, you! Nay, why fence with me?" he continued gently. "You knew it, you have said it. You have read it in my eyes these seven days. "

She did not speak, or move, or seem to breathe. As he said, she hadforeseen, she had known the answer. But Tignonville, it seemed, had not. He sprang to his feet. 

"M. De Tavannes, " he cried, "you are a villain!"

"Monsieur?"

"You are a villain! But you shall pay for this!" the young man continuedvehemently. "You shall not leave this room alive! You shall pay forthis insult!"

"Insult?" Tavannes answered in apparent surprise; and then, as ifcomprehension broke upon him, "Ah! Monsieur mistakes me, " he said, with abroad sweep of the hand. "And Mademoiselle also, perhaps? Oh! becontent, she shall have bell, book, and candle; she shall be tied astight as Holy Church can tie her! Or, if she please, and one survive, she shall have a priest of her own church--you call it a church? Sheshall have whichever of the two will serve her better. 'Tis one to me!But for paying me, Monsieur, " he continued, with irony in voice andmanner; "when, I pray you? In Eternity? For if you refuse my offer, youhave done with time. Now? I have but to sound this whistle"--he toucheda silver whistle which hung at his breast--"and there are those withinhearing will do your business before you make two passes. Dismiss thenotion, sir, and understand. You are in my power. Paris runs withblood, as noble as yours, as innocent as hers. If you would not perishwith the rest, decide! And quickly! For what you have seen are but theforerunners, what you have heard are but the gentle whispers that predictthe gale. Do not parley too long; so long that even I may no longer saveyou. "

"I would rather die!" Mademoiselle moaned, her face covered. "I wouldrather die!"

"And see him die?" he answered quietly. "And see these die? Think, think, child!"

"You will not do it!" she gasped. She shook from head to foot. 

"I shall do nothing, " he answered firmly. "I shall but leave you to yourfate, and these to theirs. In the King's teeth I dare save my wife andher people; but no others. You must choose--and quickly. "

One of the frightened women--it was Mademoiselle's tiring-maid, a girlcalled Javette--made a movement, as if to throw herself at her mistress'sfeet. Tignonville drove her to her place with a word. He turned toCount Hannibal. 

"But, M. Le Comte, " he said, "you must be mad! Mad, to wish to marry herin this way! You do not love her. You do not want her. What is she toyou more than other women?"

"What is she to you more than other women?" Tavannes retorted, in a toneso sharp and incisive that Tignonville started, and a faint touch ofcolour crept into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, theprize of the contest. "What is she more to you than other women? Is shemore? And yet--you want her!"

"She is more to me, " Tignonville answered. 

"Is she?" the other retorted, with a ring of keen meaning. "Is she? Butwe bandy words and the storm is rising, as I warned you it would rise. Enough for you that I _do_ want her. Enough for you that I _will_ haveher. She shall be the wife, the willing wife, of Hannibal de Tavannes--orI leave her to her fate, and you to yours!"

"Ah, God!" she moaned. "The willing wife!"

"Ay, Mademoiselle, the willing wife, " he answered sternly. "Or no man'swife!"

CHAPTER VI. WHO TOUCHES TAVANNES?

In saying that the storm was rising Count Hannibal had said no more thanthe truth. A new mob had a minute before burst from the eastward intothe Rue St. Honore; and the roar of its thousand voices swelled louderthan the importunate clangour of the bells. Behind its moving masses thedawn of a new day--Sunday, the 24th of August, the feast of St. Bartholomew--was breaking over the Bastille, as if to aid the crowd inits cruel work. The gabled streets, the lanes, and gothic courts, thestifling wynds, where the work awaited the workers, still lay intwilight; still the gleam of the torches, falling on the house-fronts, heralded the coming of the crowd. But the dawn was growing, the sun wasabout to rise. Soon the day would be here, giving up the lurkingfugitive whom darkness, more pitiful, had spared, and stamping withlegality the horrors that night had striven to hide. 

And with day, with the full light, killing would grow more easy, escapemore hard. Already they were killing on the bridge where the richgoldsmiths lived, on the wharves, on the river. They were killing at theLouvre, in the courtyard under the King's eyes, and below the windows ofthe Medicis. They were killing in St. Martin and St. Denis and St. Antoine; wherever hate, or bigotry, or private malice impelled the hand. From the whole city went up a din of lamentation, and wrath, andforeboding. From the Cour des Miracles, from the markets, from theBoucherie, from every haunt of crime and misery, hordes of wretchedcreatures poured forth; some to rob on their own account, and where theylisted, none gainsaying; more to join themselves to one of the armedbands whose business it was to go from street to street, and house tohouse, quelling resistance, and executing through Paris the high justiceof the King. 

It was one of these swollen bands which had entered the street whileTavannes spoke; nor could he have called to his aid a more powerfuladvocate. As the deep "A bas! A bas!" rolled like thunder along thefronts of the houses, as the more strident "Tuez! Tuez!" drew nearer andnearer, and the lights of the oncoming multitude began to flicker on theshuttered gables, the fortitude of the servants gave way. Madame Carlat, shivering in every limb, burst into moaning; the tiring-maid, Javette, flung herself in terror at Mademoiselle's knees, and, writhing herselfabout them, shrieked to her to save her, only to save her! One of themen moved forward on impulse, as if he would close the shutters; and onlyold Carlat remained silent, praying mutely with moving lips and a stern, set face. 

And Count Hannibal? As the glare of the links in the street grewbrighter, and ousted the sickly daylight, his form seemed to dilate. Hestilled the shrieking woman by a glance. 

"Choose! Mademoiselle, and quickly!" he said. "For I can only save mywife and her people! Quick, for the pinch is coming, and 'twill be noboy's play. "

A shot, a scream from the street, a rush of racing feet before the windowseconded his words. 

"Quick, Mademoiselle!" he cried. And his breath came a little faster. "Quick, before it be too late! Will you save life, or will you kill?"

She looked at her lover with eyes of agony, dumbly questioning him. Buthe made no sign, and only Tavannes marked the look. 

"Monsieur has done what he can to save himself, " he said, with a sneer. "He has donned the livery of the King's servants; he has said, 'Whoeverperishes, I will live!' But--"

"Curse you!" the young man cried, and, stung to madness, he tore thecross from his cap and flung it on the ground. He seized his whitesleeve and ripped it from shoulder to elbow. Then, when it hung by thestring only, he held his hand. 

"Curse you!" he cried furiously. "I will not at your bidding! I maysave her yet! I _will_ save her!"

"Fool!" Tavannes answered--but his words were barely audible above thedeafening uproar. "Can you fight a thousand? Look! Look!" and seizingthe other's wrist he pointed to the window. 

The street glowed like a furnace in the red light of torches, raised onpoles above a sea of heads; an endless sea of heads, and gaping faces, and tossing arms which swept on and on, and on and by. For a while itseemed that the torrent would flow past them and would leave them safe. Then came a check, a confused outcry, a surging this way and that; thetorches reeled to and fro, and finally, with a dull roar of "Open! Open!"the mob faced about to the house and the lighted window. 

For a second it seemed that even Count Hannibal's iron nerves shook alittle. He stood between the sullen group that surrounded the disorderedtable and the maddened rabble, that gloated on the victims before theytore them to pieces. "Open! Open!" the mob howled: and a man dashed inthe window with his pike. 

In that crisis Mademoiselle's eyes met Tavannes' for the fraction of asecond. She did not speak; nor, had she retained the power to frame thewords, would they have been audible. But something she must have looked, and something of import, though no other than he marked or understood it. For in a flash he was at the window and his hand was raised for silence. 

"Back!" he thundered. "Back, knaves!" And he whistled shrilly. "Dowhat you will, " he went on in the same tone, "but not here! Pass on!Pass on!--do you hear?"

But the crowd were not to be lightly diverted. With a persistence brutaland unquestioning they continued to howl, "Open! Open!" while the manwho had broken the window the moment before, Jehan, the cripple with thehideous face, seized the lead-work, and tore away a great piece of it. Then, laying hold of a bar, he tried to drag it out, setting one footagainst the wall below. Tavannes saw what he did, and his frame seemedto dilate with the fury and violence of his character. 

"Dogs!" he shouted, "must I call out my riders and scatter you? Must Iflog you through the streets with stirrup-leathers? I am Tavannes;beware of me! I have claws and teeth and I bite!" he continued, thescorn in his words exceeding even the rage of the crowd, at which heflung them. "Kill where you please, rob where you please, but not whereI am! Or I will hang you by the heels on Montfaucon, man by man! I willflay your backs. Go! Go! I am Tavannes!"

But the mob, cowed for a moment by the thunder of his voice, by hisarrogance and recklessness, showed at this that their patience wasexhausted. With a yell which drowned his tones they swayed forward; adozen thundered on the door, crying, "In the King's name!" As many moretore out the remainder of the casement, seized the bars of the window, and strove to pull them out or to climb between them. Jehan, thecripple, with whom Tignonville had rubbed elbows at the rendezvous, ledthe way. 

Count Hannibal watched them a moment, his harsh face bent down to them, his features plain in the glare of the torches. But when the cripple, raised on the others' shoulders, and emboldened by his adversary'sinactivity, began to squeeze himself through the bars, Tavannes raised apistol, which he had held unseen behind him, cocked it at leisure, andlevelled it at the foul face which leered close to his. The dwarf sawthe weapon and tried to retreat; but it was too late. A flash, a scream, and the wretch, shot through the throat, flung up his hands, and fellback into the arms of a lean man in black who had lent him his shoulderto ascend. 

For a few seconds the smoke of the pistol filled the window and the room. There was a cry that the Huguenots were escaping, that the Huguenots wereresisting, that it was a plot; and some shouted to guard the back andsome to watch the roof, and some to be gone. But when the fumes clearedaway, the mob saw, with stupor, that all was as it had been. CountHannibal stood where he had stood before, a grim smile on his lips. 

"Who comes next?" he cried in a tone of mockery. "I have more pistols!"And then with a sudden change to ferocity, "You dogs!" he went on. "Youscum of a filthy city, sweepings of the Halles! Do you think to beardme? Do you think to frighten me or murder me? I am Tavannes, and thisis my house, and were there a score of Huguenots in it, you should nottouch one, nor harm a hair of his head! Begone, I say again, while youmay! Seek women and children, and kill them. But not here!"

For an instant the mingled scorn and brutality of his words silencedthem. Then from the rear of the crowd came an answer--the roar of anarquebuse. The ball whizzed past Count Hannibal's head, and, splashingthe plaster from the wall within a pace of Tignonville, dropped to theground. 

Tavannes laughed. "Bungler!" he cried. "Were you in my troop I woulddip your trigger-finger in boiling oil to teach you to shoot! But youweary me, dogs. I must teach you a lesson, must I?" And he lifted apistol and levelled it. The crowd did not know whether it was the one hehad discharged or another, but they gave back with a sharp gasp. "I mustteach you, must I?" he continued with scorn. "Here, Bigot, Badelon, drive me these blusterers! Rid the street of them! A Tavannes! ATavannes!"

Not by word or look had he before this betrayed that he had supports. Butas he cried the name, a dozen men armed to the teeth, who had stoodmotionless under the Croix du Tiroir, fell in a line on the right flankof the crowd. The surprise for those nearest them was complete. Withthe flash of the pikes before their eyes, with the cold steel in fancybetween their ribs, they fled every way, uncertain how many pursued, orif any pursuit there was. For a moment the mob, which a few minutesbefore had seemed so formidable that a regiment might have quailed beforeit, bade fair to be routed by a dozen pikes. 

And so, had all in the crowd been what he termed them, the rabble andsweepings of the streets, it would have been. But in the heart of it, and felt rather than seen, were a handful of another kidney; Sorbonnestudents and fierce-eyed priests, with three or four mounted archers, thenucleus that, moving through the streets, had drawn together thisconcourse. And these with threats and curse and gleaming eyes stoodfast, even Tavannes' dare-devils recoiling before the tonsure. The checkthus caused allowed those who had budged a breathing space. They ralliedbehind the black robes, and began to stone the pikes; who in their turnwithdrew until they formed two groups, standing on their defence, the onebefore the window, the other before the door. 

Count Hannibal had watched the attack and the check, as a man watches aplay; with smiling interest. In the panic, the torches had been droppedor extinguished, and now between the house and the sullen crowd whichhung back, yet grew moment by moment more dangerous, the daylight fellcold on the littered street and the cripple's huddled form prone in thegutter. A priest raised on the shoulders of the lean man in black beganto harangue the mob, and the dull roar of assent, the brandished armswhich greeted his appeal, had their effect on Tavannes' men. They lookedto the window, and muttered among themselves. It was plain that they hadno stomach for a fight with the Church, and were anxious for the order towithdraw. 

But Count Hannibal gave no order, and, much as his people feared thecowls, they feared him more. Meanwhile the speaker's eloquence rosehigher; he pointed with frenzied gestures to the house. The mob groaned, and suddenly a volley of stones fell among the pikemen, whose corseletsrattled under the shower. The priest seized that moment. He sprang tothe ground, and to the front. He caught up his robe and waved his hand, and the rabble, as if impelled by a single will, rolled forward in a hugeone-fronted thundering wave, before which the two handfuls ofpikemen--afraid to strike, yet afraid to fly--were swept away like strawsupon the tide. 

But against the solid walls and oak-barred door of the house the wavebeat, only to fall back again, a broken, seething mass of brandished armsand ravening faces. One point alone was vulnerable, the window, andthere in the gap stood Tavannes. Quick as thought he fired two pistolsinto the crowd; then, while the smoke for a moment hid all, he whistled. 

Whether the signal was a summons to his men to fight their way back--asthey were doing to the best of their power--or he had resources stillunseen, was not to be known. For as the smoke began to rise, and whilethe rabble before the window, cowed by the fall of two of their number, were still pushing backward instead of forward, there rose behind themstrange sounds--yells, and the clatter of hoofs, mingled with screams ofalarm. A second, and into the loose skirts of the crowd came charginghelter-skelter, pell-mell, a score of galloping, shrieking, cursinghorsemen, attended by twice as many footmen, who clung to their stirrupsor to the tails of the horses, and yelled and whooped, and struck inunison with the maddened riders. 

"On! on!" the foremost shrieked, rolling in his saddle, and foaming atthe mouth. "Bleed in August, bleed in May! Kill!" And he fired apistol among the rabble, who fled every way to escape his rearing, plunging charger. 

"Kill! Kill!" cried his followers, cutting the air with their swords, androlling to and fro on their horses in drunken emulation. "Bleed inAugust, bleed in May!"

"On! On!" cried the leader, as the crowd which beset the house fledevery way before his reckless onset. "Bleed in August, bleed in May!"

The rabble fled, but not so quickly but that one or two were ridden down, and this for an instant checked the riders. Before they could pass on--

"Ohe!" cried Count Hannibal from his window. "Ohe!" with a shout oflaughter, "ride over them, dear brother! Make me a clean street for mywedding!"

Marshal Tavannes--for he, the hero of Jarnac, was the leader of this wildorgy--turned that way, and strove to rein in his horse. 

"What ails them?" he cried, as the maddened animal reared upright, itsiron hoofs striking fire from the slippery pavement. 

"They are rearing like thy Bayard!" Count Hannibal answered. "Whip them, whip them for me! Tavannes! Tavannes!"

"What? This canaille?"

"Ay, that canaille!"

"Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes!" the Marshal replied, andspurred his horse among the rabble, who had fled to the sides of thestreet and now strove hard to efface themselves against the walls. "Begone, dogs; begone!" he cried, still hunting them. And then, "Youwould bite, would you?" And snatching another pistol from his boot, hefired it among them, careless whom he hit. "Ha! ha! That stirs you, does it!" he continued, as the wretches fled headlong. "Who touches mybrother, touches Tavannes! On! On!"

Suddenly, from a doorway near at hand, a sombre figure darted into theroadway, caught the Marshal's rein, and for a second checked his course. The priest--for a priest it was, Father Pezelay, the same who hadaddressed the mob--held up a warning hand. 

"Halt!" he cried, with burning eyes. "Halt, my lord! It is written, thou shalt not spare the Canaanitish woman. 'Tis not to spare the Kinghas given command and a sword, but to kill! 'Tis not to harbour, but tosmite! To smite!"

"Then smite I will!" the Marshal retorted, and with the butt of hispistol struck the zealot down. Then, with as much indifference as hewould have treated a Huguenot, he spurred his horse over him, with a madlaugh at his jest. "Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes!" heyelled. "Touches Tavannes! On! On! Bleed in August, bleed in May!"

"On!" shouted his followers, striking about them in the same desperatefashion. They were young nobles who had spent the night feasting at thePalace, and, drunk with wine and mad with excitement, had left the Louvreat daybreak to rouse the city. "A Jarnac! A Jarnac!" they cried, andsome saluted Count Hannibal as they passed. And so, shouting andspurring and following their leader, they swept away down the now emptystreet, carrying terror and a flame wherever their horses bore them thatmorning. 

Tavannes, his hands on the ledge of the shattered window, leaned outlaughing, and followed them with his eyes. A moment, and the mob wasgone, the street was empty; and one by one, with sheepish faces, hispikemen emerged from the doorways and alleys in which they had takenrefuge. They gathered about the three huddled forms which lay prone andstill in the gutter: or, not three--two. For even as they approachedthem, one, the priest, rose slowly and giddily to his feet. He turned aface bleeding, lean, and relentless towards the window at which Tavannesstood. Solemnly, with the sign of the cross, and with uplifted hands, hecursed him in bed and at board, by day and by night, in walking, inriding, in standing, in the day of battle, and at the hour of death. Thepikemen fell back appalled, and hid their eyes; and those who were of thenorth crossed themselves, and those who came from the south bent twofingers horse-shoe fashion. But Hannibal de Tavannes laughed; laughed inhis moustache, his teeth showing, and bade them move that carrion to adistance, for it would smell when the sun was high. Then he turned hisback on the street, and looked into the room. 

CHAPTER VII. IN THE AMPHITHEATRE. 

The movements of the women had overturned two of the candles; a third hadguttered out. The three which still burned, contending pallidly with thedaylight that each moment grew stronger, imparted to the scene the air ofa debauch too long sustained. The disordered board, the wan faces of theservants cowering in their corner, Mademoiselle's frozen look of misery, all increased the likeness; which a common exhaustion so far strengthenedthat when Tavannes turned from the window, and, flushed with his triumph, met the others' eyes, his seemed the only vigour, and he the only man inthe company. True, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the collapse of hisvictims, there burned passions, hatreds, repulsions, as fierce as thehidden fires of the volcano; but for the time they smouldered ash-chokedand inert. 

He flung the discharged pistols on the table. "If yonder raven speaktruth, " he said, "I am like to pay dearly for my wife, and have shorttime to call her wife. The more need, Mademoiselle, for speed, therefore. You know the old saying, 'Short signing, long seisin'? Shallit be my priest, or your minister?"

M. De Tignonville started forward. "She promised nothing!" he cried. Andhe struck his hand on the table. 

Count Hannibal smiled, his lip curling. "That, " he replied, "is forMademoiselle to say. "

"But if she says it? If she says it, Monsieur? What then?"

Tavannes drew forth a comfit-box, such as it was the fashion of the dayto carry, as men of a later time carried a snuff-box. He slowly chose aprune. 

"If she says it?" he answered. "Then M. De Tignonville has regained hissweetheart. And M. De Tavannes has lost his bride. "

"You say so?"

"Yes. But--"

"But what?"

"But she will not say it, " Tavannes replied coolly. 

"Why not?"

"Why not?"

"Yes, Monsieur, why not?" the younger man repeated, trembling. 

"Because, M. De Tignonville, it is not true. "

"But she did not speak!" Tignonville retorted, with passion--the futilepassion of the bird which beats its wings against a cage. "She did notspeak. She could not promise, therefore. "

Tavannes ate the prune slowly, seemed to give a little thought to itsflavour, approved it a true Agen plum, and at last spoke. 

"It is not for you to say whether she promised, " he returned dryly, "norfor me. It is for Mademoiselle. "

"You leave it to her?"

"I leave it to her to say whether she promised. "

"Then she must say No!" Tignonville cried in a tone of triumph andrelief. "For she did not speak. Mademoiselle, listen!" he continued, turning with outstretched hands and appealing to her with passion. "Doyou hear? Do you understand? You have but to speak to be free! Youhave but to say the word, and Monsieur lets you go! In God's name, speak! Speak then, Clotilde! Oh!" with a gesture of despair, as she didnot answer, but continued to sit stony and hopeless, looking straightbefore her, her hands picking convulsively at the fringe of her girdle. "She does not understand! Fright has stunned her! Be merciful, Monsieur. Give her time to recover, to know what she does. Fright hasturned her brain. "

Count Hannibal smiled. "I knew her father and her uncle, " he said, "andin their time the Vrillacs were not wont to be cowards. Monsieurforgets, too, " he continued with fine irony, "that he speaks of mybetrothed. "

"It is a lie!"

Tavannes raised his eyebrows. "You are in my power, " he said. "For therest, if it be a lie, Mademoiselle has but to say so. "

"You hear him?" Tignonville cried. "Then speak, Mademoiselle! Clotilde, speak! Say you never spoke, you never promised him!"

The young man's voice quivered with indignation, with rage, with pain;but most, if the truth be told, with shame--the shame of a positionstrange and unparalleled. For in proportion as the fear of death instantand violent was lifted from him, reflection awoke, and the situation inwhich he stood took uglier shape. It was not so much love that cried toher, love that suffered, anguished by the prospect of love lost; as inthe highest natures it might have been. Rather it was the man's pridewhich suffered: the pride of a high spirit which found itself helplessbetween the hammer and the anvil, in a position so false that hereaftermen might say of the unfortunate that he had bartered his mistress forhis life. He had not! But he had perforce to stand by; he had to bepassive under stress of circumstances, and by the sacrifice, if sheconsummated it, he would in fact be saved. 

There was the pinch. No wonder that he cried to her in a voice whichroused even the servants from their lethargy of fear. 

"Say it!" he cried. "Say it, before it be too late. Say, you did notpromise!"

Slowly she turned her face to him. "I cannot, " she whispered; "I cannot. Go, " she continued, a spasm distorting her features. "Go, Monsieur. Leave me. It is over. "

"What?" he exclaimed. "You promised him?"

She bowed her head. 

"Then, " the young man cried, in a transport of resentment, "I will be nopart of the price. See! There! And there!" He tore the white sleevewholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung it on the floor andtrampled on it. "It shall never be said that I stood by and let you buymy life! I go into the street and I take my chance. " And he turned tothe door. 

But Tavannes was before him. "No!" he said; "you will stay here, M. DeTignonville!" And he set his back against the door. 

The young man looked at him, his face convulsed with passion. 

"I shall stay here?" he cried. "And why, Monsieur? What is it to you ifI choose to perish?"

"Only this, " Tavannes retorted. "I am answerable to Mademoiselle now, inan hour I shall be answerable to my wife--for your life. Live, then, Monsieur; you have no choice. In a month you will thank me--and her. "

"I am your prisoner?"

"Precisely. "

"And I must stay here--to be tortured?" Tignonville cried. 

Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled. Sudden stormy changes, from indifferenceto ferocity, from irony to invective, were characteristic of the man. 

"Tortured!" he repeated grimly. "You talk of torture while Piles andPardaillan, Teligny and Rochefoucauld lie dead in the street! While yourcause sinks withered in a night, like a gourd! While your servants fallbutchered, and France rises round you in a tide of blood! Bah!"--with agesture of disdain--"you make me also talk, and I have no love for talk, and small time. Mademoiselle, you at least act and do not talk. By yourleave I return in an hour, and I bring with me--shall it be my priest, oryour minister?"

She looked at him with the face of one who awakes slowly to the fullhorror, the full dread, of her position. For a moment she did notanswer. Then--

"A minister, " she muttered, her voice scarcely audible. 

He nodded. "A minister, " he said lightly. "Very well, if I can findone. " And walking to the shattered, gaping casement--through which thecool morning air blew into the room and gently stirred the hair of theunhappy girl--he said some words to the man on guard outside. Then heturned to the door, but on the threshold he paused, looked with a strangeexpression at the pair, and signed to Carlat and the servants to go outbefore him. 

"Up, and lie close above!" he growled. "Open a window or look out, andyou will pay dearly for it! Do you hear? Up! Up! You, too, old crop-ears. What! would you?"--with a sudden glare as Carlat hesitated--"thatis better! Mademoiselle, until my return. "

He saw them all out, followed them, and closed the door on the two; who, left together, alone with the gaping window and the disordered feast, maintained a strange silence. The girl, gripping one hand in the otheras if to quell her rising horror, sat looking before her, and seemedbarely to breathe. The man, leaning against the wall at a littledistance, bent his eyes, not on her, but on the floor, his face gloomyand distorted. 

His first thought should have been of her and for her; his first impulseto console, if he could not save her. His it should have been to soften, were that possible, the fate before her; to prove to her by words offarewell, the purest and most sacred, that the sacrifice she was making, not to save her own life but the lives of others, was appreciated by himwho paid with her the price. 

And all these things, and more, may have been in M. De Tignonville'smind; they may even have been uppermost in it, but they found noexpression. The man remained sunk in a sombre reverie. He had theappearance of thinking of himself, not of her; of his own position, notof hers. Otherwise he must have looked at her, he must have turned toher; he must have owned the subtle attraction of her unspoken appeal whenshe drew a deep breath and slowly turned her eyes on him, mute, asking, waiting what he should offer. 

Surely he should have! Yet it was long before he responded. He satburied in thought of himself, and his position, the vile, the unworthyposition in which her act had placed him. At length the constraint ofher gaze wrought on him, or his thoughts became unbearable; and he lookedup and met her eyes, and with an oath he sprang to his feet. 

"It shall not be!" he cried, in a tone low, but full of fury. "You shallnot do it! I will kill him first! I will kill him with this hand! Or--"a step took him to the window, a step brought him back--ay, brought himback exultant, and with a changed face. "Or better, we will thwart himyet. See, Mademoiselle, do you see? Heaven is merciful! For a momentthe cage is open!" His eye shone with excitement, the sweat of suddenhope stood on his brow as he pointed to the unguarded casement. "Come!it is our one chance!" And he caught her by her arm and strove to drawher to the window. 

But she hung back, staring at him. "Oh no, no!" she cried. 

"Yes, yes! I say!" he responded. "You do not understand. The way isopen! We can escape, Clotilde, we can escape!"

"I cannot! I cannot!" she wailed, still resisting him. 

"You are afraid?"

"Afraid?" she repeated the word in a tone of wonder. "No, but I cannot. I promised him. I cannot. And, O God!" she continued, in a suddenoutburst of grief, as the sense of general loss, of the great commontragedy broke on her and whelmed for the moment her private misery. "Whyshould we think of ourselves? They are dead, they are dying, who wereours, whom we loved! Why should we think to live? What does it matterhow it fares with us? We cannot be happy. Happy?" she continued wildly. "Are any happy now? Or is the world all changed in a night? No, wecould not be happy. And at least you will live, Tignonville. I havethat to console me. "

"Live!" he responded vehemently. "I live? I would rather die a thousandtimes. A thousand times rather than live shamed! Than see yousacrificed to that devil! Than go out with a brand on my brow, for everyman to point at me! I would rather die a thousand times!"

"And do you think that I would not?" she answered, shivering. "Better, far better die than--than live with him!"

"Then why not die?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden stillness possessed her. "How?" she whispered. "What do you mean?"

"That!" he said. As he spoke, he raised his hand and signed to her tolisten. A sullen murmur, distant as yet, but borne to the ear on thefresh morning air, foretold the rising of another storm. The sound grewin intensity, even while she listened; and yet for a moment shemisunderstood him. "O God!" she cried, out of the agony of nervesoverwrought, "will that bell never stop? Will it never stop? Will noone stop it?"

"'Tis not the bell!" he cried, seizing her hand as if to focus herattention. "It is the mob you hear. They are returning. We have but tostand a moment at this open window, we have but to show ourselves tothem, and we need live no longer! Mademoiselle! Clotilde!--if you meanwhat you say, if you are in earnest, the way is open!"

"And we shall die--together!"

"Yes, together. But have you the courage?"

"The courage?" she cried, a brave smile lighting the whiteness of herface. "The courage were needed to live. The courage were needed to dothat. I am ready, quite ready. It can be no sin! To live with that infront of me were the sin! Come!" For the moment she had forgotten herpeople, her promise, all! It seemed to her that death would absolve herfrom all. "Come!"

He moved with her under the impulse of her hand until they stood at thegaping window. The murmur, which he had heard indistinctly a momentbefore, had grown to a roar of voices. The mob, on its return eastwardalong the Rue St. Honore, was nearing the house. He stood, his armsupporting her, and they waited, a little within the window. Suddenly hestooped, his face hardly less white than hers: their eyes met; he wouldhave kissed her. 

She did not withdraw from his arm, but she drew back her face, her eyeshalf shut. 

"No!" she murmured. "No! While I live I am his. But we die together, Tignonville! We die together. It will not last long, will it? Andafterwards--"

She did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved in prayer, and overher features came a far-away look; such a look as that which on the faceof another Huguenot lady, Philippa de Luns--vilely done to death in thePlace Maubert fourteen years before--silenced the ribald jests of thelowest rabble in the world. An hour or two earlier, awed by theabruptness of the outburst, Mademoiselle had shrunk from her fate; shehad known fear. Now that she stood out voluntarily to meet it, she, likemany a woman before and since, feared no longer. She was lifted out ofand above herself. 

But death was long in coming. Some cause beyond their knowledge stayedthe onrush of the mob along the street. The din, indeed, persisted, deafened, shook them; but the crowd seemed to be at a stand a few doorsdown the Rue St. Honore. For a half-minute, a long half-minute, whichappeared an age, it drew no nearer. Would it draw nearer? Would it comeon? Or would it turn again?

The doubt, so much worse than despair, began to sap that courage of theman which is always better fitted to do than to suffer. The sweat roseon Tignonville's brow as he stood listening, his arm round the girl--ashe stood listening and waiting. It is possible that when he had said aminute or two earlier that he would rather die a thousand times than livethus shamed, he had spoken beyond the mark. Or it is possible that hehad meant his words to the full. But in this case he had not picturedwhat was to come, he had not gauged correctly his power of passiveendurance. He was as brave as the ordinary man, as the ordinary soldier;but martyrdom, the apotheosis of resignation, comes more naturally towomen than to men, more hardly to men than to women. Yet had the crisiscome quickly he might have met it. But he had to wait, and to wait withthat howling of wild beasts in his ears; and for this he was notprepared. A woman might be content to die after this fashion; but a man?His colour went and came, his eyes began to rove hither and thither. Wasit even now too late to escape? Too late to avoid the consequences ofthe girl's silly persistence? Too late to--? Her eyes were closed, shehung half lifeless on his arm. She would not know, she need not knowuntil afterwards. And afterwards she would thank him!Afterwards--meantime the window was open, the street was empty, and stillthe crowd hung back and did not come. 

He remembered that two doors away was a narrow passage, which leaving theRue St. Honore turned at right angles under a beetling archway, to emergein the Rue du Roule. If he could gain that passage unseen by the mob! He_would_ gain it. With a swift movement, his mind made up, he took a stepforward. He tightened his grasp of the girl's waist, and, seizing withhis left hand the end of the bar which the assailants had torn from itssetting in the window jamb, he turned to lower himself. One long stepwould land him in the street. 

At that moment she awoke from the stupor of exaltation. She opened hereyes with a startled movement; and her eyes met his. 

He was in the act of stepping backwards and downwards, dragging her afterhim. But it was not this betrayed him. It was his face, which in aninstant told her all, and that he sought not death, but life! Shestruggled upright and strove to free herself. But he had the purchase ofthe bar, and by this time he was furious as well as determined. Whethershe would or no, he would save her, he would drag her out. Then, asconsciousness fully returned, she, too, took fire. 

"No!" she cried, "I will not!" and she struggled more violently. 

"You shall!" he retorted between his teeth. "You shall not perish here. "

But she had her hands free, and as he spoke she thrust him from herpassionately, desperately, with all her strength. He had his one foot inthe air at the moment, and in a flash it was done. With a cry of rage helost his balance, and, still holding the bar, reeled backwards throughthe window; while Mademoiselle, panting and half fainting, recoiled--recoiled into the arms of Hannibal de Tavannes, who, unseen byeither, had entered the room a long minute before. From the threshold, and with a smile, all his own, he had watched the contest and the result. 

CHAPTER VIII. TWO HENS AND AN EGG. 

M. De Tignonville was shaken by the fall, and in the usual course ofthings he would have lain where he was, and groaned. But when a man hasonce turned his back on death he is apt to fancy it at his shoulder. Hehas small stomach for surprises, and is in haste to set as great adistance as possible between the ugly thing and himself. So it was withthe Huguenot. Shot suddenly into the full publicity of the street, heknew that at any instant danger might take him by the nape; and he was onhis legs and glancing up and down before the clatter of his fall hadtravelled the length of three houses. 

The rabble were still a hundred paces away, piled up and pressed about ahouse where men were being hunted as men hunt rats. He saw that he wasunnoted, and apprehension gave place to rage. His thoughts turned backhissing hot to the thing that had happened, and in a paroxysm of shame heshook his fist at the gaping casement and the sneering face of his rival, dimly seen in the background. If a look would have killed Tavannes--andher--it had not been wanting. 

For it was not only the man M. De Tignonville hated at this moment; hehated Mademoiselle also, the unwitting agent of the other's triumph. Shehad thrust him from her; she had refused to be guided by him; she hadresisted, thwarted, shamed him. Then let her take the consequences. Shewilled to perish: let her perish!

He did not acknowledge even to himself the real cause of offence, theproof to which she had put his courage, and the failure of that courageto stand the test. Yet it was this, though he had himself provoked thetrial, which burned up his chivalry, as the smuggler's fire burns up thedwarf heath upon the Landes. It was the discovery that in an heroic hourhe was no hero that gave force to his passionate gesture, and next momentsent him storming down the beetling passage to the Rue du Roule, hisheart a maelstrom of fierce vows and fiercer menaces. 

He had reached the further end of the alley and was on the point ofentering the street before he remembered that he had nowhere to go. Hislodgings were no longer his, since his landlord knew him to be aHuguenot, and would doubtless betray him. To approach those of his faithwhom he had frequented was to expose them to danger; and, beyond thereligion, he had few acquaintances and those of the newest. Yet thestreets were impossible. He walked them on the utmost edge of peril; helurked in them under the blade of an impending axe. And, whether hewalked or lurked, he went at the mercy of the first comers bold enough totake his life. 

The sweat stood on his brow as he paused under the low arch of the alley-end, tasting the bitter forlornness of the dog banned and set for deathin that sunlit city. In every window of the gable end which faced hishiding-place he fancied an eye watching his movements; in every distantstep he heard the footfall of doom coming that way to his discovery. Andwhile he trembled, he had to reflect, to think, to form some plan. 

In the town was no place for him, and short of the open country nosafety. And how could he gain the open country? If he succeeded inreaching one of the gates--St. Antoine, or St. Denis, in itself a task ofdifficulty--it would only be to find the gate closed, and the guard onthe alert. At last it flashed on him that he might cross the river; andat the notion hope awoke. It was possible that the massacre had notextended to the southern suburb; possible, that if it had, the Huguenotswho lay there--Frontenay, and Montgomery, and Chartres, with the men ofthe North--might be strong enough to check it, and even to turn thetables on the Parisians. 

His colour returned. He was no coward, as soldiers go; if it came tofighting he had courage enough. He could not hope to cross the river bythe bridge, for there, where the goldsmiths lived, the mob were like tobe most busy. But if he could reach the bank he might procure a boat atsome deserted point, or, at the worst, he might swim across. 

From the Louvre at his back came the sound of gunshots; from everyquarter the murmur of distant crowds, or the faint lamentable cries ofvictims. But the empty street before him promised an easy passage, andhe ventured into it and passed quickly through it. He met no one, and noone molested him; but as he went he had glimpses of pale faces that frombehind the casements watched him come and turned to watch him go; and soheavy on his nerves was the pressure of this silent ominous attention, that he blundered at the end of the street. He should have taken thesoutherly turning; instead he held on, found himself in the RueFerronerie, and a moment later was all but in the arms of a band of cityguards, who were making a house-to-house visitation. 

He owed his safety rather to the condition of the street than to hispresence of mind. The Rue Ferronerie, narrow in itself, was so choked atthis date by stalls and bulkheads, that an edict directing the removal ofthose which abutted on the cemetery had been issued a little before. Nothing had been done on it, however, and this neck of Paris, this mainthoroughfare between the east and the west, between the fashionablequarter of the Marais and the fashionable quarter of the Louvre, wasstill a devious huddle of sheds and pent-houses. Tignonville slid behindone of these, found that it masked the mouth of an alley, and, heedlesswhither the passage led, ran hurriedly along it. Every instant heexpected to hear the hue and cry behind him, and he did not halt or drawbreath until he had left the soldiers far in the rear, and found himselfastray at the junction of four noisome lanes, over two of which theprojecting gables fairly met. Above the two others a scrap of skyappeared, but this was too small to indicate in which direction the riverlay. 

Tignonville hesitated, but not for long; a burst of voices heralded a newdanger, and he shrank into a doorway. Along one of the lanes a troop ofchildren, the biggest not twelve years old, came dancing and leapinground something which they dragged by a string. Now one of the hindmostwould burl it onward with a kick, now another, amid screams of childishlaughter, tripped headlong over the cord; now at the crossways theystopped to wrangle and question which way they should go, or whose turnit was to pull and whose to follow. At last they started afresh with awhoop, the leader singing and all plucking the string to the cadence ofthe air. Their plaything leapt and dropped, sprang forward, and lingeredlike a thing of life. But it was no thing of life, as Tignonville sawwith a shudder when they passed him. The object of their sport was thenaked body of a child, an infant!

His gorge rose at the sight. Fear such as he had not before experiencedchilled his marrow. This was hate indeed, a hate before which the strongman quailed; the hate of which Mademoiselle had spoken when she said thatthe babes crossed themselves at her passing, and the houses tottered tofall upon her!

He paused a minute to recover himself, so deeply had the sight moved him;and as he stood, he wondered if that hate already had its cold eye fixedon him. Instinctively his gaze searched the opposite wall, but save fortwo small double-grated windows it was blind; time-stained andstone-built, dark with the ordure of the city lane, it seemed but theback of a house, which looked another way. The outer gates of an archeddoorway were open, and a loaded haycart, touching either side andbrushing the arch above, blocked the passage. His gaze, leaving thewindows, dropped to this--he scanned it a moment; and on a sudden hestiffened. Between the hay and the arch a hand flickered an instant, then vanished. 

Tignonville stared. At first he thought his eyes had tricked him. Thenthe hand appeared again, and this time it conveyed an unmistakableinvitation. It is not from the unknown or the hidden that the fugitivehas aught to fear, and Tignonville, after casting a glance down thelane--which revealed a single man standing with his face the otherway--slipped across and pushed between the hay and the wall. He coughed. 

A voice whispered to him to climb up; a friendly hand clutched him in theact, and aided him. In a second he was lying on his face, tight squeezedbetween the hay and the roof of the arch. Beside him lay a man whosefeatures his eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom, could not discern. But theman knew him and whispered his name. 

"You know me?" Tignonville muttered in astonishment. 

"I marked you, M. De Tignonville, at the preaching last Sunday, " thestranger answered placidly. 

"You were there?"

"I preached. "

"Then you are M. La Tribe!"

"I am, " the clergyman answered quietly. "They seized me on my threshold, but I left my cloak in their hands and fled. One tore my stocking withhis point, another my doublet, but not a hair of my head was injured. They hunted me to the end of the next street, but I lived and still live, and shall live to lift up my voice against this wicked city. "

The sympathy between the Huguenot by faith and the Huguenot by politicswas imperfect. Tignonville, like most men of rank of the youngergeneration, was a Huguenot by politics; and he was in a bitter humour. Hefelt, perhaps, that it was men such as this who had driven the other sideto excesses such as these; and he hardly repressed a sneer. 

"I wish I felt as sure!" he muttered bluntly. "You know that all ourpeople are dead?"

"He can save by few or by many, " the preacher answered devoutly. "We areof the few, blessed be God, and shall see Israel victorious, and ourpeople as a flock of sheep!"

"I see small chance of it, " Tignonville answered contemptuously. 

"I know it as certainly as I knew before you came, M. De Tignonville, that you would come!"

"That _I_ should come?"

"That some one would come, " La Tribe answered, correcting himself. "Iknew not who it would be until you appeared and placed yourself in thedoorway over against me, even as Obadiah in the Holy Book passed beforethe hiding-place of Elijah. "

The two lay on their faces side by side, the rafters of the archway lowon their heads. Tignonville lifted himself a little, and peered anew atthe other. He fancied that La Tribe's mind, shaken by the horrors of themorning and his narrow escape, had given way. 

"You rave, man, " he said. "This is no time for visions. "

"I said naught of visions, " the other answered. 

"Then why so sure that we shall escape?"

"I am certified of it, " La Tribe replied. "And more than that, I knowthat we shall lie here some days. The time has not been revealed to me, but it will be days and a day. Then we shall leave this place unharmed, as we entered it, and, whatever betide others, we shall live. "

Tignonville shrugged his shoulders. "I tell you, you rave, M. La Tribe, "he said petulantly. "At any moment we may be discovered. Even now Ihear footsteps. "

"They tracked me well-nigh to this place, " the minister answeredplacidly. 

"The deuce they did!" Tignonville muttered, with irritation. He darednot raise his voice. "I would you had told me that before I joined you, Monsieur, and I had found some safer hiding-place! When we arediscovered--"

"Then, " the other continued calmly, "you will see. "

"In any case we shall be better farther back, " Tignonville retorted. "Here, we are within an ace of being seen from the lane. " And he beganto wriggle himself backwards. 

The minister laid his hand on him. "Have a care!" he muttered. "And donot move, but listen. And you will understand. When I reached thisplace--it would be about five o'clock this morning--breathless, andexpecting each minute to be dragged forth to make my confession beforemen, I despaired as you despair now. Like Elijah under the juniper tree, I said, 'It is enough, O Lord! Take my soul also, for I am no betterthan my fellows!' All the sky was black before my eyes, and my ears werefilled with the wailings of the little ones and the lamentations ofwomen. 'O Lord, it is enough, ' I prayed. 'Take my soul, or, if it beThy will, then, as the angel was sent to take the cakes to Elijah, giveme also a sign that I shall live. '"

For a moment he paused, struggling with overpowering emotion. Even hisimpatient listener, hitherto incredulous, caught the infection, and in atone of awe murmured--

"Yes? And then, M. La Tribe!"

"The sign was given me. The words were scarcely out of my mouth when ahen flew up, and, scratching a nest in the hay at my feet, presently laidan egg. "

Tignonville stared. "It was timely, I admit, " he said. "But it is nouncommon thing. Probably it has its nest here and lays daily. "

"Young man, this is new-mown hay, " the minister answered solemnly. "Thiscart was brought here no further back than yesterday. It smells of themeadow, and the flowers hold their colour. No, the fowl was sent. To-morrow it will return, and the next, and the next, until the plague bestayed and I go hence. But that is not all. A while later a second henappeared, and I thought it would lay in the same nest. But it made a newone, on the side on which you lie and not far from your foot. Then Iknew that I was to have a companion, and that God had laid also for him atable in the wilderness. "

"It did lay, then?"

"It is still on the nest, beside your foot. "

Tignonville was about to reply when the preacher grasped his arm and by asign enjoined silence. He did so not a moment too soon. Preoccupied bythe story, narrator and listener had paid no heed to what was passing inthe lane, and the voices of men speaking close at hand took them bysurprise. From the first words which reached them, it was clear that thespeakers were the same who had chased La Tribe as far as the meeting ofthe four ways, and, losing him there, had spent the morning in otherbusiness. Now they had returned to hunt him down; and but for a wranglewhich arose among them and detained them, they had stolen on their quarrybefore their coming was suspected. 

"'Twas this way he ran!" "No, 'twas the other!" they contended; andtheir words, winged with vile threats and oaths, grew noisy and hot. Thetwo listeners dared scarcely to breathe. The danger was so near, it wasso certain that if the men came three paces farther, they would observeand search the haycart, that Tignonville fancied the steel already at histhroat. He felt the hay rustle under his slightest movement, and grippedone hand with the other to restrain the tremor of overpoweringexcitement. Yet when he glanced at the minister he found him unmoved, asmile on his face. And M. De Tignonville could have cursed him for hisfolly. 

For the men were coming on! An instant, and they perceived the cart, andthe ruffian who had advised this route pounced on it in triumph. 

"There! Did I not say so?" he cried. "He is curled up in that hay, forthe Satan's grub he is! That is where he is, see you!"

"Maybe, " another answered grudgingly, as they gathered before it. "Andmaybe not, Simon!"

"To hell with your maybe not!" the first replied. And he drove his pikedeep into the hay and turned it viciously. 

The two on the top controlled themselves. Tignonville's face was livid;of himself he would have slid down amongst them and taken his chance, preferring to die fighting, to die in the open, rather than to perishlike a rat in a stack. But La Tribe had gripped his arm and held himfast. 

The man whom the others called Simon thrust again, but too low andwithout result. He was for trying a third time, when one of his comradeswho had gone to the other side of the lane announced that the men were onthe top of the hay. 

"Can you see them?"

"No, but there's room and to spare. "

"Oh, a curse on your room!" Simon retorted. "Well, you can look. "

"If that's all, I'll soon look!" was the answer. And the rogue, forcinghimself between the hay and the side of the gateway, found the wheel ofthe cart, and began to raise himself on it. 

Tignonville, who lay on that hand, heard, though he could not see hismovements. He knew what they meant, he knew that in a twinkling he mustbe discovered; and with a last prayer he gathered himself for a spring. 

It seemed an age before the intruder's head appeared on a level with thehay; and then the alarm came from another quarter. The hen which hadmade its nest at Tignonville's feet, disturbed by the movement or by thenewcomer's hand, flew out with a rush and flutter as of a great firework. Upsetting the startled Simon, who slipped swearing to the ground, itswooped scolding and clucking over the heads of the other men, andreaching the street in safety, scuttled off at speed, its outspread wingssweeping the earth in its rage. 

They laughed uproariously as Simon emerged, rubbing his elbow. 

"There's for you! There's your preacher!" his opponent jeered. 

"D---n her! she gives tongue as fast as any of them!" gibed a second. "Will you try again, Simon? You may find another love-letter there!"

"Have done!" a third cried impatiently. "He'll not be where the hen is!Let's back! Let's back! I said before that it wasn't this way heturned! He's made for the river. "

"The plague in his vitals!" Simon replied furiously. "Wherever he is, I'll find him!" And, reluctant to confess himself wrong, he lingered, casting vengeful glances at the hay. 

But one of the other men cursed him for a fool; and presently, forced toaccept his defeat or be left alone, he rejoined his fellows. Slowly thefootsteps and voices receded along the lane; slowly, until silenceswallowed them, and on the quivering strained senses of the two whoremained behind, descended the gentle influence of twilight and the sweetscent of the new-mown hay on which they lay. 

La Tribe turned to his companion, his eyes shining. "Our soul isescaped, " he murmured, "even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler. The snare is broken and we are delivered!" His voice shook as hewhispered the ancient words of triumph. 

But when they came to look in the nest at Tignonville's feet there was noegg!

CHAPTER IX. UNSTABLE. 

And that troubled M. La Tribe no little, although he did not impart histhoughts to his companion. Instead they talked in whispers of the thingswhich had happened; of the Admiral, of Teligny, whom all loved, ofRochefoucauld the accomplished, the King's friend; of the princes in theLouvre whom they gave up for lost, and of the Huguenot nobles on thefarther side of the river, of whose safety there seemed some hope. Tignonville--he best knew why--said nothing of the fate of his betrothed, or of his own adventures in that connection. But each told the other howthe alarm had reached him, and painted in broken words his reluctance tobelieve in treachery so black. Thence they passed to the future of thecause, and of that took views as opposite as light and darkness, asPapegot and Huguenot. The one was confident, the other in despair. Andsome time in the afternoon, worn out by the awful experiences of the lasttwelve hours, they fell asleep, their heads on their arms, the haytickling their faces; and, with death stalking the lane beside them, slept soundly until after sundown. 

When they awoke hunger awoke with them, and urged on La Tribe's mind thequestion of the missing egg. It was not altogether the prick of appetitewhich troubled him, but regarding the hiding-place in which they lay asan ark of refuge providentially supplied, protected and victualled, hecould not refrain from asking reverently what the deficiency meant. Itwas not as if one hen only had appeared; as if no farther prospect hadbeen extended. But up to a certain point the message was clear. Thenwhen the Hand of Providence had shown itself most plainly, and in amanner to melt the heart with awe and thankfulness, the message had beenblurred. Seriously the Huguenot asked himself what it portended. 

To Tignonville, if he thought of it at all, the matter was the matter ofan egg, and stopped there. An egg might alleviate the growing pangs ofhunger; its non-appearance was a disappointment, but he traced the matterno farther. It must be confessed, too, that the haycart was to him onlya haycart--and not an ark; and the sooner he was safely away from it thebetter he would be pleased. While La Tribe, lying snug and warm besidehim, thanked God for a lot so different from that of such of his fellowsas had escaped--whom he pictured crouching in dank cellars, or on roof-trees exposed to the heat by day and the dews by night--the young mangrew more and more restive. 

Hunger pricked him, and the meanness of the part he had played moved himto action. About midnight, resisting the dissuasions of his companion, he would have sallied out in search of food if the passage of a turbulentcrowd had not warned him that the work of murder was still proceeding. Hecurbed himself after that and lay until daylight. But, ill content withhis own conduct, on fire when he thought of his betrothed, he was in notemper to bear hardship cheerfully or long; and gradually there rosebefore his mind the picture of Madame St. Lo's smiling face, and the fairhair which curled low on the white of her neck. 

He would, and he would not. Death that had stalked so near him preachedits solemn sermon. But death and pleasure are never far apart; and at notime and nowhere have they jostled one another more familiarly than inthat age, wherever the influence of Italy and Italian art and Italianhopelessness extended. Again, on the one side, La Tribe's example wentfor something with his comrade in misfortune; but in the other scale hungrelief from discomfort, with the prospect of a woman's smiles and awoman's flatteries, of dainty dishes, luxury, and passion. If he wentnow, he went to her from the jaws of death, with the glamour of adventureand peril about him; and the very going into her presence was a lure. Moreover, if he had been willing while his betrothed was still his, whynot now when he had lost her?

It was this last reflection--and one other thing which came on a suddeninto his mind--which turned the scale. About noon he sat up in the hay, and, abruptly and sullenly, "I'll lie here no longer, " he said; and hedropped his legs over the side. "I shall go. "

The movement was so unexpected that La Tribe stared at him in silence. Then, "You will run a great risk, M. De Tignonville, " he said gravely, "if you do. You may go as far under cover of night as the river, or youmay reach one of the gates. But as to crossing the one or passing theother, I reckon it a thing impossible. "

"I shall not wait until night, " Tignonville answered curtly, a ring ofdefiance in his tone. "I shall go now! I'll lie here no longer!"

"Now?"

"Yes, now. "

"You will be mad if you do, " the other replied. He thought it thepetulant outcry of youth tired of inaction; a protest, and nothing more. 

He was speedily undeceived. "Mad or not, I am going!" Tignonvilleretorted. And he slid to the ground, and from the covert of the hangingfringe of hay looked warily up and down the lane. "It is clear, Ithink, " he said. "Good-bye. " And with no more, without one upwardglance or a gesture of the hand, with no further adieu or word ofgratitude, he walked out into the lane, turned briskly to the left, andvanished. 

The minister uttered a cry of surprise, and made as if he would descendalso. 

"Come back, sir!" he called, as loudly as he dared. "M. De Tignonville, come back! This is folly or worse!"

But M. De Tignonville was gone. 

La Tribe listened a while, unable to believe it, and still expecting hisreturn. At last, hearing nothing, he slid, greatly excited, to theground and looked out. It was not until he had peered up and down thelane and made sure that it was empty that he could persuade himself thatthe other had gone for good. Then he climbed slowly and seriously to hisplace again, and sighed as he settled himself. 

"Unstable as water thou shalt not excel!" he muttered. "Now I know whythere was only one egg. "

Meanwhile Tignonville, after putting a hundred yards between himself andhis bedfellow, plunged into the first dark entry which presented itself. Hurriedly, and with a frowning face, he cut off his left sleeve fromshoulder to wrist; and this act, by disclosing his linen, put him inpossession of the white sleeve which he had once involuntarily donned, and once discarded. The white cross on the cap he could not assume, forhe was bareheaded. But he had little doubt that the sleeve wouldsuffice, and with a bold demeanour he made his way northward until hereached again the Rue Ferronerie. 

Excited groups were wandering up and down the street, and, fearing totraverse its crowded narrows, he went by lanes parallel with it as far asthe Rue St. Denis, which he crossed. Everywhere he saw houses gutted anddoors burst in, and traces of a cruelty and a fanaticism almostincredible. Near the Rue des Lombards he saw a dead child, strippedstark and hanged on the hook of a cobbler's shutter. A little farther onin the same street he stepped over the body of a handsome young woman, distinguished by the length and beauty of her hair. To obtain herbracelets, her captors had cut off her hands; afterwards--but God knowshow long afterwards--a passer-by, more pitiful than his fellows, had puther out of her misery with a spit, which still remained plunged in herbody. 

M. De Tignonville shuddered at the sight, and at others like it. Heloathed the symbol he wore, and himself for wearing it; and more thanonce his better nature bade him return and play the nobler part. Once hedid turn with that intention. But he had set his mind on comfort andpleasure, and the value of these things is raised, not lowered, by dangerand uncertainty. Quickly his stoicism oozed away; he turned again. Barely avoiding the rush of a crowd of wretches who were bearing aswooning victim to the river, he hurried through the Rue des Lombards, and reached in safety the house beside the Golden Maid. 

He had no doubt now on which side of the Maid Madame St. Lo lived; thehouse was plain before him. He had only to knock. But in proportion ashe approached his haven, his anxiety grew. To lose all, with all in hisgrasp, to fail upon the threshold, was a thing which bore no looking at;and it was with a nervous hand and eyes cast fearfully behind him that heplied the heavy iron knocker which adorned the door. 

He could not turn his gaze from a knot of ruffians, who were gatheredunder one of the tottering gables on the farther side of the street. Theyseemed to be watching him, and he fancied--though the distance renderedthis impossible--that he could see suspicion growing in their eyes. Atany moment they might cross the roadway, they might approach, they mightchallenge him. And at the thought he knocked and knocked again. Why didnot the porter come?

Ay, why? For now a score of contingencies came into the young man's mindand tortured him. Had Madame St. Lo withdrawn to safer quarters andclosed the house? Or, good Catholic as she was, had she given way topanic, and determined to open to no one? Or was she ill? Or had sheperished in the general disorder? Or--

And then, even as the men began to slink towards him, his heart leapt. Heheard a footstep heavy and slow move through the house. It came nearerand nearer. A moment, and an iron-grated Judas-hole in the door slidopen, and a servant, an elderly man, sleek and respectable, looked out athim. 

Tignonville could scarcely speak for excitement. "Madame St. Lo?" hemuttered tremulously. "I come to her from her cousin the Comte deTavannes. Quick! quick! if you please. Open to me!"

"Monsieur is alone?"

"Yes! Yes!"

The man nodded gravely and slid back the bolts. He allowed M. DeTignonville to enter, then with care he secured the door, and led the wayacross a small square court, paved with red tiles and enclosed by thehouse, but open above to the sunshine and the blue sky. A gallery whichran round the upper floor looked on this court, in which a great quietreigned, broken only by the music of a fountain. A vine climbed on thewooden pillars which supported the gallery, and, aspiring higher, embraced the wide carved eaves, and even tapestried with green the threegables that on each side of the court broke the skyline. The grapes hungnearly ripe, and amid their clusters and the green lattice of theirfoliage Tignonville's gaze sought eagerly but in vain the laughing eyesand piquant face of his new mistress. For with the closing of the door, and the passing from him of the horrors of the streets, he had entered, as by magic, a new and smiling world; a world of tennis and roses, oftinkling voices and women's wiles, a world which smacked of Florence andthe South, and love and life; a world which his late experiences had setso far away from him, his memory of it seemed a dream. Now, as he drankin its stillness and its fragrance, as he felt its safety and its luxurylap him round once more, he sighed. And with that breath he rid himselfof much. 

The servant led him to a parlour, a cool shady room on the farther sideof the tiny quadrangle, and, muttering something inaudible, withdrew. Amoment later a frolicsome laugh, and the light flutter of a woman's skirtas she tripped across the court, brought the blood to his cheeks. Hewent a step nearer to the door, and his eyes grew bright. 

CHAPTER X. MADAME ST. LO. 

So far excitement had supported Tignonville in his escape. It was onlywhen he knew himself safe, when he heard Madame St. Lo's footstep in thecourtyard and knew that in a moment he would see her, that he knew alsothat he was failing for want of food. The room seemed to go round withhim; the window to shift, the light to flicker. And then again, withequal abruptness, he grew strong and steady and perfectly master ofhimself. Nay, never had he felt a confidence in himself so overwhelmingor a capacity so complete. The triumph of that which he had done, theknowledge that of so many he, almost alone, had escaped, filled his brainwith a delicious and intoxicating vanity. When the door opened, andMadame St. Lo appeared on the threshold, he advanced holding out hisarms. He expected that she would fall into them. 

But Madame only backed and curtseyed, a mischievous light in her eyes. 

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur!" she said, "but you are more ready than I!"And she remained by the door. 

"I have come to you through all!" he cried, speaking loudly because of ahumming in his ears. "They are lying in the streets! They are dying, are dead, are hunted, are pursued, are perishing! But I have comethrough all to you!"

She curtseyed anew. "So I see, Monsieur!" she answered. "I amflattered!" But she did not advance, and gradually, light-headed as hewas, he began to see that she looked at him with an odd closeness. Andhe took offence. 

"I say, Madame, I have come to you!" he repeated. "And you do not seempleased!"

She came forward a step and looked at him still more oddly. 

"Oh yes, " she said. "I am pleased, M. De Tignonville. It is what Iintended. But tell me how you have fared. You are not hurt?"

"Not a hair!" he cried boastfully. And he told her in a dozen windysentences of the adventure of the haycart and his narrow escape. Hewound up with a foolish meaningless laugh. 

"Then you have not eaten for thirty-six hours?" she said. And when hedid not answer, "I understand, " she continued, nodding and speaking as toa child. And she rang a silver handbell and gave an order. 

She addressed the servant in her usual tone, but to Tignonville's ear hervoice seemed to fall to a whisper. Her figure--she was small and fairy-like--began to sway before him; and then in a moment, as it seemed tohim, she was gone, and he was seated at a table, his trembling fingersgrasping a cup of wine which the elderly servant who had admitted him washolding to his lips. On the table before him were a spit of partridgesand a cake of white bread. When he had swallowed a second mouthful ofwine--which cleared his eyes as by magic--the man urged him to eat. Andhe fell to with an appetite that grew as he ate. 

By-and-by, feeling himself again, he became aware that two of Madame'swomen were peering at him through the open doorway. He looked that wayand they fled giggling into the court; but in a moment they were backagain, and the sound of their tittering drew his eyes anew to the door. It was the custom of the day for ladies of rank to wait on theirfavourites at table; and he wondered if Madame were with them, and whyshe did not come and serve him herself. 

But for a while longer the savour of the roasted game took up the majorpart of his thoughts; and when prudence warned him to desist, and he satback, satisfied after his long fast, he was in no mood to be critical. Perhaps--for somewhere in the house he heard a lute--Madame wasentertaining those whom she could not leave? Or deluding some who mightbetray him if they discovered him?

From that his mind turned back to the streets and the horrors throughwhich he had passed; but for a moment and no more. A shudder, an emotionof prayerful pity, and he recalled his thoughts. In the quiet of thecool room, looking on the sunny, vine-clad court, with the tinkle of thelute and the murmurous sound of women's voices in his ears, it was hardto believe that the things from which he had emerged were real. It wasstill more unpleasant, and as futile, to dwell on them. A day ofreckoning would come, and, if La Tribe were right, the cause would rally, bristling with pikes and snorting with war-horses, and the blood spilledin this wicked city would cry aloud for vengeance. But the hour was notyet. He had lost his mistress, and for that atonement must be exacted. But in the present another mistress awaited him, and as a man could onlydie once, and might die at any minute, so he could only live once, and inthe present. Then _vogue la galere_!

As he roused himself from this brief reverie and fell to wondering howlong he was to be left to himself, a rosebud tossed by an unseen handstruck him on the breast and dropped to his knees. To seize it and kissit gallantly, to spring to his feet and look about him were instinctivemovements. But he could see no one; and, in the hope of surprising thegiver, he stole to the window. The sound of the lute and the distanttinkle of laughter persisted. The court, save for a page, who lay asleepon a bench in the gallery, was empty. Tignonville scanned the boysuspiciously; a male disguise was often adopted by the court ladies, andif Madame would play a prank on him, this was a thing to be reckonedwith. But a boy it seemed to be, and after a while the young man wentback to his seat. 

Even as he sat down, a second flower struck him more sharply in the face, and this time he darted not to the window but to the door. He opened itquickly and looked out, but again he was too late. 

"I shall catch you presently, _ma reine_!" he murmured tenderly, withintent to be heard. And he closed the door. But, wiser this time, hewaited with his hand on the latch until he heard the rustling of a skirt, and saw the line of light at the foot of the door darkened by a shadow. That moment he flung the door wide, and, clasping the wearer of the skirtin his arms, kissed her lips before she had time to resist. 

Then he fell back as if he had been shot! For the wearer of the skirt, she whom he had kissed, was Madame St. Lo's woman, and behind her stoodMadame herself, laughing, laughing, laughing with all the gay abandonmentof her light little heart. 

"Oh, the gallant gentleman!" she cried, and clapped her hands effusively. "Was ever recovery so rapid? Or triumph so speedy? Suzanne, my child;you surpass Venus. Your charms conquer before they are seen!"

M. De Tignonville had put poor Suzanne from him as if she burned; and hotand embarrassed, cursing his haste, he stood looking awkwardly at them. 

"Madame, " he stammered at last, "you know quite well that--"

"Seeing is believing!"

"That I thought it was you!"

"Oh, what I have lost!" she replied. And she looked archly at Suzanne, who giggled and tossed her head. 

He was growing angry. "But, Madame, " he protested, "you know--"

"I know what I know, and I have seen what I have seen!" Madame answeredmerrily. And she hummed, "'Ce fut le plus grand jour d'este Que m'embrassa la belle Suzanne!'

Oh yes, I know what I know!" she repeated. And she fell again tolaughing immoderately; while the pretty piece of mischief beside her hungher head, and, putting a finger in her mouth, mocked him with anaffectation of modesty. 

The young man glowered at them between rage and embarrassment. This wasnot the reception, nor this the hero's return to which he had lookedforward. And a doubt began to take form in his mind. The mistress hehad pictured would not laugh at kisses given to another; nor forget in atwinkling the straits through which he had come to her, the hell fromwhich he had plucked himself! Possibly the court ladies held love ascheap as this, and lovers but as playthings, butts for their wit, andpegs on which to hang their laughter. But--but he began to doubt, and, perplexed and irritated, he showed his feelings. 

"Madame, " he said stiffly, "a jest is an excellent thing. But pardon meif I say that it is ill played on a fasting man. "

Madame desisted from laughter that she might speak. "A fasting man?" shecried. "And he has eaten two partridges!"

"Fasting from love, Madame. "

Madame St. Lo held up her hands. "And it's not two minutes since he tooka kiss!"

He winced, was silent a moment, and then seeing that he got nothing bythe tone he had adopted he cried for quarter. 

"A little mercy, Madame, as you are beautiful, " he said, wooing her withhis eyes. "Do not plague me beyond what a man can bear. Dismiss, I prayyou, this good creature--whose charms do but set off yours as the starleads the eye to the moon--and make me the happiest man in the world byso much of your company as you will vouchsafe to give me. "

"That may be but a very little, " she answered, letting her eyes fallcoyly, and affecting to handle the tucker of her low ruff. But he sawthat her lip twitched; and he could have sworn that she mocked him toSuzanne, for the girl giggled. 

Still by an effort he controlled his feelings. "Why so cruel?" hemurmured, in a tone meant for her alone, and with a look to match. "Youwere not so hard when I spoke with you in the gallery, two evenings ago, Madame. "

"Was I not?" she asked. "Did I look like this? And this?" And, languishing, she looked at him very sweetly after two fashions. 

"Something. "

"Oh, then I meant nothing!" she retorted with sudden vivacity. And shemade a face at him, laughing under his nose. "I do that when I meannothing, Monsieur! Do you see? But you are Gascon, and given, I fear, to flatter yourself. "

Then he saw clearly that she played with him: and resentment, chagrin, pique got the better of his courtesy. 

"I flatter myself?" he cried, his voice choked with rage. "It may be Ido now, Madame, but did I flatter myself when you wrote me this note?"And he drew it out and flourished it in her face. "Did I imagine when Iread this? Or is it not in your hand? It is a forgery, perhaps, " hecontinued bitterly. "Or it means nothing? Nothing, this note bidding mebe at Madame St. Lo's at an hour before midnight--it means nothing? Atan hour before midnight, Madame!"

"On Saturday night? The night before last night?"

"On Saturday night, the night before last night! But Madame knowsnothing of it? Nothing, I suppose?"

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully on him. "Oh yes, Iwrote it, " she said. "But what of that, M. De Tignonville?"

"What of that?"

"Yes, Monsieur, what of that? Did you think it was written out of lovefor you?"

He was staggered for the moment by her coolness. "Out of what, then?" hecried hoarsely. "Out of what, then, if not out of love?"

"Why, out of pity, my little gentleman!" she answered sharply. "Andtrouble thrown away, it seems. Love!" And she laughed so merrily andspontaneously it cut him to the heart. "No; but you said a dainty thingor two, and smiled a smile; and like a fool, and like a woman, I wassorry for the innocent calf that bleated so prettily on its way to thebutcher's! And I would lock you up, and save your life, I thought, untilthe blood-letting was over. Now you have it, M. De Tignonville, and Ihope you like it. "

Like it, when every word she uttered stripped him of the selfishillusions in which he had wrapped himself against the blasts ofill-fortune? Like it, when the prospect of her charms had bribed himfrom the path of fortitude, when for her sake he had been false to hismistress, to his friends, to his faith, to his cause? Like it, when heknew as he listened that all was lost, and nothing gained, not even thispoor, unworthy, shameful compensation? Like it? No wonder that wordsfailed him, and he glared at her in rage, in misery, in shame. 

"Oh, if you don't like it, " she continued, tossing her head after amomentary pause, "then you should not have come! It is of no profit toglower at me, Monsieur. You do not frighten me. "

"I would--I would to God I had not come!" he groaned. 

"And, I dare say, that you had never seen me--since you cannot win me!"

"That too, " he exclaimed. 

She was of an extraordinary levity, and at that, after staring at him amoment, she broke into shrill laughter. 

"A little more, and I'll send you to my cousin Hannibal!" she said. "Youdo not know how anxious he is to see you. Have you a mind, " with awaggish look, "to play bride's man, M. De Tignonville? Or will you giveaway the bride? It is not too late, though soon it will be!"

He winced, and from red grew pale. "What do you mean?" he stammered;and, averting his eyes in shame, seeing now all the littleness, all thebaseness of his position, "Has he--married her?" he continued. 

"Ho, ho!" she cried in triumph. "I've hit you now, have I, Monsieur?I've hit you!" And mocking him, "Has he--married her?" she lisped. "No;but he will marry her, have no fear of that! He will marry her. Hewaits but to get a priest. Would you like to see what he says?" shecontinued, playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. "I had a notefrom him yesterday. Would you like to see how welcome you'll be at thewedding?" And she flaunted a piece of paper before his eyes. 

"Give it me, " he said. 

She let him seize it the while she shrugged her shoulders. "It's youraffair, not mine, " she said. "See it if you like, and keep it if youlike. Cousin Hannibal wastes few words. "

That was true, for the paper contained but a dozen or fifteen words, andan initial by way of signature. 

"I may need your shaveling to-morrow afternoon. Send him, andTignonville in safeguard if he come. --H. "

"I can guess what use he has for a priest, " she said. "It is not toconfess him, I warrant. It's long, I fear, since Hannibal told hisbeads. "

M. De Tignonville swore. "I would I had the confessing of him!" he saidbetween his teeth. 

She clapped her hands in glee. "Why should you not?" she cried. "Whyshould you not? 'Tis time yet, since I am to send to-day and have notsent. Will you be the shaveling to go confess or marry him?" And shelaughed recklessly. "Will you, M. De Tignonville? The cowl will maskyou as well as another, and pass you through the streets better than acut sleeve. He will have both his wishes, lover and clerk in one then. And it will be pull monk, pull Hannibal with a vengeance. "

Tignonville gazed at her, and as he gazed courage and hope awoke in hiseyes. What if, after all, he could undo the past? What if, after all, he could retrace the false step he had taken, and place himself againwhere he had been--by _her_ side?

"If you meant it!" he exclaimed, his breath coming fast. "If you onlymeant what you say, Madame. "

"If?" she answered, opening her eyes. "And why should I not mean it?"

"Because, " he replied slowly, "cowl or no cowl, when I meet your cousin--"

"'Twill go hard with him?" she cried, with a mocking laugh. "And youthink I fear for him. That is it, is it?"

He nodded. 

"I fear just _so much_ for him!" she retorted with contempt. "Just somuch!" And coming a step nearer to Tignonville she snapped her smallwhite fingers under his nose. "Do you see? No, M. De Tignonville, " shecontinued, "you do not know Count Hannibal if you think that he fears, orthat any fear for him. If you will beard the lion in his den, the riskwill be yours, not his!"

The young man's face glowed. "I take the risk!" he cried. "And I thankyou for the chance; that, Madame, whatever betide. But--"

"But what?" she asked, seeing that he hesitated and that his face fell. 

"If he afterwards learn that you have played him a trick, " he said, "willhe not punish you?"

"Punish me?"

He nodded. 

Madame laughed her high disdain. "You do not yet know Hannibal deTavannes, " she said. "He does not war with women. "

CHAPTER XI. A BARGAIN. 

It is the wont of the sex to snatch at an ell where an inch is offered, and to press an advantage in circumstances in which a man, acknowledgingthe claims of generosity, scruples to ask for more. The habit, nowingrained, may have sprung from long dependence on the male, and is onewhich a hundred instances, from the time of Judith downwards, prove to beat its strongest where the need is greatest. 

When Mademoiselle de Vrillac came out of the hour-long swoon into whichher lover's defection had cast her, the expectation of the worst was sostrong upon her that she could not at once credit the respite whichMadame Carlat hastened to announce. She could not believe that she stilllay safe, in her own room above stairs; that she was in the care of herown servants, and that the chamber held no presence more hateful thanthat of the good woman who sat weeping beside her. 

As was to be expected, she came to herself sighing and shuddering, trembling with nervous exhaustion. She looked for _him_, as soon as shelooked for any; and even when she had seen the door locked and double-locked, she doubted--doubted, and shook and hid herself in the hangingsof the bed. The noise of the riot and rapine which prevailed in thecity, and which reached the ear even in that locked room--and althoughthe window, of paper, with an upper pane of glass, looked into acourtyard--was enough to drive the blood from a woman's cheeks. But itwas fear of the house, not of the street, fear from within, not fromwithout, which impelled the girl into the darkest corner and shook herwits. She could not believe that even this short respite was hers, untilshe had repeatedly heard the fact confirmed at Madame Carlat's mouth. 

"You are deceiving me!" she cried more than once. And each time shestarted up in fresh terror. "He never said that he would not returnuntil to-morrow!"

"He did, my lamb, he did!" the old woman answered with tears. "Would Ideceive you?"

"He said he would not return?"

"He said he would not return until to-morrow. You had until to-morrow, he said. "

"And then?"

"He would come and bring the priest with him, " Madame Carlat repliedsorrowfully. 

"The priest? To-morrow!" Mademoiselle cried. "The priest!" and shecrouched anew with hot eyes behind the hangings of the bed, and, shivering, hid her face. 

But this for a time only. As soon as she had made certain of therespite, and that she had until the morrow, her courage rose, and with itthe instinct of which mention has been made. Count Hannibal had granteda respite; short as it was, and no more than the barest humanityrequired, to grant one at all was not the act of the mere butcher whoholds the trembling lamb, unresisting, in his hands. It was an act--nomore, again be it said, than humanity required--and yet an act whichbespoke an expectation of some return, of some correlative advantage. Itwas not in the part of the mere brigand. Something had been granted. Something short of the utmost in the captor's power had been exacted. Hehad shown that there were things he would not do. 

Then might not something more be won from him? A further delay, anotherpoint; something, no matter what, which could be turned to advantage?With the brigand it is not possible to bargain. But who gives a littlemay give more; who gives a day may give a week; who gives a week may givea month. And a month? Her heart leapt up. A month seemed a lifetime, an eternity, to her who had but until to-morrow!

Yet there was one consideration which might have daunted a spirit lessbrave. To obtain aught from Tavannes it was needful to ask him, and toask him it was needful to see him; and to see him _before_ that to-morrowwhich meant so much to her. It was necessary, in a word, to run somerisk; but without risk the card could not be played, and she did nothesitate. It might turn out that she was wrong, that the man was notonly pitiless and without bowels of mercy, but lacked also the shred ofdecency for which she gave him credit, and on which she counted. In thatcase, if she sent for him--but she would not consider that case. 

The position of the window, while it increased the women's safety, debarred them from all knowledge of what was going forward, except thatwhich their ears afforded them. They had no means of judging whetherTavannes remained in the house or had sallied forth to play his part inthe work of murder. Madame Carlat, indeed, had no desire to knowanything. In that room above stairs, with the door double-locked, lay ahope of safety in the present, and of ultimate deliverance; there she hada respite from terror, as long as she kept the world outside. To her, therefore, the notion of sending for Tavannes, or communicating with him, came as a thunderbolt. Was her mistress mad? Did she wish to court herfate? To reach Tavannes they must apply to his riders, for Carlat andthe men-servants were confined above. Those riders were grim, brutalmen, who might resort to rudeness on their own account. And Madame, clinging in a paroxysm of terror to her mistress, suggested all manner ofhorrors, one on top of the other, until she increased her own terrortenfold. And yet, to do her justice, nothing that even her frenziedimagination suggested exceeded the things which the streets of Paris, fruitful mother of horrors, were witnessing at that very hour. As we nowknow. 

For it was noon--or a little more--of Sunday, August the twenty-fourth, "a holiday, and therefore the people could more conveniently find leisureto kill and plunder. " From the bridges, and particularly from the stonebridge of Notre Dame--while they lay safe in that locked room, andTignonville crouched in his haymow--Huguenots less fortunate were beingcast, bound hand and foot, into the Seine. On the river bank SpireNiquet, the bookman, was being burnt over a slow fire, fed with his ownbooks. In their houses, Ramus the scholar and Goujon the sculptor--thanwhom Paris has neither seen nor deserved a greater--were being butcheredlike sheep; and in the Valley of Misery, now the Quai de la Megisserie, seven hundred persons who had sought refuge in the prisons were beingbeaten to death with bludgeons. Nay, at this hour--a little sooner or alittle later, what matters it?--M. De Tignonville's own cousin, Madamed'Yverne, the darling of the Louvre the day before, perished in the handsof the mob; and the sister of M. De Taverny, equally ill-fated, died inthe same fashion, after being dragged through the streets. 

Madame Carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the mark in her argument. ButMademoiselle had made up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded. 

"If I am to be Monsieur's wife, " she said with quivering nostrils, "shallI fear his servants?"

And opening the door herself, for the others would not, she called. Theman who answered was a Norman; and short of stature, and wrinkled and low-browed of feature, with a thatch of hair and a full beard, he seemed theembodiment of the women's apprehensions. Moreover, his _patois_ of thecider-land was little better than German to them; their southern, softertongue was sheer Italian to him. But he seemed not ill-disposed, orMademoiselle's air overawed him; and presently she made him understand, and with a nod he descended to carry her message. 

Then Mademoiselle's heart began to beat; and beat more quickly when sheheard _his_ step--alas! she knew it already, knew it from all others--onthe stairs. The table was set, the card must be played, to win or lose. It might be that with the low opinion he held of women he would think herreconciled to her lot; he would think this an overture, a step towardskinder treatment, one more proof of the inconstancy of the lower and theweaker sex, made to be men's playthings. And at that thought her eyesgrew hot with rage. But if it were so, she must still put up with it. She must still put up with it! She had sent for him, and he wascoming--he was at the door!

He entered, and she breathed more freely. For once his face lacked thesneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know andhate. It was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark, akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of the riderwho had summoned him. But the offensive look was gone, and she couldbreathe. 

He closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room. 

"At your pleasure, Mademoiselle?" he said simply. "You sent for me, Ithink. "

She was on her feet, standing before him with something of thesubmissiveness of Roxana before her conqueror. 

"I did, " she said; and stopped at that, her hand to her side as if shecould not continue. But presently in a low voice, "I have heard, " shewent on, "what you said, Monsieur, after I lost consciousness. "

"Yes?" he said; and was silent. Nor did he lose his watchful look. 

"I am obliged to you for your thought of me, " she continued in a faintvoice, "and I shall be still further obliged--I speak to you thus quicklyand thus early--if you will grant me a somewhat longer time. "

"Do you mean--if I will postpone our marriage?"

"Yes, Monsieur. "

"It is impossible!"

"Do not say that, " she cried, raising her voice impulsively. "I appealto your generosity. And for a short, a very short, time only. "

"It is impossible, " he answered quietly. "And for reasons, Mademoiselle. In the first place, I can more easily protect my wife. In the second, Iam even now summoned to the Louvre, and should be on my way thither. Byto-morrow evening, unless I am mistaken in the business on which I amrequired, I shall be on my way to a distant province with royal letters. It is essential that our marriage take place before I go. "

"Why?" she asked stubbornly. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Why?" he repeated. "Can you ask, Mademoiselle, after the events of last night? Because, if you please, Ido not wish to share the fate of M. De Tignonville. Because in thesedays life is uncertain, and death too certain. Because it was our turnlast night, and it may be the turn of your friends--to-morrow night!"

"Then some have escaped?" she cried. 

He smiled. "I am glad to find you so shrewd, " he replied. "In an honestwife it is an excellent quality. Yes, Mademoiselle; one or two. "

"Who? Who? I pray you tell me. "

"M. De Montgomery, who slept beyond the river, for one; and the Vidame, and some with him. M. De Biron, whom I count a Huguenot, and who holdsthe Arsenal in the King's teeth, for another. And a few more. Enough, in a word, Mademoiselle, to keep us wakeful. It is impossible, therefore, for me to postpone the fulfilment of your promise. "

"A promise on conditions!" she retorted, in rage that she could win nomore. And every line of her splendid figure, every tone of her voiceflamed sudden, hot rebellion. "I do not go for nothing! You gave me thelives of all in the house, Monsieur! Of all!" she repeated with passion. "And all are not here! Before I marry you, you must show me M. DeTignonville alive and safe!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "He has taken himself off, " he said. "It isnaught to me what happens to him now. "

"It is all to me!" she retorted. 

At that he glared at her, the veins of his forehead swelling suddenly. But after a seeming struggle with himself he put the insult by, perhapsfor future reckoning and account. 

"I did what I could, " he said sullenly. "Had I willed it he had diedthere and then in the room below. I gave him his life. If he has riskedit anew and lost it, it is naught to me. "

"It was his life you gave me, " she repeated stubbornly. "His life--andthe others. But that is not all, " she continued; "you promised me aminister. "

He nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this confirmed a suspicion hehad entertained. 

"Or a priest, " he said. 

"No, a minister. "

"If one could be obtained. If not, a priest. "

"No, it was to be at my will; and I will a minister! I will a minister!"she cried passionately. "Show me M. De Tignonville alive, and bring me aminister of my faith, and I will keep my promise, M. De Tavannes. Haveno fear of that. But otherwise, I will not. "

"You will not?" he cried. "You will not?"

"No!"

"You will not marry me?"

"No!"

The moment she had said it fear seized her, and she could have fled fromhim, screaming. The flash of his eyes, the sudden passion of his face, burned themselves into her memory. She thought for a second that hewould spring on her and strike her down. Yet though the women behind herheld their breath, she faced him, and did not quail; and to that, shefancied, she owed it that he controlled himself. 

"You will not?" he repeated, as if he could not understand suchresistance to his will--as if he could not credit his ears. "You willnot?" But after that, when he had said it three times, he laughed; alaugh, however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood. 

"You bargain, do you?" he said. "You will have the last tittle of theprice, will you? And have thought of this and that to put me off, and togain time until your lover, who is all to you, comes to save you? Oh, clever girl! clever! But have you thought where you stand--woman? Doyou know that if I gave the word to my people they would treat you as thecommonest baggage that tramps the Froidmantel? Do you know that it restswith me to save you, or to throw you to the wolves whose ravening youhear?" And he pointed to the window. "Minister? Priest?" he continuedgrimly. "_Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, I stand astonished at my moderation. You chatter to me of ministers and priests, and the one or the other, when it might be neither! When you are as much and as hopelessly in mypower to-day as the wench in my kitchen! You! You flout me, and maketerms with me! You!"

And he came so near her with his dark harsh face, his tone rose somenacing on the last word, that her nerves, shattered before, gave way, and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking hewould strike her. 

He did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh ofcontent. And his eyes devoured her. 

"Ho! ho!" he said. "We are not so brave as we pretend to be, it seems. And yet you dared to chaffer with me? You thought to thwart me--Tavannes!_Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, to what did you trust? To what did you trust?Ay, and to what do you trust?"

She knew that by the movement which fear had forced from her she hadjeopardized everything. That she stood to lose all and more than allwhich she had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less brave, of aspirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad toescape so. But this woman, though her bloodless face showed that sheknew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was indeed sickwith terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. Sheplayed her last card. 

"To what do I trust?" she muttered with trembling lips. 

"Yes, Mademoiselle, " he answered between his teeth. "To what do youtrust--that you play with Tavannes?"

"To his honour, Monsieur, " she answered faintly. "And to your promise. "

He looked at her with his mocking smile. "And yet, " he sneered, "youthought a moment ago that I should strike you. You thought that I shouldbeat you! And now it is my honour and my promise! Oh, clever, clever, Mademoiselle! 'Tis so that women make fools of men. I knew thatsomething of this kind was on foot when you sent for me, for I know womenand their ways. But, let me tell you, it is an ill time to speak ofhonour when the streets are red! And of promises when the King's word is'No faith with a heretic!'"

"Yet you will keep yours, " she said bravely. 

He did not answer at once, and hope which was almost dead in her breastbegan to recover; nay, presently sprang up erect. For the man hesitated, it was evident; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomy eyes; anobserver might have fancied that he traced pain as well as doubt in hisface. At last--

"There is a thing, " he said slowly and with a sort of glare at her, "which, it may be, you have not reckoned. You press me now, and willstand on your terms and your conditions, your _ifs_ and your _unlesses_!You will have the most from me, and the bargain and a little beside thebargain! But I would have you think if you are wise. Bethink you how itwill be between us when you are my wife--if you press me so now, Mademoiselle. How will it sweeten things then? How will it soften them?And to what, I pray you, will you trust for fair treatment then, if youwill be so against me now?"

She shuddered. "To the mercy of my husband, " she said in a low voice. And her chin sank on her breast. 

"You will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. And his toneand the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "Bethink you! 'Tisyour rights now, and your terms, Mademoiselle! And then it will be onlymy mercy--Madame. "

"I am content, " she muttered faintly. 

"And the Lord have mercy on my soul, is what you would add, " he retorted, "so much trust have you in my mercy! And you are right! You are right, since you have played this trick on me. But as you will. If you willhave it so, have it so! You shall stand on your conditions now; youshall have your pennyweight and full advantage, and the rigour of thepact. But afterwards--afterwards, Madame de Tavannes--"

He did not finish his sentence, for at the first word which granted herpetition, Mademoiselle had sunk down on the low wooden window-seat besidewhich she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, her face hiddenon her arms, had burst into violent weeping. Her hair, hastily knottedup in the hurry of the previous night, hung in a thick plait to the curveof her waist; the nape of her neck showed beside it milk-white. The manstood awhile contemplating her in silence, his gloomy eyes watching thepitiful movement of her shoulders, the convulsive heaving of her figure. But he did not offer to touch her, and at length he turned about. Firstone and then the other of her women quailed and shrank under his gaze; heseemed about to add something. But he did not speak. The sentence hehad left unfinished, the long look he bent on the weeping girl as heturned from her, spoke more eloquently of the future than a score oforations. 

"_Afterwards, Madame de Tavannes_!"

CHAPTER XII. IN THE HALL OF THE LOUVRE. 

It is a strange thing that love--or passion, if the sudden fancy forMademoiselle which had seized Count Hannibal be deemed unworthy of thehigher name--should so entirely possess the souls of those who harbour itthat the greatest events and the most astounding catastrophes, evenmeasures which set their mark for all time on a nation, are to them ofimportance only so far as they affect the pursuit of the fair one. 

As Tavannes, after leaving Mademoiselle, rode through the paved lanes, beneath the gabled houses, and under the shadow of the Gothic spires ofhis day, he saw a score of sights, moving to pity, or wrath, or wonder. He saw Paris as a city sacked; a slaughter-house, where for a week amasque had moved to stately music; blood on the nailed doors and theclose-set window bars; and at the corners of the ways strewn garments, broken weapons, the livid dead in heaps. But he saw all with eyes whichin all and everywhere, among living and dead, sought only Tignonville;Tignonville first, and next a heretic minister, with enough of life inhim to do his office. 

Probably it was to this that one man hunted through Paris owed his escapethat day. He sprang from a narrow passage full in Tavannes' view, and, hair on end, his eyes starting from his head, ran blindly--as a hare willrun when chased--along the street to meet Count Hannibal's company. Theman's face was wet with the dews of death, his lungs seemed cracking, hisbreath hissed from him as he ran. His pursuers were hard on him, and, seeing him headed by Count Hannibal's party, yelled in triumph, holdinghim for dead. And dead he would have been within thirty seconds hadTavannes played his part. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Either hetook the poor wretch for Tignonville, or for the minister on whom hismind was running; anyway he suffered him to slip under the belly of hishorse; then, to make matters worse, he wheeled to follow him in sountimely and clumsy a fashion that his horse blocked the way and stoppedthe pursuers in their tracks. The quarry slipped into an alley andvanished. The hunters stood and blasphemed, and even for a moment seemedinclined to resent the mistake. But Tavannes smiled; a broader smilelightened the faces of the six iron-clad men behind him; and for somereason the gang of ruffians thought better of it and slunk aside. 

There are hard men, who feel scorn of the things which in the breasts ofothers excite pity. Tavannes' lip curled as he rode on through thestreets, looking this way and that, and seeing what a King twenty-twoyears old had made of his capital. His lip curled most of all when hecame, passing between the two tennis-courts, to the east gate of theLouvre, and found the entrance locked and guarded, and all communicationbetween city and palace cut off. Such a proof of unkingly panic, in acrisis wrought by the King himself, astonished him less a few minuteslater, when, the keys having been brought and the door opened, he enteredthe courtyard of the fortress. 

Within and about the door of the gatehouse some three-score archers andarquebusiers stood to their arms; not in array, but in disorderly groups, from which the babble of voices, of feverish laughter, and strained jestsrose without ceasing. The weltering sun, of which the beams just toppedthe farther side of the quadrangle, fell slantwise on their armour, andheightened their exaggerated and restless movements. To a calm eye theyseemed like men acting in a nightmare. Their fitful talk and disjointedgestures, their sweating brows and damp hair, no less than the sullen, brooding silence of one here and there, bespoke the abnormal and theterrible. There were livid faces among them, and twitching cheeks, andsome who swallowed much; and some again who bared their crimson arms andbragged insanely of the part they had played. But perhaps the moststriking thing was the thirst, the desire, the demand for news, and forfresh excitement. In the space of time it took him to pass through them, Count Hannibal heard a dozen rumours of what was passing in the city;that Montgomery and the gentlemen who had slept beyond the river hadescaped on horseback in their shirts; that Guise had been shot in thepursuit; that he had captured the Vidame de Chartres and all thefugitives; that he had never left the city; that he was even thenentering by the Porte de Bucy. Again that Biron had surrendered theArsenal, that he had threatened to fire on the city, that he was dead, that with the Huguenots who had escaped he was marching on the Louvre, that--

And then Tavannes passed out of the blinding sunshine, and out of earshotof their babble, and had plain in his sight across the quadrangle, thenew facade, Italian, graceful, of the Renaissance; which rose in smilingcontrast with the three dark Gothic sides that now, the central towerremoved, frowned unimpeded at one another. But what was this which layalong the foot of the new Italian wall? This, round which some stood, gazing curiously, while others strewed fresh sand about it, or after longdownward-looking glanced up to answer the question of a person at awindow?

Death; and over death--death in its most cruel aspect--a cloud ofbuzzing, whirling flies, and the smell, never to be forgotten, of muchspilled blood. From a doorway hard by came shrill bursts of hystericallaughter; and with the laughter plumped out, even as Tavannes crossed thecourt, a young girl, thrust forth it seemed by her fellows, for sheturned about and struggled as she came. Once outside she hung back, giggling and protesting, half willing, half unwilling; and meetingTavannes' eye thrust her way in again with a whirl of her petticoats, anda shriek. But before he had taken four paces she was out again. 

He paused to see who she was, and his thoughts involuntarily went back tothe woman he had left weeping in the upper room. Then he turned aboutagain and stood to count the dead. He identified Piles, identifiedPardaillan, identified Soubise--whose corpse the murderers had robbed ofthe last rag--and Touchet and St. Galais. He made his reckoning with anunmoved face, and with the same face stopped and stared, and moved fromone to another; had he not seen the slaughter about "_le petit homme_" atJarnac, and the dead of three pitched fields? But when a bystander, smirking obsequiously, passed him a jest on Soubise, and with his fingerpointed the jest, he had the same hard unmoved face for the gibe as forthe dead. And the jester shrank away, abashed and perplexed by his stareand his reticence. 

Halfway up the staircase to the great gallery or guard-room above, CountHannibal found his brother, the Marshal, huddled together in drunkenslumber on a seat in a recess. In the gallery to which he passed onwithout awakening him, a crowd of courtiers and ladies, with arquebusiersand captains of the quarters, walked to and fro, talking in whispers; orpeeped over shoulders towards the inner end of the hall, where thequerulous voice of the King rose now and again above the hum. AsTavannes moved that way, Nancay, in the act of passing out, booted andarmed for the road, met him and almost jostled him. 

"Ah, well met, M. Le Comte, " he sneered, with as much hostility as hedared betray. "The King has asked for you twice. "

"I am going to him. And you? Whither in such a hurry, M. Nancay?"

"To Chatillon. "

"On pleasant business?"

"Enough that it is on the King's!" Nancay replied, with unexpectedtemper. "I hope that you may find yours as pleasant!" he added with agrin. And he went on. 

The gleam of malice in the man's eye warned Tavannes to pause. He lookedround for some one who might be in the secret, saw the Provost of theMerchants, and approached him. 

"What's amiss, M. Le Charron?" he asked. "Is not the affair going as itshould?"

"'Tis about the Arsenal, M. Le Comte, " the Provost answered busily. "M. De Biron is harbouring the vermin there. He has lowered the portcullisand pointed his culverins over the gate and will not yield it or listento reason. The King would bring him to terms, but no one will venturehimself inside with the message. Rats in a trap, you know, bite hard, and care little whom they bite. "

"I begin to understand. "

"Precisely, M. Le Comte. His Majesty would have sent M. De Nancay. Buthe elected to go to Chatillon, to seize the young brood there. TheAdmiral's children, you comprehend. "

"Whose teeth are not yet grown! He was wise. "

"To be sure, M. De Tavannes, to be sure. But the King was annoyed, andon top of that came a priest with complaints, and if I may make so boldas to advise you, you will not--"

But Tavannes fancied that he had caught the gist of the difficulty, andwith a nod he moved on; and so he missed the warning which the other hadit in his mind to give. A moment and he reached the inner circle, andthere halted, disconcerted, nay taken aback. For as soon as he showedhis face, the King, who was pacing to and fro like a caged beast, beforea table at which three clerks knelt on cushions, espied him, and stoodstill. With a glare of something like madness in his eyes, Charlesraised his hand, and with a shaking finger singled him out. 

"So, by G-d, you are there!" he cried, with a volley of blasphemy. Andhe signed to those about Count Hannibal to stand away from him. "You arethere, are you? And you are not afraid to show your face? I tell you, it's you and such as you bring us into contempt! so that it is saideverywhere Guise does all and serves God, and we follow because we must!It's you, and such as you, are stumbling-blocks to our good folk ofParis! Are you traitor, sirrah?" he continued with passion, "or are youof our brother Alencon's opinions, that you traverse our orders to thedamnation of your soul and our discredit? Are you traitor? Or are youheretic? Or what are you? God in heaven, will you answer me, man, orshall I send you where you will find your tongue?"

"I know not of what your Majesty accuses me, " Count Hannibal answered, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders. 

"I? 'Tis not I, " the King retorted. His hair hung damp on his brow, andhe dried his hands continually; while his gestures had the ill-measuredand eccentric violence of an epileptic. "Here, you! Speak, father, andconfound him!"

Then Tavannes discovered on the farther side of the circle the priestwhom his brother had ridden down that morning. Father Pezelay's palehatchet-face gleamed paler than ordinary; and a great bandage hid onetemple and part of his face. But below the bandage the flame of his eyeswas not lessened, nor the venom of his tongue. To the King he hadcome--for no other would deal with his violent opponent; to the King'spresence! and, as he prepared to blast his adversary, now his chance wascome, his long lean frame, in its narrow black cassock, seemed to growlonger, leaner, more baleful, more snake-like. He stood there a fittingrepresentative of the dark fanaticism of Paris, which Charles and hissuccessor--the last of a doomed line--alternately used as tool or fearedas master; and to which the most debased and the most immoral of courtspaid, in its sober hours, a vile and slavish homage. Even in the midstof the drunken, shameless courtiers--who stood, if they stood foranything, for that other influence of the day, the Renaissance--he was tobe reckoned with; and Count Hannibal knew it. He knew that in the eyesnot of Charles only, but of nine out of ten who listened to him, a priestwas more sacred than a virgin, and a tonsure than all the virtues ofspotless innocence. 

"Shall the King give with one hand and withdraw with the other?" thepriest began, in a voice hoarse yet strident, a voice borne high abovethe crowd on the wings of passion. "Shall he spare of the best of themen and the maidens whom God hath doomed, whom the Church hath devoted, whom the King hath given? Is the King's hand shortened or his wordannulled that a man does as he forbiddeth and leaves undone what hecommandeth? Is God mocked? Woe, woe unto you, " he continued, turningswiftly, arms uplifted, towards Tavannes, "who please yourself with thered and white of their maidens and take of the best of the spoil, sparingwhere the King's word is 'Spare not'! Who strike at Holy Church with thesword! Who--"

"Answer, sirrah!" Charles cried, spurning the floor in his fury. Hecould not listen long to any man. "Is it so? Is it so? Do you do thesethings?"

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders and was about to answer, when athick, drunken voice rose from the crowd behind him. 

"Is it what? Eh! Is it what?" it droned. And a figure with bloodshoteyes, disordered beard, and rich clothes awry, forced its way through theobsequious circle. It was Marshal Tavannes. "Eh, what? You'd beard theKing, would you?" he hiccoughed truculently, his eyes on Father Pezelay, his hand on his sword. "Were you a priest ten times--"

"Silence!" Charles cried, almost foaming with rage at this freshinterruption. "It's not he, fool! 'Tis your pestilent brother. "

"Who touches my brother touches Tavannes!" the Marshal answered with amenacing gesture. He was sober enough, it appeared, to hear what wassaid, but not to comprehend its drift; and this caused a titter, whichimmediately excited his rage. He turned and seized the nearest laugherby the ear. "Insolent!" he cried. "I will teach you to laugh when theKing speaks! Puppy! Who laughs at his Majesty or touches my brother hasto do with Tavannes!"

The King, in a rage that almost deprived him of speech, stamped the floortwice. 

"Idiot!" he cried. "Imbecile! Let the man go! 'Tis not he! 'Tis yourheretic brother, I tell you! By all the Saints! By the body of--" andhe poured forth a flood of oaths. "Will you listen to me and be silent!Will you--your brother--"

"If he be not your Majesty's servant, I will kill him with this sword!"the irrepressible Marshal struck in. "As I have killed ten to-day! Ten!"And, staggering back, he only saved himself from falling by clutchingChicot about the neck. 

"Steady, my pretty Marechale!" the jester cried, chucking him under thechin with one hand, while with some difficulty he supported him with theother--for he, too, was far from sober--

 "Pretty Margot, toy with me, Maiden bashful--"

"Silence!" Charles cried, darting forth his long arms in a fury ofimpatience. "God, have I killed every man of sense? Are you all gonemad? Silence! Do you hear? Silence! And let me hear what he has tosay, " with a movement towards Count Hannibal. "And look you, sirrah, " hecontinued with a curse, "see that it be to the purpose!"

"If it be a question of your Majesty's service, " Tavannes answered, "andobedience to your Majesty's orders, I am deeper in it than he who standsthere!" with a sign towards the priest. "I give my word for that. And Iwill prove it. "

"How, sir?" Charles cried. "How, how, how? How will you prove it?"

"By doing for you, sire, what he will not do!" Tavannes answeredscornfully. "Let him stand out, and if he will serve his Church as Iwill serve my King--"

"Blaspheme not!" cried the priest. 

"Chatter not!" Tavannes retorted hardily, "but do! Better is he, " hecontinued, "who takes a city than he who slays women! Nay, sire, " hewent on hurriedly, seeing the King start, "be not angry, but hear me! Youwould send to Biron, to the Arsenal? You seek a messenger, sire? Thenlet the good father be the man. Let him take your Majesty's will toBiron, and let him see the Grand Master face to face, and bring him toreason. Or, if he will not, I will! Let that be the test!"

"Ay, ay!" cried Marshal de Tavannes, "you say well, brother! Let him!"

"And if he will not, I will!" Tavannes repeated. "Let that be the test, sire. "

The King wheeled suddenly to Father Pezelay. "You hear, father?" hesaid. "What say you?"

The priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow. He knew that the wallsof the Arsenal sheltered men whose hands no convention and no order ofBiron's would keep from his throat, were the grim gate and frowningculverins once passed; men who had seen their women and children, theirwives and sisters immolated at his word, and now asked naught but tostand face to face and eye to eye with him and tear him limb from limbbefore they died! The challenge, therefore, was one-sided and unfair;but for that very reason it shook him. The astuteness of the man who, taken by surprise, had conceived this snare filled him with dread. Hedared not accept, and he scarcely dared to refuse the offer. Andmeantime the eyes of the courtiers, who grinned in their beards, were onhim. At length he spoke, but it was in a voice which had lost itsboldness and assurance. 

"It is not for me to clear myself, " he cried, shrill and violent, "butfor those who are accused, for those who have belied the King's word, andset at nought his Christian orders. For you, Count Hannibal, heretic, orno better than heretic, it is easy to say 'I go. ' For you go but to yourown, and your own will receive you!"

"Then you will not go?" with a jeer. 

"At your command? No!" the priest shrieked with passion. "His Majestyknows whether I serve him. "

"I know, " Charles cried, stamping his foot in a fury, "that you all serveme when it pleases you! That you are all sticks of the same faggot, woodof the same bundle, hell-babes in your own business, and sluggards inmine! You kill to-day and you'll lay it to me to-morrow! Ay, you will!you will!" he repeated frantically, and drove home the asseveration witha fearful oath. "The dead are as good servants as you! Foucauld wasbetter! Foucauld? Foucauld? Ah, my God!"

And abruptly in presence of them all, with the sacred name, which he sooften defiled, on his lips, Charles turned, and covering his face burstinto childish weeping; while a great silence fell on all--on Bussy withthe blood of his cousin Resnel on his point, on Fervacques, the betrayerof his friend, on Chicot, the slayer of his rival, on Cocconnas thecruel--on men with hands unwashed from the slaughter, and on theshameless women who lined the walls; on all who used this sobbing man fortheir stepping-stone, and, to attain their ends and gain their purposes, trampled his dull soul in blood and mire. 

One looked at another in consternation. Fear grew in eyes that a momentbefore were bold; cheeks turned pale that a moment before were hectic. If_he_ changed as rapidly as this, if so little dependence could be placedon his moods or his resolutions, who was safe? Whose turn might it notbe to-morrow? Or who might not be held accountable for the deeds donethis day? Many, from whom remorse had seemed far distant a while before, shuddered and glanced behind them. It was as if the dead who lay starkwithout the doors, ay, and the countless dead of Paris, with whoseshrieks the air was laden, had flocked in shadowy shape into the hall;and there, standing beside their murderers, had whispered with their coldbreath in the living ears, "A reckoning! A reckoning! As I am, thoushalt be!"

It was Count Hannibal who broke the spell and the silence, and with hishand on his brother's shoulder stood forward. 

"Nay, sire, " he cried, in a voice which rang defiant in the roof, andseemed to challenge alike the living and the dead, "if all deny the deed, yet will not I! What we have done we have done! So be it! The dead aredead! So be it! For the rest, your Majesty has still one servant whowill do your will, one soldier whose life is at your disposition! I havesaid I will go, and I go, sire. And you, churchman, " he continued, turning in bitter scorn to the priest, "do you go too--to church! Tochurch, shaveling! Go, watch and pray for us! Fast and flog for us!Whip those shoulders, whip them till the blood runs down! For it is all, it seems, you will do for your King!"

Charles turned. "Silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "Sow nomore troubles! Already, " a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "I seeblood, blood, blood everywhere! Blood? Ah, God, shall I from this timesee anything else? But there is no turning back. There is no undoing. So, do you go to Biron. And do you, " he went on, sullenly addressingMarshal Tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needful he shouldknow. "

"'Tis done, sire!" the Marshal cried, with a hiccough. "Come, brother!"

But when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passeddown the hall to the door, the Marshal tapped Hannibal's sleeve. 

"It was touch and go, " he muttered; it was plain he had been more soberthan he seemed. "Mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master inhis fits! Remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother. As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil's heelsto a marvel! But you won't be so mad as to go to Biron?"

"Yes, " Count Hannibal answered coldly. "I shall go. "

"Better not! Better not!" the Marshal answered. "'Twill be easier to goin than to come out--with a whole throat! Have you taken wild cats inthe hollow of a tree? The young first, and then the she-cat? Well, itwill be that! Take my advice, brother. Have after Montgomery, if youplease, ride with Nancay to Chatillon--he is mounting now--go where youplease out of Paris, but don't go there! Biron hates us, hates me. Andfor the King, if he do not see you for a few days, 'twill blow over in aweek. "

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "No, " he said, "I shall go. "

The Marshal stared a moment. "Morbleu!" he said, "why? 'Tis not toplease the King, I know. What do you think to find there, brother?"

"A minister, " Hannibal answered gently. "I want one with life in him, and they are scarce in the open. So I must to covert after him. " And, twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed acrossthe court to the gate, and to his horses. 

The Marshal went back laughing, and, slapping his thigh as he entered thehall, jostled by accident a gentleman who was passing out. 

"What is it?" the Gascon cried hotly; for it was Chicot he had jostled. 

"Who touches my brother touches Tavannes!" the Marshal hiccoughed. And, smiting his thigh anew, he went off into another fit of laughter. 

CHAPTER XIII. DIPLOMACY. 

Where the old wall of Paris, of which no vestige remains, ran down on theeast to the north bank of the river, the space in the angle between theSeine and the ramparts beyond the Rue St. Pol wore at this date an aspecttypical of the troubles of the time. Along the waterside the gloomy oldPalace of St. Pol, once the residence of the mad King Charles theSixth--and his wife, the abandoned Isabeau de Baviere--sprawled its mazeof mouldering courts and ruined galleries; a dreary monument of theGothic days which were passing from France. Its spacious curtilage anddark pleasaunces covered all the ground between the river and the Rue St. Antoine; and north of this, under the shadow of the eight great towers ofthe Bastille, which looked, four outward to check the stranger, fourinward to bridle the town, a second palace, beginning where St. Polended, carried the realm of decay to the city wall. 

This second palace was the Hotel des Tournelles, a fantastic medley ofturrets, spires, and gables, that equally with its neighbour recalled thedays of the English domination; it had been the abode of the RegentBedford. From his time it had remained for a hundred years the townresidence of the kings of France; but the death of Henry II. , slain inits lists by the lance of the same Montgomery who was this day fleeingfor his life before Guise, had given his widow a distaste for it. Catherine de Medicis, her sons, and the Court had abandoned it; alreadyits gardens lay a tangled wilderness, its roofs let in the rain, ratsplayed where kings had slept; and in "our palace of the Tournelles"reigned only silence and decay. Unless, indeed, as was whispered abroad, the grim shade of the eleventh Louis sometimes walked in its desolateprecincts. 

In the innermost angle between the ramparts and the river, shut off fromthe rest of Paris by the decaying courts and enceintes of these forsakenpalaces, stood the Arsenal. Destroyed in great part by the explosion ofa powder-mill a few years earlier, it was in the main new; and by reasonof its river frontage, which terminated at the ruined tower of Billy, andits proximity to the Bastille, it was esteemed one of the keys of Paris. It was the appanage of the Master of the Ordnance, and within its wallsM. De Biron, a Huguenot in politics, if not in creed, who held the officeat this time, had secured himself on the first alarm. During the day hehad admitted a number of refugees, whose courage or good luck had ledthem to his gate; and as night fell--on such a carnage as the haplesscity had not beheld since the great slaughter of the Armagnacs, onehundred and fifty-four years earlier--the glow of his matches through thedusk, and the sullen tramp of his watchmen as they paced the walls, indicated that there was still one place in Paris where the King's willdid not run. 

In comparison of the disorder which prevailed in the city, a deadly quietreigned here; a stillness so chill that a timid man must have stood andhesitated to approach. But a stranger who about nightfall rode down thestreet towards the entrance, a single footman running at his stirrup, only nodded a stern approval of the preparations. As he drew nearer hecast an attentive eye this way and that; nor stayed until a hoarsechallenge brought him up when he had come within six horses' lengths ofthe Arsenal gate. He reined up then, and raising his voice, asked inclear tones for M. De Biron. 

"Go, " he continued boldly, "tell the Grand Master that one from the Kingis here, and would speak with him. "

"From the King of France?" the officer on the gate asked. 

"Surely! Is there more than one king in France?"

A curse and a bitter cry of "King? King Herod!" were followed by amuttered discussion that, in the ears of one of the two who waited in thegloom below, boded little good. The two could descry figures moving toand fro before the faint red light of the smouldering matches; andpresently a man on the gate kindled a torch, and held it so as to flingits light downward. The stranger's attendant cowered behind the horse. 

"Have a care, my lord!" he whispered. "They are aiming at us!"

If so the rider's bold front and unmoved demeanour gave them pause. Presently, "I will send for the Grand Master" the man who had spokenbefore announced. "In whose name, monsieur?"

"No matter, " the stranger answered. "Say, one from the King. "

"You are alone?"

"I shall enter alone. "

The assurance seemed to be satisfactory, for the man answered "Good!" andafter a brief delay a wicket in the gate was opened, the portculliscreaked upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch. The horsemanwaited until the preparations were complete; then he slid to the ground, threw his rein to the servant, and boldly walked across. In an instanthe left behind him the dark street, the river, and the sounds of outrage, which the night breeze bore from the farther bank, and found himselfwithin the vaulted gateway, in a bright glare of light, the centre of aring of gleaming eyes and angry faces. 

The light blinded him for a few seconds; but the guards, on their side, were in no better case. For the stranger was masked; and in theirignorance who it was looked at them through the slits in the black velvetthey stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. There were some there withnaked weapons in their hands who would have struck him through had theyknown who he was; and more who would have stood aside while the deed wasdone. But the uncertainty--that and the masked man's tone paralyzedthem. For they reflected that he might be anyone. Conde, indeed, stoodtoo small, but Navarre, if he lived, might fill that cloak; or Guise, orAnjou, or the King himself. And while some would not have scrupled tostrike the blood royal, more would have been quick to protect and avengeit. And so before the dark uncertainty of the mask, before the riddle ofthe smiling eyes which glittered through the slits, they staredirresolute; until a hand, the hand of one bolder than his fellows, wasraised to pluck away the screen. 

The unknown dealt the fellow a buffet with his fist. "Down, rascal!" hesaid hoarsely. "And you"--to the officer--"show me instantly to M. DeBiron!"

But the lieutenant, who stood in fear of his men, looked at himdoubtfully. 

"Nay, " he said, "not so fast!" And one of the others, taking the lead, cried, "No! We may have no need of M. De Biron. Your name, monsieur, first. "

With a quick movement the stranger gripped the officer's wrist. 

"Tell your master, " he said, "that he who clasped his wrist _thus_ on thenight of Pentecost is here, and would speak with him! And say, mark you, that I will come to him, not he to me!"

The sign and the tone imposed upon the boldest. Two-thirds of the watchwere Huguenots, who burned to avenge the blood of their fellows; andthese, overriding their officer, had agreed to deal with the intruder, ifa Papegot, without recourse to the Grand Master, whose moderation theydreaded. A knife-thrust in the ribs, and another body in the ditch--whynot, when such things were done outside? But even these doubted now; andM. Peridol, the lieutenant, reading in the eyes of his men the suspicionswhich he had himself conceived, was only anxious to obey, if they wouldlet him. So gravely was he impressed, indeed, by the bearing of theunknown that he turned when he had withdrawn, and came back to assurehimself that the men meditated no harm in his absence; nor until he hadexchanged a whisper with one of them would he leave them and go. 

While he was gone on his errand the envoy leaned against the wall of thegateway, and, with his chin sunk on his breast and his mind fallen intoreverie, seemed unconscious of the dark glances of which he was thetarget. He remained in this position until the officer came back, followed by a man with a lanthorn. Their coming roused the unknown, who, invited to follow Peridol, traversed two courts without remark, and inthe same silence entered a building in the extreme eastern corner of theenceinte abutting on the ruined Tour de Billy. Here, in an upper floor, the Governor of the Arsenal had established his temporary lodging. 

The chamber into which the stranger was introduced betrayed the haste inwhich it had been prepared for its occupant. Two silver lamps which hungfrom the beams of the unceiled roof shed light on a medley of arms andinlaid armour, of parchments, books and steel caskets, which encumberednot the tables only, but the stools and chests that, after the fashion ofthat day, stood formally along the arras. In the midst of the disorder, on the bare floor, walked the man who, more than any other, had beeninstrumental in drawing the Huguenots to Paris--and to their doom. Itwas no marvel that the events of the day, the surprise and horror, stillrode his mind; nor wonderful that even he, who passed for a model ofstiffness and reticence, betrayed for once the indignation which filledhis breast. Until the officer had withdrawn and closed the door he did, indeed, keep silence; standing beside the table and eyeing his visitorwith a lofty porte and a stern glance. But the moment he was assuredthat they were alone he spoke. 

"Your Highness may unmask now, " he said, making no effort to hide hiscontempt. "Yet were you well advised to take the precaution, since youhad hardly come at me in safety without it. Had those who keep the gateseen you, I would not have answered for your Highness's life. The moreshame, " he continued vehemently, "on the deeds of this day which havecompelled the brother of a king of France to hide his face in his owncapital and in his own fortress. For I dare to say, Monsieur, what noother will say, now the Admiral is dead. You have brought back the daysof the Armagnacs. You have brought bloody days and an evil name onFrance, and I pray God that you may not pay in your turn what you haveexacted. But if you continue to be advised by M. De Guise, this I willsay, Monsieur"--and his voice fell low and stern. "Burgundy slewOrleans, indeed; but he came in his turn to the Bridge of Montereau. "

"You take me for Monsieur?" the unknown asked. And it was plain that hesmiled under his mask. 

Biron's face altered. "I take you, " he answered sharply, "for him whosesign you sent me. "

"The wisest are sometimes astray, " the other answered with a low laugh. And he took off his mask. 

The Grand Master started back, his eyes sparkling with anger. 

"M. De Tavannes?" he cried, and for a moment he was silent in sheerastonishment. Then, striking his hand on the table, "What means thistrickery?" he asked. 

"It is of the simplest, " Tavannes answered coolly. "And yet, as you justnow said, I had hardly come at you without it. And I had to come at you. No, M. De Biron, " he added quickly, as Biron in a rage laid his hand on abell which stood beside him on the table, "you cannot that way undo whatis done. "

"I can at least deliver you, " the Grand Master answered, in heat, "tothose who will deal with you as you have dealt with us and ours. "

"It will avail you nothing, " Count Hannibal replied soberly. "For seehere, Grand Master, I come from the King. If you are at war with him, and hold his fortress in his teeth, I am his ambassador and sacrosanct. If you are at peace with him and hold it at his will, I am his servant, and safe also. "

"At peace and safe?" Biron cried, his voice trembling with indignation. "And are those safe or at peace who came here trusting to _his_ word, wholay in his palace and slept in his beds? Where are they, and how havethey fared, that you dare appeal to the law of nations, or he to theloyalty of Biron? And for you to beard me, whose brother to-day houndedthe dogs of this vile city on the noblest in France, who have leaguedyourself with a crew of foreigners to do a deed which will make ourcountry stink in the nostrils of the world when we are dust! You, tocome here and talk of peace and safety! M. De Tavannes"--and he struckhis hand on the table--"you are a bold man. I know why the King had awill to send you, but I know not why you had the will to come. "

"That I will tell you later, " Count Hannibal answered coolly. "For theKing, first. My message is brief, M. De Biron. Have you a mind to holdthe scales in France?"

"Between?" Biron asked contemptuously. 

"Between the Lorrainers and the Huguenots. "

The Grand Master scowled fiercely. "I have played the go-between oncetoo often, " he growled. 

"It is no question of going between, it is a question of holdingbetween, " Tavannes answered coolly. "It is a question--but, in a word, have you a mind, M. De Biron, to be Governor of Rochelle? The King, having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, looks to follow upseverity, as a wise ruler should, with indulgence. And to quiet theminds of the Rochellois he would set over them a ruler at once acceptableto them--or war must come of it--and faithful to his Majesty. Such aman, M. De Biron, will in such a post be Master of the Kingdom; for hewill hold the doors of Janus, and as he bridles his sea-dogs, or unchainsthem, there will be peace or war in France. "

"Is all that from the King's mouth?" Biron asked with sarcasm. But hispassion had died down. He was grown thoughtful, suspicious; he eyed theother intently as if he would read his heart. 

"The offer is his, and the reflections are mine, " Tavannes answereddryly. "Let me add one more. The Admiral is dead. The King of Navarreand the Prince of Conde are prisoners. Who is now to balance theItalians and the Guises? The Grand Master--if he be wise and content togive the law to France from the citadel of Rochelle. "

Biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his frankness. 

"You are a bold man, " he cried at last. "But _timeo Danaos et donaferentes_, " he continued bitterly. "You offer, sir, too much. "

"The offer is the King's. "

"And the conditions? The price?"

"That you remain quiet, M. De Biron. "

"In the Arsenal?"

"In the Arsenal. And do not too openly counteract the King's will. Thatis all. "

The Grand Master looked puzzled. "I will give up no one, " he said. "Noone! Let that be understood. "

"The King requires no one. "

A pause. Then, "Does M. De Guise know of the offer?" Biron inquired; andhis eye grew bright. He hated the Guises and was hated by them. It was_there_ he was a Huguenot. 

"He has gone far to-day, " Count Hannibal answered dryly. "And if noworse come of it should be content. Madame Catherine knows of it. "

The Grand Master was aware that Marshal Tavannes depended on the Queen-mother; and he shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ay, 'tis like her policy, " he muttered. "'Tis like her!" And pointinghis guest to a cushioned chest which stood against the wall, he sat downin a chair beside the table and thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, hiseyes dreaming. By-and-by he laughed sourly. "You have lighted thefire, " he said, "and would fain I put it out. "

"We would have you hinder it spreading. "

"You have done the deed and are loth to pay the blood-money. That is it, is it?

"We prefer to pay it to M. De Biron, " Count Hannibal answered civilly. 

Again the Grand Master was silent awhile. At length he looked up andfixed Tavannes with eyes keen as steel. 

"What is behind?" he growled. "Say, man, what is it? What is behind?"

"If there be aught behind, I do not know it, " Tavannes answeredsteadfastly. 

M. De Biron relaxed the fixity of his gaze. "But you said that you hadan object?" he returned. 

"I had--in being the bearer of the message. "

"What was it?"

"My object? To learn two things. "

"The first, if it please you?" The Grand Master's chin stuck out alittle, as he spoke. 

"Have you in the Arsenal a M. De Tignonville, a gentleman of Poitou?"

"I have not, " Biron answered curtly. "The second?"

"Have you here a Huguenot minister?"

"I have not. And if I had I should not give him up, " he added firmly. 

Tavannes shrugged his shoulders. "I have a use for one, " he saidcarelessly. "But it need not harm him. "

"For what, then, do you need him?"

"To marry me. "

The other stared. "But you are a Catholic, " he said. 

"But she is a Huguenot, " Tavannes answered. 

The Grand Master did not attempt to hide his astonishment. 

"And she sticks on that?" he exclaimed. "To-day?"

"She sticks on that. To-day. "

"To-day? _Nom de Dieu_! To-day! Well, " brushing the matter aside aftera pause of bewilderment, "any way, I cannot help her. I have no ministerhere. If there be aught else I can do for her--"

"Nothing, I thank you, " Tavannes answered. "Then it only remains for meto take your answer to the King?" And he rose politely, and taking hismask from the table prepared to assume it. 

M. De Biron gazed at him a moment without speaking, as if he pondered onthe answer he should give. At length he nodded, and rang the bell whichstood beside him. 

"The mask!" he muttered in a low voice as footsteps sounded without. And, obedient to the hint, Tavannes disguised himself. A second later theofficer who had introduced him opened the door and entered. 

"Peridol, " M. De Biron said--he had risen to his feet--"I have received amessage which needs confirmation; and to obtain this I must leave theArsenal. I am going to the house--you will remember this--of MarshalTavannes, who will be responsible for my person; in the mean time thisgentleman will remain under strict guard in the south chamber upstairs. You will treat him as a hostage, with all respect, and will allow him topreserve his _incognito_. But if I do not return by noon to-morrow, youwill deliver him to the men below, who will know how to deal with him. "

Count Hannibal made no attempt to interrupt him, nor did he betray thediscomfiture which he undoubtedly felt. But as the Grand Master paused--

"M. De Biron, " he said, in a voice harsh and low, "you will answer to mefor this!" And his eyes glittered through the slits in the mask. 

"Possibly, but not to-day or to-morrow!" Biron replied, shrugging hisshoulders contemptuously. "Peridol! see the gentleman bestowed as I haveordered, and then return to me. Monsieur, " with a bow, half courteous, half ironical, "let me commend to you the advantages of silence and yourmask. " And he waved his hand in the direction of the door. 

A moment Count Hannibal hesitated. He was in the heart of a hostilefortress where the resistance of a single man armed to the teeth musthave been futile; and he was unarmed, save for a poniard. Nevertheless, for a moment the impulse to spring on Biron, and with the dagger at histhroat to make his life the price of a safe passage, was strong. Then--forwith the warp of a harsh and passionate character were interwrought anodd shrewdness and some things little suspected--he resigned himself. Bowing gravely, he turned with dignity, and in silence followed theofficer from the room. 

Peridol had two men in waiting at the door. From one of these thelieutenant took a lanthorn, and, with an air at once sullen anddeferential, led the way up the stone staircase to the floor over that inwhich M. De Biron had his lodging. Tavannes followed; the two guardscame last, carrying a second lanthorn. At the head of the staircase, whence a bare passage ran, north and south, the procession turned right-handed, and, passing two doors, halted before the third and last, whichfaced them at the end of the passage. The lieutenant unlocked it with akey which he took from a hook beside the doorpost. Then, holding up hislight, he invited his charge to enter. 

The room was not small, but it was low in the roof, and prison-like, ithad bare walls and smoke-marks on the ceiling. The window, set in a deeprecess, the floor of which rose a foot above that of the room, wasunglazed; and through the gloomy orifice the night wind blew in, ladeneven on that August evening with the dank mist of the river flats. Atable, two stools, and a truckle bed without straw or covering made upthe furniture; but Peridol, after glancing round, ordered one of the mento fetch a truss of straw and the other to bring up a pitcher of wine. While they were gone Tavannes and he stood silently waiting, until, observing that the captive's eyes sought the window, the lieutenantlaughed. 

"No bars?" he said. "No, Monsieur, and no need of them. You will not goby that road, bars or no bars. "

"What is below?" Count Hannibal asked carelessly. "The river?"

"Yes, Monsieur, " with a grin; "but not water. Mud, and six feet of it, soft as Christmas porridge, but not so sweet. I've known two puppiesthrown in under this window that did not weigh more than a fat pulletapiece. One was gone before you could count fifty, and the other did notlive thrice as long--nor would have lasted that time, but that it fell onthe first and clung to it. "

Tavannes dismissed the matter with a shrug, and, drawing his cloak abouthim, set a stool against the wall and sat down. The men who brought inthe wine and the bundle of straw were inquisitive, and would haveloitered, scanning him stealthily; but Peridol hurried them away. Thelieutenant himself stayed only to cast a glance round the room, and tomutter that he would return when his lord returned; then, with a "Goodnight" which said more for his manners than his good will, he followedthem out. A moment later the grating of the key in the lock and thesound of the bolts as they sped home told Tavannes that he was aprisoner. 

CHAPTER XIV. TOO SHORT A SPOON. 

Count Hannibal remained seated, his chin sunk on his breast, until hisear assured him that the three men had descended the stairs to the floorbelow. Then he rose, and, taking the lanthorn from the table, on whichPeridol had placed it, he went softly to the door, which, like thewindow, stood in a recess--in this case the prolongation of the passage. A brief scrutiny satisfied him that escape that way was impossible, andhe turned, after a cursory glance at the floor and ceiling, to the dark, windy aperture which yawned at the end of the apartment. Placing thelanthorn on the table, and covering it with his cloak, he mounted thewindow recess, and, stepping to the unguarded edge, looked out. 

He knew, rather than saw, that Peridol had told the truth. The smell ofthe aguish flats which fringed that part of Paris rose strong in hisnostrils. He guessed that the sluggish arm of the Seine which dividedthe Arsenal from the Ile des Louviers crawled below; but the night wasdark, and it was impossible to discern land from water. He fancied thathe could trace the outline of the island--an uninhabited place, given upto wood piles; but the lights of the college quarter beyond it, whichrose feebly twinkling to the crown of St. Genevieve, confused his sightand rendered the nearer gloom more opaque. From that direction and fromthe Cite to his right came sounds which told of a city still heaving inits blood-stained sleep, and even in its dreams planning furtherexcesses. Now a distant shot, and now a faint murmur on one of thebridges, or a far-off cry, raucous, sudden, curdled the blood. But evenof what was passing under cover of the darkness, he could learn little;and after standing awhile with a hand on either side of the window hefound the night air chill. He stepped back, and, descending to thefloor, uncovered the lanthorn and set it on the table. His thoughtstravelled back to the preparations he had made the night before with aview to securing Mademoiselle's person, and he considered, with a grimsmile, how little he had foreseen that within twenty-four hours he wouldhimself be a prisoner. Presently, finding his mask oppressive, heremoved it, and, laying it on the table before him, sat scowling at thelight. 

Biron had jockeyed him cleverly. Well, the worse for Armand de Gontautde Biron if after this adventure the luck went against him! But in themean time? In the mean time his fate was sealed if harm befell Biron. And what the King's real mind in Biron's case was, and what the Queen-Mother's, he could not say; just as it was impossible to predict how far, when they had the Grand Master at their mercy, they would resist thetemptation to add him to the victims. If Biron placed himself at once inMarshal Tavannes' hands, all might be well. But if he ventured withinthe long arm of the Guises, or went directly to the Louvre, the fact thatwith the Grand Master's fate Count Hannibal's was bound up, would notweigh a straw. In such crises the great sacrificed the less great, theless great the small, without a scruple. And the Guises did not loveCount Hannibal; he was not loved by many. Even the strength of hisbrother the Marshal stood rather in the favour of the King's heir, forwhom he had won the battle of Jarnac, than intrinsically; and, durable inordinary times, might snap in the clash of forces and interests which thedesperate madness of this day had let loose on Paris. 

It was not the peril in which he stood, however--though, with the coldclear eye of the man who had often faced peril, he appreciated it to anicety--that Count Hannibal found least bearable, but his enforcedinactivity. He had thought to ride the whirlwind and direct the storm, and out of the danger of others to compact his own success. Instead helay here, not only powerless to guide his destiny, which hung on thediscretion of another, but unable to stretch forth a finger to furtherhis plans. 

As he sat looking darkly at the lanthorn, his mind followed Biron and hisriders through the midnight streets along St. Antoine and La Verrerie, through the gloomy narrows of the Rue la Ferronerie, and so past thehouse in the Rue St. Honore where Mademoiselle sat awaiting themorrow--sat awaiting Tignonville, the minister, the marriage! Doubtlessthere were still bands of plunderers roaming to and fro; at the barrierstroops of archers stopping the suspected; at the windows pale facesgazing down; at the gates of the Temple, and of the walled enclosureswhich largely made up the city, strong guards set to prevent invasion. Biron would go with sufficient to secure himself; and unless heencountered the bodyguard of Guise his passage would quiet the town. Butwas it so certain that _she_ was safe? He knew his men, and while he hadbeen free he had not hesitated to leave her in their care. But now thathe could not go, now that he could not raise a hand to help, theconfidence which had not failed him in straits more dangerous grew weak. He pictured the things which might happen, at which, in his normal frameof mind, he would have laughed. Now they troubled him so that he startedat a shadow, so that he quailed at a thought. He, who last night, whenfree to act, had timed his coming and her rescue to a minute! Who hadrejoiced in the peril, since with the glamour of such things foolishwomen were taken! Who had not flinched when the crowd roared mostfiercely for her blood!

Why had he suffered himself to be trapped? Why indeed? And thrice inpassion he paced the room. Long ago the famous Nostradamus had told himthat he would live to be a king, but of the smallest kingdom in theworld. "Every man is a king in his coffin, " he had answered. "The graveis cold and your kingdom shall be warm, " the wizard had rejoined. Onwhich the courtiers had laughed, promising him a Moorish island and ablack queen. And he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken noteof the sovereign counties of France, their rulers and their heirs. Nowhe held the thought in horror, foreseeing no county, but the cage underthe stifling tiles at Loches, in which Cardinal Balue and many anotherhad worn out their hearts. 

He came to that thought not by way of his own peril, but ofMademoiselle's; which affected him in so novel a fashion that he wonderedat his folly. At last, tired of watching the shadows which the draughtset dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak about him and lay down on thestraw. He had kept vigil the previous night, and in a few minutes, witha campaigner's ease, he was asleep. 

Midnight had struck. About two the light in the lanthorn burned low inthe socket, and with a soft sputtering went out. For an hour after thatthe room lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, the greyerfor the river mist which wrapped the neighbourhood in a clammy shroud, began to creep into the room and discover the vague shapes of things. Again an hour passed, and the sun was rising above Montreuil, and hereand there the river began to shimmer through the fog. But in the room itwas barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, his faceexpectant. Something had roused him. He listened. 

His ear, and the habit of vigilance which a life of danger instils, hadnot deceived him. There were men moving in the passage; men who shuffledtheir feet impatiently. Had Biron returned? Or had aught happened tohim, and were these men come to avenge him? Count Hannibal rose andstole across the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it, listened. 

He listened while a man might count a hundred and fifty, counting slowly. Then, for the third part of a second, he turned his head, and his eyestravelled the room. He stooped again and listened more closely, scarcelybreathing. There were voices as well as feet to be heard now; onevoice--he thought it was Peridol's--which held on long, now low, nowrising into violence. Others were audible at intervals, but only in agrowl or a bitter exclamation, that told of minds made up and hands whichwould not be restrained. He caught his own name, _Tavannes_--the maskwas useless, then! And once a noisy movement which came to nothing, foiled, he fancied, by Peridol. 

He knew enough. He rose to his full height, and his eyes seemed a littlecloser together; an ugly smile curved his lips. His gaze travelled overthe objects in the room, the bare stools and table, the lanthorn, thewine-pitcher; beyond these, in a corner, the cloak and straw on the lowbed. The light, cold and grey, fell cheerlessly on the dull chamber, andshowed it in harmony with the ominous whisper which grew in the gallery;with the stern-faced listener who stood, his one hand on the door. Helooked, but he found nothing to his purpose, nothing to serve his end, whatever his end was; and with a quick light step he left the door, mounted the window recess, and, poised on the very edge, looked down. 

If he thought to escape that way his hope was desperate. The depth tothe water-level was not, he judged, twelve feet. But Peridol had toldthe truth. Below lay not water, but a smooth surface of viscid slime, here luminous with the florescence of rottenness, there furrowed by atiny runnel of moisture which sluggishly crept across it to the slowstream beyond. This quicksand, vile and treacherous, lapped the wallbelow the window, and more than accounted for the absence of bars orfastenings. But, leaning far out, he saw that it ended at the angle ofthe building, at a point twenty feet or so to the right of his position. 

He sprang to the floor again, and listened an instant; then, with guardedmovements--for there was fear in the air, fear in the silent room, and atany moment the rush might be made, the door burst in--he set the lanthornand wine-pitcher on the floor, and took up the table in his arms. Hebegan to carry it to the window, but, halfway thither, his eye told himthat it would not pass through the opening, and he set it down again andglided to the bed. Again he was thwarted; the bed was screwed to thefloor. Another might have despaired at that, but he rose with no sign ofdismay, and listening, always listening, he spread his cloak on thefloor, and deftly, with as little noise and rustling as might be, bepiled the straw in it, compressed the bundle, and, cutting the bed-cordswith his dagger, bound all together with them. In three steps he was inthe embrasure of the window, and, even as the men in the passage thrustthe lieutenant aside and with a sudden uproar came down to the door, heflung the bundle lightly and carefully to the right--so lightly andcarefully, and with so nice and deliberate a calculation, that it seemedodd it fell beyond the reach of an ordinary leap. 

An instant and he was on the floor again. The men had to unlock, to drawback the bolts, to draw back the door which opened outwards; theirnumbers, as well as their savage haste, impeded them. When they burst inat last, with a roar of "To the river! To the river!"--burst in a rushof struggling shoulders and lowered pikes, they found him standing, asolitary figure, on the further side of the table, his arms folded. Andthe sight of the passive figure for a moment stayed them. 

"Say your prayers, child of Satan!" cried the leader, waving his weapon. "We give you one minute!"

"Ay, one minute!" his followers chimed in. "Be ready!"

"You would murder me?" he said with dignity. And when they shoutedassent, "Good!" he answered. "It is between you and M. De Biron, whoseguest I am. But"--with a glance which passed round the ring of glaringeyes and working features--"I would leave a last word for some one. Isthere any one here who values a safe-conduct from the King? 'Tis for twomen coming and going for a fortnight. " And he held up a slip of paper. 

The leader cried, "To hell with his safe-conduct! Say your prayers!"

But all were not of his mind. On one or two of the savage faces--thefaces, for the most part, of honest men maddened by their wrongs--flashedan avaricious gleam. A safe-conduct? To avenge, to slay, to kill--andto go safe! For some minds such a thing has an invincible fascination. Aman thrust himself forward. 

"Ay, I'll have it!" he cried. "Give it here!"

"It is yours, " Count Hannibal answered, "if you will carry ten words toMarshal Tavannes--when I am gone. "

The man's neighbour laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

"And Marshal Tavannes will pay you finely, " he said. 

But Maudron, the man who had offered, shook off the hand. 

"If I take the message!" he muttered in a grim aside. "Do you think memad?" And then aloud he cried, "Ay, I'll take your message! Give me thepaper. "

"You swear you will take it?"

The man had no intention of taking it, but he perjured himself and wentforward. The others would have pressed round too, half in envy, half inscorn; but Tavannes by a gesture stayed them. 

"Gentlemen, I ask a minute only, " he said. "A minute for a dying man isnot much. Your friends had as much. "

And the fellows, acknowledging the claim and assured that their victimcould not escape, let Maudron go round the table to him. 

The man was in haste and ill at ease, conscious of his evil intentionsand the fraud he was practising; and at once greedy to have, yet ashamedof the bargain he was making. His attention was divided between the slipof paper, on which his eyes fixed themselves, and the attitude of hiscomrades; he paid little heed to Count Hannibal, whom he knew to beunarmed. Only when Tavannes seemed to ponder on his message, and to befain to delay, "Go on, " he muttered with brutal frankness; "your time isup!"

Tavannes started, the paper slipped from his fingers. Maudron saw achance of getting it without committing himself, and quick as the thoughtleapt up in his mind he stooped, and grasped the paper, and would haveleapt back with it! But quick as he, and quicker, Tavannes too stooped, gripped him by the waist, and with a prodigious effort, and a yell inwhich all the man's stormy nature, restrained to a part during the lastfew minutes, broke forth, he flung the ill-fated wretch head firstthrough the window. 

The movement carried Tavannes himself--even while his victim's screamrang through the chamber--into the embrasure. An instant he hung on theverge; then, as the men, a moment thunderstruck, sprang forward to avengetheir comrade, he leapt out, jumping for the struggling body that hadstruck the mud, and now lay in it face downwards. 

He alighted on it, and drove it deep into the quaking slime; but hehimself bounded off right-handed. The peril was appalling, thepossibility untried, the chance one which only a doomed man would havetaken. But he reached the straw-bale, and it gave him a momentary, aprecarious footing. He could not regain his balance, he could not evenfor an instant stand upright on it. But from its support he leapt onconvulsively, and, as a pike, flung from above, wounded him in theshoulder, he fell his length in the slough--but forward, with hisoutstretched hands resting on soil of a harder nature. They sank, it istrue, to the elbow, but he dragged his body forward on them, and forward, and freeing one by a last effort of strength--he could not free both, and, as it was, half his face was submerged--he reached out another yard, and gripped a balk of wood, which projected from the corner of thebuilding for the purpose of fending off the stream in flood-time. 

The men at the window shrieked with rage as he slowly drew himself fromthe slough, and stood from head to foot a pillar of mud. Shout as theymight, they had no firearms, and, crowded together in the narrowembrasure, they could take no aim with their pikes. They could only lookon in furious impotence, flinging curses at him until he passed fromtheir view, behind the angle of the building. 

Here for a score of yards a strip of hard foreshore ran between mud andwall. He struggled along it until he reached the end of the wall; thenwith a shuddering glance at the black heaving pit from which he hadescaped, and which yet gurgled above the body of the hapless Maudron--atribute to horror which even his fierce nature could not withhold--heturned and painfully climbed the river-bank. The pike-wound in hisshoulder was slight, but the effort had been supreme; the sweat pouredfrom his brow, his visage was grey and drawn. Nevertheless, when he hadput fifty paces between himself and the buildings of the Arsenal hepaused, and turned. He saw that the men had run to other windows whichlooked that way; and his face lightened and his form dilated withtriumph. 

He shook his fist at them. "Ho, fools!" he cried, "you kill not Tavannesso! Till our next meeting at Montfaucon, fare you well!"

CHAPTER XV. THE BROTHER OF ST. MAGLOIRE. 

As the exertion of power is for the most part pleasing, so the exerciseof that which a woman possesses over a man is especially pleasant. Whenin addition a risk of no ordinary kind has been run, and the happy issuehas been barely expected--above all when the momentary gain seems anaugury of final victory--it is impossible that a feeling akin toexultation should not arise in the mind, however black the horizon, andhowever distant the fair haven. 

The situation in which Count Hannibal left Mademoiselle de Vrillac willbe remembered. She had prevailed over him; but in return he had bowedher to the earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheer savagery. He had left her weeping, with the words "Madame de Tavannes" ringing doomin her ears, and the dark phantom of his will pointing onward to aninevitable future. Had she abandoned hope, it would have been natural. 

But the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily cowed; and Tavannes hadnot left her half an hour before the reflection, that so far the honoursof the day were hers, rose up to console her. In spite of his power andher impotence, she had imposed her will upon his; she had established aninfluence over him, she had discovered a scruple which stayed him, and alimit beyond which he would not pass. In the result she might escape;for the conditions which he had accepted with an ill grace might provebeyond his fulfilling. She might escape! True, many in her place wouldhave feared a worse fate and harsher handling. But there lay half themerit of her victory. It had left her not only in a better position, butwith a new confidence in her power over her adversary. He would insiston the bargain struck between them; within its four corners she couldlook for no indulgence. But if the conditions proved to be beyond hispower, she believed that he would spare her: with an ill grace, indeed, with such ferocity and coarse reviling as her woman's pride mightscarcely support. But he would spare her. 

And if the worst befell her? She would still have the consolation ofknowing that from the cataclysm which had overwhelmed her friends she hadransomed those most dear to her. Owing to the position of her chamber, she saw nothing of the excesses to which Paris gave itself up during theremainder of that day, and to which it returned with unabated zest on thefollowing morning. But the Carlats and her women learned from the guardsbelow what was passing; and quaking and cowering in their corners fixedfrightened eyes on her, who was their stay and hope. How could she provefalse to them? How doom them to perish, had there been no question ofher lover?

Of him she sat thinking by the hour together. She recalled with solemntenderness the moment in which he had devoted himself to the death whichcame but halfway to seize them; nor was she slow to forgive hissubsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue her in spite of herself. She found the impulse to die glorious; the withdrawal--for the actor washer lover--a thing done for her, which he would not have done forhimself, and which she quickly forgave him. The revulsion of feelingwhich had conquered her at the time, and led her to tear herself fromhim, no longer moved her much while all in his action that might haveseemed in other eyes less than heroic, all in his conduct--in a crisisdemanding the highest--that smacked of common or mean, vanished, for shestill clung to him. Clung to him, not so much with the passion of themature woman, as with the maiden and sentimental affection of one who hasnow no hope of possessing, and for whom love no longer spells life, butsacrifice. 

She had leisure for these musings, for she was left to herself all thatday, and until late on the following day. Her own servants waited onher, and it was known that below stairs Count Hannibal's riders keptsullen ward behind barred doors and shuttered windows, refusing admissionto all who came. Now and again echoes of the riot which filled thestreets with bloodshed reached her ears: or word of the more strikingoccurrences was brought to her by Madame Carlat. And early on thissecond day, Monday, it was whispered that M. De Tavannes had notreturned, and that the men below were growing uneasy. 

At last, when the suspense below and above was growing tense, it wasbroken. Footsteps and voices were heard ascending the stairs, thetrampling and hubbub were followed by a heavy knock; perforce the doorwas opened. While Mademoiselle, who had risen, awaited with a beatingheart she knew not what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks ofSt. Magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing himself, muttered thewords of benediction. He entered slowly. 

No sight could have been more dreadful to Mademoiselle; for it set atnaught the conditions which she had so hardly exacted. What if CountHannibal were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, prepared toforce her to a marriage before this shaveling? Or ready to proceed, ifshe refused, to the last extremity? Sudden terror taking her by thethroat choked her; her colour fled, her hand flew to her breast. Yet, before the door had closed on Bigot, she had recovered herself. 

"This intrusion is not by M. De Tavannes' orders!" she cried, steppingforward haughtily. "This person has no business here. How dare youadmit him?"

The Norman showed his bearded visage a moment at the door. 

"My lord's orders, " he muttered sullenly. And he closed the door onthem. 

She had a Huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in this crisis, her reasonsfor fearing it. Her eyes blazed with indignation. 

"Enough!" she cried, pointing, with a gesture of dismissal, to the door. "Go back to him who sent you! If he will insult me, let him do it to myface! If he will perjure himself, let him forswear himself in person. Or, if you come on your own account, " she continued, flinging prudence tothe winds, "as your brethren came to Philippa de Luns, to offer me thechoice you offered her, I give you her answer! If I had thought ofmyself only, I had not lived so long! And rather than bear your presenceor hear your arguments--"

She came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the word; her lips remainedparted, she swayed an instant on her feet. The next moment MadameCarlat, to whom the visitor had turned his shoulder, doubted her eyes, for Mademoiselle was in the monk's arms!

"Clotilde! Clotilde!" he cried, and held her to him. 

For the monk was M. De Tignonville! Under the cowl was the lover withwhom Mademoiselle's thoughts had been engaged. In this disguise, andarmed with Tavannes' note to Madame St. Lo--which the guards below knewfor Count Hannibal's hand, though they were unable to decipher thecontents--he had found no difficulty in making his way to her. 

He had learned before he entered that Tavannes was abroad, and was aware, therefore, that he ran little risk. But his betrothed, who knew nothingof his adventures in the interval, saw in him one who came to her at thegreatest risk, across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming withblood. And though she had never embraced him save in the crisis of themassacre, though she had never called him by his Christian name, in thejoy of this meeting she abandoned herself to him, she clung to himweeping, she forgot for the time his defection, and thought only of himwho had returned to her so gallantly, who brought into the room a breathof Poitou, and the sea, and the old days, and the old life; and at thesight of whom the horrors of the last two days fell from her--for themoment. 

And Madame Carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping. Theleast moved was, for a certainty, M. De Tignonville himself, who, as weknow, had gone through much that day. But even his heart swelled, partlywith pride, partly with thankfulness that he had returned to one wholoved him so well. Fate had been kinder to him than he deserved; but heneed not confess that now. When he had brought off the _coup_ which hehad in his mind, he would hasten to forget that he had entertained otherideas. 

Mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also thefirst to recover herself. 

"I had forgotten, " she cried suddenly, "I had forgotten, " and she wrestedherself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her facewhite, her eyes affrighted. "I must not! And you--I had forgotten thattoo! To be here, Monsieur, is the worst office you can do me. You mustgo! Go, Monsieur, in mercy I beg of you, while it is possible. Everymoment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, I shudder. "

"You need not fear for me, " he said, in a tone of bravado. He did notunderstand. 

"I fear for myself!" she answered. And then, wringing her hands, dividedbetween her love for him and her fear for herself, "Oh, forgive me!" shesaid. "You do not know that he has promised to spare me, if he cannotproduce you, and--and--a minister? He has granted me that; but I thoughtwhen you entered that he had gone back on his word, and sent a priest, and it maddened me! I could not bear to think that I had gained nothing. Now you understand, and you will pardon me, Monsieur? If he cannotproduce you I am saved. Go then, leave me, I beg, without a moment'sdelay. "

He laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared hisshoulders. 

"All that is over!" he said, "over and done with, sweet! M. De Tavannesis at this moment a prisoner in the Arsenal. On my way hither I fell inwith M. De Biron, and he told me. The Grand Master, who would have hadme join his company, had been all night at Marshal Tavannes' hotel, wherehe had been detained longer than he expected. He stood pledged torelease Count Hannibal on his return, but at my request he consented tohold him one hour, and to do also a little thing for me. "

The glow of hope which had transfigured her face faded slowly. 

"It will not help, " she said, "if he find you here. "

"He will not! Nor you!"

"How, Monsieur?"

"In a few minutes, " he explained--he could not hide his exultation, "amessage will come from the Arsenal in the name of Tavannes, bidding themonk he sent to you bring you to him. A spoken message, corroborated bymy presence, should suffice: '_Bid the monk who is now withMademoiselle_, ' it will run, '_bring her to me at the Arsenal, and letfour pikes guard them hither_. ' When I begged M. De Biron to do this, helaughed. 'I can do better, ' he said. 'They shall bring one of CountHannibal's gloves, which he left on my table. Always supposing myrascals have done him no harm, which God forbid, for I am answerable. '"

Tignonville, delighted with the stratagem which the meeting with Bironhad suggested, could see no flaw in it. She could, and though she heardhim to the end, no second glow of hope softened the lines of herfeatures. With a gesture full of dignity, which took in not only MadameCarlat and the waiting-woman who stood at the door, but the absentservants--

"And what of these?" she said. "What of these? You forget them, Monsieur. You do not think, you cannot have thought, that I wouldabandon them? That I would leave them to such mercy as he, defeated, might extend to them? No, you forgot them. "

He did not know what to answer, for the jealous eyes of the frightenedwaiting-woman, fierce with the fierceness of a hunted animal, were onhim. The Carlat and she had heard, could hear. At last--

"Better one than none!" he muttered, in a voice so low that if theservants caught his meaning it was but indistinctly. "I have to think ofyou. "

"And I of them, " she answered firmly. "Nor is that all. Were they nothere, it could not be. My word is passed--though a moment ago, Monsieur, in the joy of seeing you I forgot it. And how, " she continued, "if Ikeep not my word, can I expect him to keep his? Or how, if I am ready tobreak the bond, on this happening which I never expected, can I hold himto conditions which he loves as little--as little as I love him?"

Her voice dropped piteously on the last words; her eyes, craving herlover's pardon, sought his. But rage, not pity or admiration, was thefeeling roused in Tignonville's breast. He stood staring at her, struckdumb by folly so immense. At last--

"You cannot mean this, " he blurted out. "You cannot mean, Mademoiselle, that you intend to stand on that! To keep a promise wrung from you byforce, by treachery, in the midst of such horrors as he and his havebrought upon us! It is inconceivable!"

She shook her head. "I promised, " she said. 

"You were forced to it. "

"But the promise saved our lives. "

"From murderers! From assassins!" he protested. 

She shook her head. "I cannot go back, " she said firmly; "I cannot. "

"Then you are willing to marry him, " he cried in ignoble anger. "That isit! Nay, you must wish to marry him! For, as for his conditions, Mademoiselle, " the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, "youcannot think seriously of them. _He_ keep conditions and you in hispower! He, Count Hannibal! But for the matter of that, and were he inthe mind to keep them, what are they? There are plenty of ministers. Ileft one only this morning. I could lay my hand on one in five minutes. He has only to find one, therefore--and to find me!"

"Yes, Monsieur, " she cried, trembling with wounded pride, "it is for thatreason I implore you to go. The sooner you leave me, the sooner youplace yourself in a position of security, the happier for me! Everymoment that you spend here, you endanger both yourself and me!"

"If you will not be persuaded--"

"I shall not be persuaded, " she answered firmly, "and you do but"--alas!her pride began to break down, her voice to quiver, she looked piteouslyat him--"by staying here make it harder for me to--to--"

"Hush!" cried Madame Carlat. "Hush!" And as they started and turnedtowards her--she was at the end of the chamber by the door, almost out ofearshot--she raised a warning hand. "Listen!" she muttered, "some onehas entered the house. "

"'Tis my messenger from Biron, " Tignonville answered sullenly. And hedrew his cowl over his face, and, hiding his hands in his sleeves, movedtowards the door. But on the threshold he turned and held out his arms. He could not go thus. "Mademoiselle! Clotilde!" he cried with passion, "for the last time, listen to me, come with me. Be persuaded!"

"Hush!" Madame Carlat interposed again, and turned a scared face on them. "It is no messenger! It is Tavannes himself: I know his voice. " And shewrung her hands. "_Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu_, what are we to do?" shecontinued, panic-stricken. And she looked all ways about the room. 

CHAPTER XVI. AT CLOSE QUARTERS. 

Fear leapt into Mademoiselle's eyes, but she commanded herself. Shesigned to Madame Carlat to be silent, and they listened, gazing at oneanother, hoping against hope that the woman was mistaken. A long momentthey waited, and some were beginning to breathe again, when the stridenttones of Count Hannibal's voice rolled up the staircase, and put an endto doubt. Mademoiselle grasped the table and stood supporting herself byit. 

"What are we to do?" she muttered. "What are we to do?" and she turneddistractedly towards the women. The courage which had supported her inher lover's absence had abandoned her now. "If he finds him here I amlost! I am lost!"

"He will not know me, " Tignonville muttered. But he spoke uncertainly;and his gaze, shifting hither and thither, belied the boldness of hiswords. 

Madame Carlat's eyes flew round the room; on her for once the burdenseemed to rest. Alas! the room had no second door, and the windowslooked on a courtyard guarded by Tavannes' people. And even now CountHannibal's step rang on the stair! his hand was almost on the latch. Thewoman wrung her hands; then, a thought striking her, she darted to acorner where Mademoiselle's robes hung on pegs against the wall. 

"Here!" she cried, raising them. "Behind these! He may not be seenhere! Quick, Monsieur, quick! Hide yourself!"

It was a forlorn hope--the suggestion of one who had not thought out theposition; and, whatever its promise, Mademoiselle's pride revoltedagainst it. 

"No, " she cried. "Not there!" while Tignonville, who knew that the stepwas useless, since Count Hannibal must have learned that a monk hadentered, held his ground. 

"You could not deny yourself?" he muttered hurriedly. 

"And a priest with me?" she answered; and she shook her head. 

There was no time for more, and even as Mademoiselle spoke CountHannibal's knuckles tapped the door. She cast a last look at her lover. He had turned his back on the window; the light no longer fell on hisface. It was possible that he might pass unrecognized, if Tavannes' staywas brief; at any rate, the risk must be run. In a half stifled voiceshe bade her woman, Javette, open the door. Count Hannibal bowed low ashe entered; and he deceived the others. But he did not deceive her. Hehad not crossed the threshold before she repented that she had not actedon Tignonville's suggestion, and denied herself. For what could escapethose hard keen eyes, which swept the room, saw all, and seemed to seenothing--those eyes in which there dwelt even now a glint of cruelhumour? He might deceive others, but she who panted within his grasp, asthe wild bird palpitates in the hand of the fowler, was not deceived! Hesaw, he knew! although, as he bowed, and smiling, stood upright, helooked only at her. 

"I expected to be with you before this, " he said courteously, "but I havebeen detained. First, Mademoiselle, by some of your friends, who werereluctant to part with me; then by some of your enemies, who, finding mein no handsome case, took me for a Huguenot escaped from the river, anddrove me to shifts to get clear of them. However, now I am come, I havenews. "

"News?" she muttered with dry lips. It could hardly be good news. 

"Yes, Mademoiselle, of M. De Tignonville, " he answered. "I have littledoubt that I shall be able to produce him this evening, and so to satisfyone of your scruples. And as I trust that this good father, " he went on, turning to the ecclesiastic, and speaking with the sneer from which heseldom refrained, Catholic as he was, when he mentioned a priest, "has bythis time succeeded in removing the other, and persuading you to accepthis ministrations--"

"No!" she cried impulsively. 

"No?" with a dubious smile, and a glance from one to the other. "Oh, Ihad hoped better things. But he still may? He still may. I am sure hemay. In which case, Mademoiselle, your modesty must pardon me if I pleadurgency, and fix the hour after supper this evening for the fulfilment ofyour promise. "

She turned white to the lips. "After supper?" she gasped. 

"Yes, Mademoiselle, this evening. Shall I say--at eight o'clock?"

In horror of the thing which menaced her, of the thing from which onlytwo hours separated her, she could find no words but those which she hadalready used. The worst was upon her; worse than the worst could notbefall her. 

"But he has not persuaded me!" she cried, clenching her hands in passion. "He has not persuaded me!"

"Still he may, Mademoiselle. "

"He will not!" she cried wildly. "He will not!"

The room was going round with her. The precipice yawned at her feet; itsnaked terrors turned her brain. She had been pushed nearer, and nearer, and nearer; struggle as she might, she was on the verge. A mist rosebefore her eyes, and though they thought she listened she understoodnothing of what was passing. When she came to herself, after the lapseof a minute, Count Hannibal was speaking. 

"Permit him another trial, " he was saying in a tone of bland irony. "Ashort time longer, Mademoiselle! One more assault, father! The weaponsof the Church could not be better directed or to a more worthy object;and, successful, shall not fail of due recognition and an earthlyreward. "

And while she listened, half fainting, with a humming in her ears, he wasgone. The door closed on him, and the three--Mademoiselle's woman hadwithdrawn when she opened to him--looked at one another. The girl partedher lips to speak, but she only smiled piteously; and it was M. DeTignonville who broke the silence, in a tone which betrayed rather reliefthan any other feeling. 

"Come, all is not lost yet, " he said briskly. "If I can escape from thehouse--"

"He knows you, " she answered. 

"What?"

"He knows you, " Mademoiselle repeated in a tone almost apathetic. "Iread it in his eyes. He knew you at once: and knew, too, " she addedbitterly, "that he had here under his hand one of the two things herequired. "

"Then why did he hide his knowledge?" the young man retorted sharply. 

"Why?" she answered. "To induce me to waive the other condition in thehope of saving you. Oh!" she continued in a tone of bitter raillery, "hehas the cunning of hell, of the priests! You are no match for him, Monsieur. Nor I; nor any of us. And"--with a gesture of despair--"hewill be my master! He will break me to his will and to his hand! Ishall be his! His, body and soul, body and soul!" she continueddrearily, as she sank into a chair and, rocking herself to and fro, covered her face. "I shall be his! His till I die!"

The man's eyes burned, and the pulse in his temples beat wildly. 

"But you shall not!" he exclaimed. "I may be no match for him incunning, you say well. But I can kill him. And I will!" He paced upand down. "I will!"

"You should have done it when he was here, " she answered, half in scorn, half in earnest. 

"It is not too late, " he cried; and then he stopped, silenced by theopening door. It was Javette who entered. They looked at her, andbefore she spoke were on their feet. Her face, white and eager, markingsomething besides fear, announced that she brought news. She closed thedoor behind her, and in a moment it was told. 

"Monsieur can escape, if he is quick, " she cried in a low tone; and theysaw that she trembled with excitement. "They are at supper. But he mustbe quick! He must be quick!"

"Is not the door guarded?"

"It is, but--"

"And he knows! Your mistress says that he knows that I am here. "

For a moment Javette looked startled. "It is possible, " she muttered. "But he has gone out. "

Madame Carlat clapped her hands. "I heard the door close, " she said, "three minutes ago. "

"And if Monsieur can reach the room in which he supped last night, thewindow that was broken is only blocked"--she swallowed once or twice inher excitement--"with something he can move. And then Monsieur is in thestreet, where his cowl will protect him. "

"But Count Hannibal's men?" he asked eagerly. 

"They are eating in the lodge by the door. "

"Ha! And they cannot see the other room from there?"

Javette nodded. Her tale told, she seemed to be unable to add a word. Mademoiselle, who knew her for a craven, wondered that she had foundcourage either to note what she had or to bring the news. But asProvidence had been so good to them as to put it into this woman's headto act as she had, it behoved them to use the opportunity--the last, thevery last opportunity they might have. 

She turned to Tignonville. "Oh, go!" she cried feverishly. "Go, I beg!Go now, Monsieur! The greatest kindness you can do me is to placeyourself as quickly as possible beyond his reach. " A faint colour, theflush of hope, had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes glittered. 

"Right, Mademoiselle!" he cried, obedient for once, "I go! And do you beof good courage. "

He held her hand: an instant, then, moving to the door, he opened it andlistened. They all pressed behind him to hear. A murmur of voices, lowand distant, mounted the staircase and bore out the girl's tale; apartfrom this the house was silent. Tignonville cast a last look atMademoiselle, and, with a gesture of farewell, glided a-tiptoe to thestairs and began to descend, his face hidden in his cowl. They watchedhim reach the angle of the staircase, they watched him vanish beyond it;and still they listened, looking at one another when a board creaked orthe voices below were hushed for a moment. 

CHAPTER XVII. THE DUEL. 

At the foot of the staircase Tignonville paused. The droning Normanvoices of the men on guard issued from an open door a few paces beforehim on the left. He caught a jest, the coarse chuckling laughter whichattended it, and the gurgle of applause which followed; and he knew thatat any moment one of the men might step out and discover him. Fortunatelythe door of the room with the shattered window was almost within reach ofhis hand on the right side of the passage, and he stepped softly to it. He stood an instant hesitating, his hand on the latch; then, alarmed by amovement in the guard-room, as if some were rising, he pushed the door ina panic, slid into the room, and shut the door behind him. He was safe, and he had made no noise; but at the table, at supper, with his back tohim and his face to the partly closed window, sat Count Hannibal!

The young man's heart stood still. For a long minute he gazed at theCount's back, spellbound and unable to stir. Then, as Tavannes ate onwithout looking round, he began to take courage. Possibly he had enteredso quietly that he had not been heard, or possibly his entrance was takenfor that of a servant. In either case, there was a chance that he mightretire after the same fashion; and he had actually raised the latch, andwas drawing the door to him with infinite precaution, when Tavannes'voice struck him, as it were, in the face. 

"Pray do not admit the draught, M. De Tignonville, " he said, withoutlooking round. "In your cowl you do not feel it, but it is otherwisewith me. "

The unfortunate Tignonville stood transfixed, glaring at the back of theother's head. For an instant he could not find his voice. At last--

"Curse you!" he hissed in a transport of rage. "Curse you! You didknow, then? And she was right. "

"If you mean that I expected you, to be sure, Monsieur, " Count Hannibalanswered. "See, your place is laid. You will not feel the air fromwithout there. The very becoming dress which you have adopted securesyou from cold. But--do you not find it somewhat oppressive this summerweather?"

"Curse you!" the young man cried, trembling. 

Tavannes turned and looked at him with a dark smile. "The curse mayfall, " he said, "but I fancy it will not be in consequence of yourpetitions, Monsieur. And now, were it not better you played the man?"

"If I were armed, " the other cried passionately, "you would not insultme!"

"Sit down, sir, sit down, " Count Hannibal answered sternly. "We willtalk of that presently. In the mean time I have something to say to you. Will you not eat?"

But Tignonville would not. 

"Very well, " Count Hannibal answered; and he went on with his supper. "Iam indifferent whether you eat or not. It is enough for me that you areone of the two things I lacked an hour ago; and that I have you, M. DeTignonville. And through you I look to obtain the other. "

"What other?" Tignonville cried. 

"A minister, " Tavannes answered, smiling. "A minister. There are notmany left in Paris--of your faith. But you met one this morning, Iknow. "

"I? I met one?"

"Yes, Monsieur, you! And can lay your hand on him in five minutes, youknow. "

M. De Tignonville gasped. His face turned a shade paler. 

"You have a spy, " he cried. "You have a spy upstairs!"

Tavannes raised his cup to his lips, and drank. When he had set it down--

"It may be, " he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. "I know, it bootsnot how I know. It is my business to make the most of my knowledge--andof yours!"

M. De Tignonville laughed rudely. "Make the most of your own, " he said;"you will have none of mine. "

"That remains to be seen, " Count Hannibal answered. "Carry your mindback two days, M. De Tignonville. Had I gone to Mademoiselle de Vrillaclast Saturday and said to her 'Marry me, or promise to marry me, ' whatanswer would she have given?"

"She would have called you an insolent!" the young man replied hotly. "And I--"

"No matter what you would have done!" Tavannes said. "Suffice it thatshe would have answered as you suggest. Yet to-day she has given me herpromise. "

"Yes, " the young man retorted, "in circumstances in which no man ofhonour--"

"Let us say in peculiar circumstances. "

"Well?"

"Which still exist! Mark me, M. De Tignonville, " Count Hannibalcontinued, leaning forward and eyeing the young man with meaning, "_whichstill exist_! And may have the same effect on another's will as on hers!Listen! Do you hear?" And rising from his seat with a darkening face, he pointed to the partly shuttered window, through which the measuredtramp of a body of men came heavily to the ear. "Do you hear, Monsieur?Do you understand? As it was yesterday it is to-day! They killed thePresident La Place this morning! And they are searching! They are stillsearching! The river is not yet full, nor the gibbet glutted! I havebut to open that window and denounce you, and your life would hang by nostronger thread than the life of a mad dog which they chase through thestreets!"

The younger man had risen also. He stood confronting Tavannes, the cowlfallen back from his face, his eyes dilated. 

"You think to frighten me!" he cried. "You think that I am craven enoughto sacrifice her to save myself. You--"

"You were craven enough to draw back yesterday, when you stood at thiswindow and waited for death!" Count Hannibal answered brutally. "Youflinched then, and may flinch again!"

"Try me!" Tignonville retorted, trembling with passion. "Try me!" Andthen, as the other stared at him and made no movement, "But you darenot!" he cried. "You dare not!"

"No?"

"No! For if I die you lose her!" Tignonville replied in a voice oftriumph. "Ha, ha! I touch you there!" he continued. "You dare not, formy safety is part of the price, and is more to you than it is to myself!You may threaten, M. De Tavannes, you may bluster, and shout and point tothe window"--and he mocked, with a disdainful mimicry, the other'sgesture--"but my safety is more to you than to me! And 'twill endthere!"

"You believe that?"

"I know it!"

In two strides Count Hannibal was at the window. He seized a great pieceof the boarding which closed one-half of the opening; he wrenched itaway. A flood of evening light burst in through the aperture, and fellon and heightened the flushed passion of his features, as he turned againto his opponent. 

"Then if you know it, " he cried vehemently, "in God's name act upon it!"And he pointed to the window. 

"Act upon it?"

"Ay, act upon it!" Tavannes repeated, with a glance of flame. "The roadis open! If you would save your mistress, behold the way! If you wouldsave her from the embrace she abhors, from the eyes under which shetrembles, from the hand of a master, there lies the way! And it is nother glove only you will save, but herself, her soul, her body! So, " hecontinued, with a certain wildness, and in a tone wherein contempt andbitterness were mingled, "to the lions, brave lover! Will you your lifefor her honour? Will you death that she may live a maid? Will you yourhead to save her finger? Then, leap down! leap down! The lists areopen, the sand is strewed! Out of your own mouth I have it that if youperish she is saved! Then out, Monsieur! Cry 'I am a Huguenot!' AndGod's will be done!"

Tignonville was livid. "Rather, your will!" he panted. "Your will, youdevil! Nevertheless--"

"You will go! Ha! ha! You will go!"

For an instant it seemed that he would go. Stung by the challenge, wrought on by the contempt in which Tavannes held him, he shot a look ofhate at the tempter; he caught his breath, and laid his hand on the edgeof the shuttering as if he would leap out. 

But it goes hard with him who has once turned back from the foe. Theevening light, glancing cold on the burnished pike-points of a group ofarchers who stood near, caught his eye and went chill to his heart. Death, not in the arena, not in the sight of shouting thousands, but inthis darkening street, with an enemy laughing from the window, death withno revenge to follow, with no certainty that after all she would be safe, such a death could be compassed only by pure love--the love of a childfor a parent, of a parent for a child, of a man for the one woman in theworld!

He recoiled. "You would not spare her!" he cried, his face damp withsweat--for he knew now that he would not go. "You want to be rid of me!You would fool me, and then--"

"Out of your own mouth you are convict!" Count Hannibal retorted gravely. "It was you who said it! But still I swear it! Shall I swear it toyou?"

But Tignonville recoiled another step and was silent. 

"No? O _preux chevalier_, O gallant knight! I knew it! Do you thinkthat I did not know with whom I had to deal?" And Count Hannibal burstinto harsh laughter, turning his back on the other, as if he no longercounted. "You will neither die with her nor for her! You were better inher petticoats and she in your breeches! Or no, you are best as you are, good father! Take my advice, M. De Tignonville, have done with arms; andwith a string of beads, and soft words, and talk of Holy Mother Church, you will fool the women as surely as the best of them! They are not alllike my cousin, a flouting, gibing, jeering woman--you had poor fortunethere, I fear?"

"If I had a sword!" Tignonville hissed, his face livid with rage. "Youcall me coward, because I will not die to please you. But give me asword, and I will show you if I am a coward!"

Tavannes stood still. "You are there, are you?" he said in an alteredtone. "I--"

"Give me a sword, " Tignonville repeated, holding out his open tremblinghands. "A sword! A sword! 'Tis easy taunting an unarmed man, but--"

"You wish to fight?"

"I ask no more! No more! Give me a sword, " he urged, his voicequivering with eagerness. "It is you who are the coward!"

Count Hannibal stared at him. "And what am I to get by fighting you?" hereasoned slowly. "You are in my power. I can do with you as I please. Ican call from this window and denounce you, or I can summon my men--"

"Coward! Coward!"

"Ay? Well, I will tell you what I will do, " with a subtle smile. "Iwill give you a sword, M. De Tignonville, and I will meet you foot tofoot here, in this room, on a condition. "

"What is it? What is it?" the young man cried with incredible eagerness. "Name your condition!"

"That if I get the better of you, you find me a minister. "

"I find you a--"

"A minister. Yes, that is it. Or tell me where I can find one. "

The young man recoiled. "Never!" he said. 

"You know where to find one. "

"Never! Never!"

"You can lay your hand on one in five minutes, you know. "

"I will not. "

"Then I shall not fight you!" Count Hannibal answered coolly; and heturned from him, and back again. "You will pardon me if I say, M. DeTignonville, that you are in as many minds about fighting as about dying!I do not think that you would have made your fortune at Court. Moreover, there is a thing which I fancy you have not considered. If we fight youmay kill me, in which case the condition will not help me much. OrI--which is more likely--" he added, with a harsh smile, "may kill you, and again I am no better placed. "

The young man's pallid features betrayed the conflict in his breast. Todo him justice, his hand itched for the sword-hilt--he was brave enoughfor that; he hated, and only so could he avenge himself. But the penaltyif he had the worse! And yet what of it? He was in hell now, in a hellof humiliation, shame, defeat, tormented by this fiend! 'Twas only torisk a lower hell. 

At last, "I will do it!" he cried hoarsely. "Give me a sword and look toyourself. "

"You promise?"

"Yes, yes, I promise!"

"Good, " Count Hannibal answered suavely, "but we cannot fight so, we musthave more light. "

And striding to the door he opened it, and calling the Norman bade himmove the table and bring candles--a dozen candles; for in the narrowstreets the light was waning, and in the half-shuttered room it wasgrowing dusk. Tignonville, listening with a throbbing brain, wonderedthat the attendant expressed no surprise and said no word--until Tavannesadded to his orders one for a pair of swords. 

Then, "Monsieur's sword is here, " Bigot answered in his half-intelligiblepatois. "He left it here yester morning. "

"You are a good fellow, Bigot, " Tavannes answered, with a gaiety and good-humour which astonished Tignonville. "And one of these days you shallmarry Suzanne. "

The Norman smiled sourly and went in search of the weapon. 

"You have a poniard?" Count Hannibal continued in the same tone ofunusual good temper, which had already struck Tignonville. "Excellent!Will you strip, then, or--as we are? Very good, Monsieur; in theunlikely event of fortune declaring for you, you will be in a bettercondition to take care of yourself. A man running through the streets inhis shirt is exposed to inconveniences!" And he laughed gaily. 

While he laughed the other listened; and his rage began to give place towonder. A man who regarded as a pastime a sword and dagger conflictbetween four walls, who, having his adversary in his power, was ready todiscard the advantage, to descend into the lists, and to risk life for awhim, a fancy--such a man was outside his experience, though in Poitou inthose days of war were men reckoned brave. For what, he asked himself ashe waited, had Tavannes to gain by fighting? The possession ofMademoiselle? But Mademoiselle, if his passion for her overwhelmed him, was in his power; and if his promise were a barrier--which seemedinconceivable in the light of his reputation--he had only to wait, and to-morrow, or the next day, or the next, a minister would be found, andwithout risk he could gain that for which he was now risking all. 

Tignonville did not know that it was in the other's nature to findpleasure in such utmost ventures. Nevertheless the recklessness to whichTavannes' action bore witness had its effect upon him. By the time theyoung man's sword arrived something of his passion for the conflict hadevaporated; and though the touch of the hilt restored his determination, the locked door, the confined space, and the unaccustomed light went acertain distance towards substituting despair for courage. 

The use of the dagger in the duels of that day, however, rendered despairitself formidable. And Tignonville, when he took his place, appearedanything but a mean antagonist. He had removed his robe and cowl, andlithe and active as a cat he stood as it were on springs, throwing hisweight now on this foot and now on that, and was continually in motion. The table bearing the candles had been pushed against the window, theboarding of which had been replaced by Bigot before he left the room. Tignonville had this, and consequently the lights, on his dagger hand;and he plumed himself on the advantage, considering his point the moredifficult to follow. 

Count Hannibal did not seem to notice this, however. "Are you ready?" heasked. And then--

"On guard!" he cried, and he stamped the echo to the word. But, thatdone, instead of bearing the other down with a headlong rushcharacteristic of the man--as Tignonville feared--he held off warily, stooping low; and when his slow opening was met by one as cautious, hebegan to taunt his antagonist. 

"Come!" he cried, and feinted half-heartedly. "Come, Monsieur, are wegoing to fight, or play at fighting?"

"Fight yourself, then!" Tignonville answered, his breath quickened byexcitement and growing hope. "'Tis not I hold back!" And he lunged, butwas put aside. 

"Ca! ca!" Tavannes retorted; and he lunged and parried in his turn, butloosely and at a distance. 

After which the two moved nearer the door, their eyes glittering as theywatched one another, their knees bent, the sinews of their backsstraining for the leap. Suddenly Tavannes thrust, and leapt away, and ashis antagonist thrust in return the Count swept the blade aside with astrong parry, and for a moment seemed to be on the point of falling onTignonville with the poniard. But Tignonville retired his right footnimbly, which brought them front to front again. And the younger manlaughed. 

"Try again, M. Le Comte!" he said. And, with the word, he dashed inhimself quick as light; for a second the blades ground on one another, the daggers hovered, the two suffused faces glared into one another; thenthe pair disengaged again. 

The blood trickled from a scratch on Count Hannibal's neck; half an inchto the right and the point had found his throat. And Tignonville, elated, laughed anew, and swaying from side to side on his hips, watchedwith growing confidence for a second chance. Lithe as one of theleopards Charles kept at the Louvre, he stooped lower and lower, and moreand more with each moment took the attitude of the assailant, watchingfor an opening; while Count Hannibal, his face dark and his eyesvigilant, stood increasingly on the defence. The light was waning alittle, the wicks of the candles were burning long; but neither noticedit or dared to remove his eyes from the other's. Their labouredbreathing found an echo on the farther side of the door, but this againneither observed. 

"Well?" Count Hannibal said at last. "Are you coming?"

"When I please, " Tignonville answered; and he feinted but drew back. 

The other did the same, and again they watched one another, their eyesseeming to grow smaller and smaller. Gradually a smile had birth onTignonville's lips. He thrust! It was parried! He thrustagain--parried! Tavannes, grown still more cautious, gave a yard. Tignonville pushed on, but did not allow confidence to master caution. Hebegan, indeed, to taunt his adversary; to flout and jeer him. But it waswith a motive. 

For suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he repeated the peculiarthrust which had been successful before. This time, however, Tavanneswas ready. He put aside the blade with a quick parade, and instead ofmaking a riposte sprang within the other's guard. The two came face toface and breast to shoulder, and struck furiously with their daggers. Count Hannibal was outside his opponent's sword and had the advantage. Tignonville's dagger fell, but glanced off the metalwork of the other'shilt; Tavannes' fell swift and hard between the young man's eyes. TheHuguenot flung up his hands and staggered back, falling his length on thefloor. 

In an instant Count Hannibal was on his breast, and had knocked away hisdagger. Then--

"You own yourself vanquished?" he cried. 

The young man, blinded by the blood which trickled down his face, made asign with his hands. Count Hannibal rose to his feet again, and stood amoment looking at his foe without speaking. Presently he seemed to besatisfied. He nodded, and going to the table dipped a napkin in water. He brought it, and carefully supporting Tignonville's head, laved hisbrow. 

"It is as I thought, " he said, when he had stanched the blood. "You arenot hurt, man. You are stunned. It is no more than a bruise. "

The young man was coming to himself. "But I thought--" he muttered, andbroke off to pass his hand over his face. Then he got up slowly, reelinga little, "I thought it was the point, " he muttered. 

"No, it was the pommel, " Tavannes answered dryly. "It would not haveserved me to kill you. I could have done that ten times. "

Tignonville groaned, and, sitting down at the table, held the napkin tohis aching head. One of the candles had been overturned in the struggleand lay on the floor, flaring in a little pool of grease. Tavannes sethis heel upon it; then, striding to the farther end of the room, hepicked up Tignonville's dagger and placed it beside his sword on thetable. He looked about to see if aught else remained to do, and, findingnothing, he returned to Tignonville's side. 

"Now, Monsieur, " he said in a voice hard and constrained, "I must ask youto perform your part of the bargain. "

A groan of anguish broke from the unhappy man. And yet he had set hislife on the cast; what more could he have done?

"You will not harm him?" he muttered. 

"He shall go safe, " Count Hannibal replied gravely. 

"And--" he fought a moment with his pride, then blurted out the words, "you will not tell her--that it was through me--you found him?"

"I will not, " Tavannes answered in the same tone. He stooped and pickedup the other's robe and cowl, which had fallen from a chair--so that ashe spoke his eyes were averted. "She shall never know through me, " hesaid. 

And Tignonville, his face hidden in his hands, told him. 

CHAPTER XVIII. ANDROMEDA, PERSEUS BEING ABSENT. 

Little by little--while they fought below--the gloom had thickened, andnight had fallen in the room above. But Mademoiselle would not havecandles brought. Seated in the darkness, on the uppermost step of thestairs, her hands clasped about her knees, she listened and listened, asif by that action she could avert misfortune; or as if, by going so farforward to meet it, she could turn aside the worst. The women shiveringin the darkness about her would fain have struck a light and drawn herback into the room, for they felt safer there. But she was not to bemoved. The laughter and chatter of the men in the guard-room, the comingand going of Bigot as he passed, below but out of sight, had no terrorsfor her; nay, she breathed more freely on the bare open landing of thestaircase than in the close confines of a room which her fears madehateful to her. Here at least she could listen, her face unseen; andlistening she bore the suspense more easily. 

A turn in the staircase, with the noise which proceeded from the guard-room, rendered it difficult to hear what happened in the closed roombelow. But she thought that if an alarm were raised there she must hearit; and as the moments passed and nothing happened, she began to feelconfident that her lover had made good his escape by the window. 

Presently she got a fright. Three or four men came from the guard-roomand went, as it seemed to her, to the door of the room with the shatteredcasement. She told herself that she had rejoiced too soon, and her heartstood still. She waited for a rush of feet, a cry, a struggle. Butexcept an uncertain muffled sound which lasted for some minutes, and wasfollowed by a dull shock, she heard nothing more. And presently the menwent back whispering, the noise in the guard-room which had beenpartially hushed broke forth anew, and perplexed but relieved shebreathed again. Surely he had escaped by this time. Surely by this timehe was far away, in the Arsenal, or in some place of refuge! And shemight take courage, and feel that for this day the peril was overpast. 

"Mademoiselle will have the lights now?" one of the women ventured. 

"No! no!" she answered feverishly, and she continued to crouch where shewas on the stairs, bathing herself and her burning face in the darknessand coolness of the stairway. The air entered freely through a window ather elbow, and the place was fresher, were that all, than the room shehad left. Javette began to whimper, but she paid no heed to her; a mancame and went along the passage below, and she heard the outer doorunbarred, and the jarring tread of three or four men who passed throughit. But all without disturbance; and afterwards the house was quietagain. And as on this Monday evening the prime virulence of the massacrehad begun to abate--though it held after a fashion to the end of theweek--Paris without was quiet also. The sounds which had chilled herheart at intervals during two days were no longer heard. A feelingalmost of peace, almost of comfort--a drowsy feeling, that was threeparts a reaction from excitement--took possession of her. In thedarkness her head sank lower and lower on her knees. And half an hourpassed, while Javette whimpered, and Madame Carlat slumbered, her broadback propped against the wall. 

Suddenly Mademoiselle opened her eyes, and saw, three steps below her, astrange man whose upward way she barred. Behind him came Carlat, andbehind him Bigot, lighting both; and in the confusion of her thoughts asshe rose to her feet the three, all staring at her in a common amazement, seemed a company. The air entering through the open window beside herblew the flame of the candle this way and that, and added to thenightmare character of the scene; for by the shifting light the menseemed to laugh one moment and scowl the next, and their shadows were nowhigh and now low on the wall. In truth, they were as much amazed atcoming on her in that place as she at their appearance; but they wereawake, and she newly roused from sleep; and the advantage was with them. 

"What is it?" she cried in a panic. "What is it?"

"If Mademoiselle will return to her room?" one of the men saidcourteously. 

"But--what is it?" She was frightened. 

"If Mademoiselle--"

Then she turned without more and went back into the room, and the threefollowed, and her woman and Madame Carlat. She stood resting one hand onthe table while Javette with shaking fingers lighted the candles. Then--

"Now, Monsieur, " she said in a hard voice, "if you will tell me yourbusiness?"

"You do not know me?" The stranger's eyes dwelt kindly and pitifully onher. 

She looked at him steadily, crushing down the fears which knocked at herheart. 

"No, " she said. "And yet I think I have seen you. "

"You saw me a week last Sunday, " the stranger answered sorrowfully. "Myname is La Tribe. I preached that day, Mademoiselle, before the King ofNavarre. I believe that you were there. "

For a moment she stared at him in silence, her lips parted. Then shelaughed, a laugh which set the teeth on edge. 

"Oh, he is clever!" she cried. "He has the wit of the priests! Or thedevil! But you come too late, Monsieur! You come too late! The birdhas flown. "

"Mademoiselle--"

"I tell you the bird has flown!" she repeated vehemently. And her laughof joyless triumph rang through the room. "He is clever, but I haveoutwitted him! I have--"

She paused and stared about her wildly, struck by the silence; struck tooby something solemn, something pitiful in the faces that were turned onher. And her lip began to quiver. 

"What?" she muttered. "Why do you look at me so? He has not"--sheturned from one to another--"he has not been taken?"

"M. Tignonville?"

She nodded. 

"He is below. "

"Ah!" she said. 

They expected to see her break down, perhaps to see her fall. But sheonly groped blindly for a chair and sat. And for a moment there wassilence in the room. It was the Huguenot minister who broke it in a toneformal and solemn. 

"Listen, all present!" he said slowly. "The ways of God are past findingout. For two days in the midst of great perils I have been preserved byHis hand and fed by His bounty, and I am told that I shall live if, inthis matter, I do the will of those who hold me in their power. But beassured--and hearken all, " he continued, lowering his voice to a sternernote. "Rather than marry this woman to this man against her will--ifindeed in His sight such marriage can be--rather than save my life bysuch base compliance, I will die not once but ten times! See. I amready! I will make no defence!" And he opened his arms as if to welcomethe stroke. "If there be trickery here, if there has been practisingbelow, where they told me this and that, it shall not avail! Until Ihear from Mademoiselle's own lips that she is willing, I will not sayover her so much as Yea, yea, or Nay, nay!"

"She is willing!"

La Tribe turned sharply, and beheld the speaker. It was Count Hannibal, who had entered a few seconds earlier, and had taken his stand within thedoor. 

"She is willing!" Tavannes repeated quietly. And if, in this moment ofthe fruition of his schemes, he felt his triumph, he masked it under aface of sombre purpose. "Do you doubt me, man?"

"From her own lips!" the other replied, undaunted--and few could say asmuch--by that harsh presence. "From no other's!"

"Sirrah, you--"

"I can die. And you can no more, my lord!" the minister answeredbravely. "You have no threat can move me. "

"I am not sure of that, " Tavannes answered, more blandly. "But had youlistened to me and been less anxious to be brave, M. La Tribe, where nodanger is, you had learned that here is no call for heroics! Mademoiselleis willing, and will tell you so. "

"With her own lips?"

Count Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "With her own lips, if you will, " hesaid. And then, advancing a step and addressing her, with unusualgravity, "Mademoiselle de Vrillac, " he said, "you hear what thisgentleman requires. Will you be pleased to confirm what I have said?"

She did not answer, and in the intense silence which held the room in itsfreezing grasp a woman choked, another broke into weeping. The colourebbed from the cheeks of more than one; the men fidgeted on their feet. 

Count Hannibal looked round, his head high. "There is no call fortears, " he said; and whether he spoke in irony or in a strange obtusenesswas known only to himself. "Mademoiselle is in no hurry--and rightly--toanswer a question so momentous. Under the pressure of utmost peril, shepassed her word; the more reason that, now the time has come to redeemit, she should do so at leisure and after thought. Since she gave herpromise, Monsieur, she has had more than one opportunity of evading itsfulfilment. But she is a Vrillac, and I know that nothing is fartherfrom her thoughts. "

He was silent a moment; and then, "Mademoiselle, " he said, "I would nothurry you. "

Her eyes were closed, but at that her lips moved. "I am--willing, " shewhispered. And a fluttering sigh, of relief, of pity, of God knows what, filled the room. 

"You are satisfied, M. La Tribe?"

"I do not--"

"Man!" With a growl as of a tiger, Count Hannibal dropped the mask. Intwo strides he was at the minister's side, his hand gripped his shoulder;his face, flushed with passion, glared into his. "Will you play withlives?" he hissed. "If you do not value your own, have you no thought ofothers? Of these? Look and count! Have you no bowels? If she willsave them, will not you?"

"My own I do not value. "

"Curse your own!" Tavannes cried in furious scorn. And he shook theother to and fro. "Who thought of your life? Will you doom these? Willyou give them to the butcher?"

"My lord, " La Tribe answered, shaken in spite of himself, "if she bewilling--"

"She is willing. "

"I have nought to say. But I caught her words indistinctly. And withouther consent--"

"She shall speak more plainly. Mademoiselle--"

She anticipated him. She had risen, and stood looking straight beforeher, seeing nothing. 

"I am willing, " she muttered with a strange gesture, "if it must be. "

He did not answer. 

"If it must be, " she repeated slowly, and with a heavy sigh. And herchin dropped on her breast. Then, abruptly, suddenly--it was a strangething to see--she looked up. A change as complete as the change whichhad come over Count Hannibal a minute before came over her. She sprangto his side; she clutched his arm and devoured his face with her eyes. "You are not deceiving me?" she cried. "You have Tignonville below?You--oh, no, no!" And she fell back from him, her eyes distended, hervoice grown suddenly shrill and defiant, "You have not! You aredeceiving me! He has escaped, and you have lied to me!"

"I?"

"Yes, you have lied to me!" It was the last fierce flicker of hope whenhope seemed dead: the last clutch of the drowning at the straw thatfloated before the eyes. 

He laughed harshly. "You will be my wife in five minutes, " he said, "andyou give me the lie? A week, and you will know me better! A month, and--but we will talk of that another time. For the present, " hecontinued, turning to La Tribe, "do you, sir, tell her that the gentlemanis below. Perhaps she will believe you. For you know him. "

La Tribe looked at her sorrowfully; his heart bled for her. "I have seenM. De Tignonville, " he said. "And M. Le Comte says truly. He is in thesame case with ourselves, a prisoner. "

"You have seen him?" she wailed. 

"I left him in the room below, when I mounted the stairs. "

Count Hannibal laughed, the grim mocking laugh which seemed to revel inthe pain it inflicted. 

"Will you have him for a witness?" he cried. "There could not be abetter, for he will not forget. Shall I fetch him?"

She bowed her head, shivering. "Spare me that, " she said. And shepressed her hands to her eyes while an uncontrollable shudder passed overher frame. Then she stepped forward: "I am ready, " she whispered. "Dowith me as you will!"

* * * * *

When they had all gone out and closed the door behind them, and the twowhom the minister had joined were left together, Count Hannibal continuedfor a time to pace the room, his hands clasped at his back, and his headsunk somewhat on his chest. His thoughts appeared to run in a newchannel, and one, strange to say, widely diverted from his bride and fromthat which he had just done. For he did not look her way, or, for atime, speak to her. He stood once to snuff a candle, doing it with anabsent face: and once to look, but still absently, and as if he read noword of it, at the marriage writing which lay, the ink still wet, uponthe table. After each of these interruptions he resumed his steadypacing to and fro, to and fro, nor did his eye wander once in thedirection of her chair. 

And she waited. The conflict of emotions, the strife between hope andfear, the final defeat had stunned her; had left her exhausted, almostapathetic. Yet not quite, nor wholly. For when in his walk he came alittle nearer to her, a chill perspiration broke out on her brow, andshudderings crept over her; and when he passed farther from her--and thenonly, it seemed--she breathed again. But the change lay beneath thesurface, and cheated the eye. Into her attitude, as she sat, her handsclasped on her lap, her eyes fixed, came no apparent change or shadow ofmovement. 

Suddenly, with a dull shock, she became aware that he was speaking. 

"There was need of haste, " he said, his tone strangely low and free fromemotion, "for I am under bond to leave Paris to-morrow for Angers, whither I bear letters from the King. And as matters stood, there was noone with whom I could leave you. I trust Bigot; he is faithful, and youmay trust him, Madame, fair or foul! But he is not quick-witted. Badelon, also, you may trust. Bear it in mind. Your woman Javette isnot faithful; but as her life is guaranteed she must stay with us untilshe can be securely placed. Indeed, I must take all with me--with oneexception--for the priests and monks rule Paris, and they do not love me, nor would spare aught at my word. "

He was silent a few moments. Then he resumed in the same tone, "Youought to know how we, Tavannes, stand. It is by Monsieur and the Queen-Mother; and _contra_ the Guises. We have all been in this matter; butthe latter push and we are pushed, and the old crack will reopen. As itis, I cannot answer for much beyond the reach of my arm. Therefore, wetake all with us except M. De Tignonville, who desires to be conducted tothe Arsenal. "

She had begun to listen with averted eyes. But as he continued to speaksurprise awoke in her, and something stronger than surprise--amazement, stupefaction. Slowly her eyes came to him, and when he ceased to speak--

"Why do you tell me these things?" she muttered, her dry lips framing thewords with difficulty. 

"Because it behoves you to know them, " he answered, thoughtfully tappingthe table. "I have no one, save my brother, whom I can trust. "

She would not ask him why he trusted her, nor why he thought he couldtrust her. For a moment or two she watched him, while he, with his eyeslowered, stood in deep thought. At last he looked up and his eyes methers. 

"Come!" he said abruptly, and in a different tone, "we must end this! Isit to be a kiss or a blow between us?"

She rose, though her knees shook under her; and they stood face to face, her face white as paper. 

"What--do you mean?" she whispered. 

"Is it to be a kiss or a blow?" he repeated. "A husband must be a lover, Madame, or a master, or both! I am content to be the one or the other, or both, as it shall please you. But the one I will be. "

"Then, a thousand times, a blow, " she cried, her eyes flaming, "fromyou!"

He wondered at her courage, but he hid his wonder. "So be it!" heanswered. And before she knew what he would be at, he struck her sharplyacross the cheek with the glove which he held in his hand. She recoiledwith a low cry, and her cheek blazed scarlet where he had struck it. 

"So be it!" he continued sombrely. "The choice shall be yours, but youwill come to me daily for the one or the other. If I cannot be lover, Madame, I will be master. And by this sign I will have you know it, daily, and daily remember it. "

She stared at him, her bosom rising and falling, in an astonishment toodeep for words. But he did not heed her. He did not look at her again. He had already turned to the door, and while she looked he passed throughit, he closed it behind him. And she was alone. 

CHAPTER XIX. IN THE ORLEANNAIS. 

"But you fear him?"

"Fear him?" Madame St. Lo answered; and, to the surprise of the Countess, she made a little face of contempt. "No; why should I fear him? I fearhim no more than the puppy leaping at old Sancho's bridle fears his tallplayfellow! Or than the cloud you see above us fears the wind beforewhich it flies!" She pointed to a white patch, the size of a man's hand, which hung above the hill on their left hand and formed the only speck inthe blue summer sky. "Fear him? Not I!" And, laughing gaily, she puther horse at a narrow rivulet which crossed the grassy track on whichthey rode. 

"But he is hard?" the Countess murmured in a low voice, as she regainedher companion's side. 

"Hard?" Madame St. Lo rejoined with a gesture of pride. "Ay, hard as thestones in my jewelled ring! Hard as flint, or the nether millstone--tohis enemies! But to women? Bah! Who ever heard that he hurt a woman?"

"Why, then, is he so feared?" the Countess asked, her eyes on the subjectof their discussion--a solitary figure riding some fifty paces in frontof them. 

"Because he counts no cost!" her companion answered. "Because he killedSavillon in the court of the Louvre, though he knew his life the forfeit. He would have paid the forfeit too, or lost his right hand, if Monsieur, for his brother the Marshal's sake, had not intervened. But Savillon hadwhipped his dog, you see. Then he killed the Chevalier de Millaud, but'twas in fair fight, in the snow, in their shirts. For that, Millaud'sson lay in wait for him with two, in the passage under the Chatelet; butHannibal wounded one, and the others saved themselves. Undoubtedly he isfeared!" she added with the same note of pride in her voice. 

The two who talked, rode at the rear of the little company which had leftParis at daybreak two days before, by the Porte St. Jacques. Movingsteadily south-westward by the lesser roads and bridle-tracks--for CountHannibal seemed averse from the great road--they had lain the secondnight in a village three leagues from Bonneval. A journey of two days onfresh horses is apt to change scenery and eye alike; but seldom has analteration--in themselves and all about them--as great as that whichblessed this little company, been wrought in so short a time. From thestifling wynds and evil-smelling lanes of Paris, they had passed to thegreen uplands, the breezy woods and babbling streams of the upperOrleannais; from sights and sounds the most appalling, to the solitude ofthe sandy heath, haunt of the great bustard, or the sunshine of thehillside, vibrating with the songs of larks; from an atmosphere of terrorand gloom to the freedom of God's earth and sky. Numerous enough--theynumbered a score of armed men--to defy the lawless bands which had theirlairs in the huge forest of Orleans, they halted where they pleased: atmid-day under a grove of chestnut-trees, or among the willows beside abrook; at night, if they willed it, under God's heaven. Far, not onlyfrom Paris, but from the great road, with its gibbets and pillories--thegreat road which at that date ran through a waste, no peasant livingwillingly within sight of it--they rode in the morning and in theevening, resting in the heat of the day. And though they had left Pariswith much talk of haste, they rode more at leisure with every league. 

For whatever Tavannes' motive, it was plain that he was in no hurry toreach his destination. Nor for that matter were any of his company. Madame St. Lo, who had seized the opportunity of escaping from thecapital under her cousin's escort, was in an ill-humour with cities, anddeclaimed much on the joys of a cell in the woods. For the time thecoarsest nature and the dullest rider had had enough of alarums andconflicts. 

The whole company, indeed, though it moved in some fashion of array withan avant and a rear-guard, the ladies riding together, and Count Hannibalproceeding solitary in the midst, formed as peaceful a band, and one asinnocently diverted, as if no man of them had ever grasped pike or blowna match. There was an old rider among them who had seen the sack ofRome, and the dead face of the great Constable the idol of the FreeCompanies. But he had a taste for simples and much skill in them; andwhen Madame had once seen Badelon on his knees in the grass searching forplants, she lost her fear of him. Bigot, with his low brow and mattedhair, was the abject slave of Suzanne, Madame St. Lo's woman, who twittedhim mercilessly on his Norman _patois_, and poured the vials of her scornon him a dozen times a day. In all, with La Tribe and the Carlats, Madame St. Lo's servants, and the Countess's following, they numbered notfar short of two score; and when they halted at noon, and under theshadow of some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed to thetinkle of Madame St. Lo's lute, it was difficult to believe that Parisexisted, or that these same people had so lately left its blood-stainedpavements. 

They halted this morning a little earlier than usual. Madame St. Lo hadbarely answered her companion's question before the subject of theirdiscussion swung himself from old Sancho's back, and stood waiting toassist them to dismount. Behind him, where the green valley throughwhich the road passed narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood amongwillows at the foot of a mound. On the mound behind it a ruined castlewhich had stood siege in the Hundred Years' War raised its grey walls;and beyond this the stream which turned the mill poured over rocks with acool rushing sound that proved irresistible. The men, their horseswatered and hobbled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below thefalls; and after a moment's hesitation Count Hannibal rose from the grasson which he had flung himself. 

"Guard that for me, Madame, " he said. And he dropped a packet, bravelysealed and tied with a silk thread, into the Countess's lap. "'Twill besafer than leaving it in my clothes. Ohe!" And he turned to Madame St. Lo. "Would you fancy a life that was all gipsying, cousin?" And ifthere was irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes. 

"There is only one happy man in the world, " she answered, withconviction. 

"By name?"

"The hermit of Compiegne. "

"And in a week you would be wild for a masque!" he said cynically. Andturning on his heel he followed the men. 

Madame St. Lo sighed complacently. "Heigho!" she said. "He's right! Weare never content, _ma mie_! When I am trifling in the Gallery my heartis in the greenwood. And when I have eaten black bread and drank springwater for a fortnight I do nothing but dream of Zamet's, and whitemulberry tarts! And you are in the same case. You have saved your roundwhite neck, or it has been saved for you, by not so much as the thicknessof Zamet's pie-crust--I declare my mouth is beginning to water forit!--and instead of being thankful and making the best of things, you arethinking of poor Madame d'Yverne, or dreaming of your calf-love!"

The girl's face--for a girl she was, though they called her Madame--beganto work. She struggled a moment with her emotion, and then broke down, and fell to weeping silently. For two days she had sat in public and notgiven way. But the reference to her lover was too much for her strength. 

Madame St. Lo looked at her with eyes which were not unkindly. 

"Sits the wind in that quarter?" she murmured. "I thought so! Butthere, my dear, if you don't put that packet in your gown you'll wash outthe address! Moreover, if you ask me, I don't think the young man isworth it. It is only that what we have not got--we want!"

But the young Countess had borne to the limit of her powers. With anincoherent word she rose to her feet, and walked hurriedly away. Thethought of what was and of what might have been, the thought of the loverwho still--though he no longer seemed, even to her, the perfect hero--helda place in her heart, filled her breast to overflowing. She longed forsome spot where she could weep unseen; where the sunshine and the bluesky would not mock her grief; and seeing in front of her a little clumpof alders, which grew beside the stream, in a bend that in winter wasmarshy, she hastened towards it. 

Madame St. Lo saw her figure blend with the shadow of the trees. 

"Quite _a la_ Ronsard, I give my word!" she murmured. "And now she isout of sight! _La, la_! I could play at the game myself, and carvesweet sorrow on the barks of trees, if it were not so lonesome! And if Ihad a man!"

And gazing pensively at the stream and the willows, my lady tried to workherself into a proper frame of mind; now murmuring the name of onegallant, and now, finding it unsuited, the name of another. But the softinflection would break into a giggle, and finally into a yawn; and, tiredof the attempt, she began to pluck grass and throw it from her. By-and-byshe discovered that Madame Carlat and the women, who had their place alittle apart, had disappeared; and affrighted by the solitude andsilence--for neither of which she was made--she sprang up and staredabout her, hoping to discern them. Right and left, however, the sweep ofhillside curved upward to the skyline, lonely and untenanted; behind herthe castled rock frowned down on the rugged gorge and filled it withdispiriting shadow. Madame St. Lo stamped her foot on the turf. 

"The little fool!" she murmured pettishly. "Does she think that I am tobe murdered that she may fatten on sighs? Oh, come up, Madame, you mustbe dragged out of this!" And she started briskly towards the alders, intent on gaining company as quickly as possible. 

She had gone about fifty yards, and had as many more to traverse when shehalted. A man, bent double, was moving stealthily along the farther sideof the brook, a little in front of her. Now she saw him, now she losthim; now she caught a glimpse of him again, through a screen of willowbranches. He moved with the utmost caution, as a man moves who ispursued or in danger; and for a moment she deemed him a peasant whom thebathers had disturbed and who was bent on escaping. But when he cameopposite to the alder-bed she saw that that was his point, for hecrouched down, sheltered by a willow, and gazed eagerly among the trees, always with his back to her; and then he waved his hand to some one inthe wood. 

Madame St. Lo drew in her breath. As if he had heard the sound--whichwas impossible--the man dropped down where he stood, crawled a yard ortwo on his face, and disappeared. 

Madame stared a moment, expecting to see him or hear him. Then, asnothing happened, she screamed. She was a woman of quick impulses, essentially feminine; and she screamed three or four times, standingwhere she was, her eyes on the edge of the wood. "If that does not bringher out, nothing will!" she thought. 

It brought her. An instant, and the Countess appeared, and hurried indismay to her side. 

"What is it?" the younger woman asked, glancing over her shoulder; forall the valley, all the hills were peaceful, and behind Madame St. Lo--butthe lady had not discovered it--the servants who had returned were layingthe meal. "What is it?" she repeated anxiously. 

"Who was it?" Madame St. Lo asked curtly. She was quite calm now. 

"Who was--who?"

"The man in the wood?"

The Countess stared a moment, then laughed. "Only the old soldier theycall Badelon, gathering simples. Did you think that he would harm me?"

"It was not old Badelon whom I saw!" Madame St. Lo retorted. "It was ayounger man, who crept along the other side of the brook, keeping undercover. When I first saw him he was there, " she continued, pointing tothe place. "And he crept on and on until he came opposite to you. Thenhe waved his hand. "

"To me?"

Madame nodded. 

"But if you saw him, who was he?" the Countess asked. 

"I did not see his face, " Madame St. Lo answered. "But he waved to you. That I saw. "

The Countess had a thought which slowly flooded her face with crimson. Madame St. Lo saw the change, saw the tender light which on a suddensoftened the other's eyes; and the same thought occurred to her. Andhaving a mind to punish her companion for her reticence--for she did notdoubt that the girl knew more than she acknowledged--she proposed thatthey should return and find Badelon, and learn if he had seen the man. 

"Why?" Madame Tavannes asked. And she stood stubbornly, her head high. "Why should we?"

"To clear it up, " the elder woman answered mischievously. "But perhaps, it were better to tell your husband and let his men search the coppice. "

The colour left the Countess's face as quickly as it had come. For amoment she was tongue-tied. Then--

"Have we not had enough of seeking and being sought?" she cried, morebitterly than befitted the occasion. "Why should we hunt him? I am nottimid, and he did me no harm. I beg, Madame, that you will do me thefavour of being silent on the matter. "

"Oh, if you insist? But what a pother--"

"I did not see him, and he did not see me, " Madame de Tavannes answeredvehemently. "I fail, therefore, to understand why we should harass him, whoever he be. Besides, M. De Tavannes is waiting for us. "

"And M. De Tignonville--is following us!" Madame St. Lo muttered underher breath. And she made a face at the other's back. 

She was silent, however. They returned to the others and nothing ofimport, it would seem, had happened. The soft summer air played on themeal laid under the willows as it had played on the meal of yesterdaylaid under the chestnut-trees. The horses grazed within sight, movingnow and again, with a jingle of trappings or a jealous neigh: the women'schatter vied with the unceasing sound of the mill-stream. After dinner, Madame St. Lo touched the lute, and Badelon--Badelon who had seen thesack of the Colonna's Palace, and been served by cardinals on theknee--fed a water-rat, which had its home in one of the willow-stumps, with carrot-parings. One by one the men laid themselves to sleep withtheir faces on their arms; and to the eyes all was as all had beenyesterday in this camp of armed men living peacefully. 

But not to the Countess! She had accepted her life, she had resignedherself, she had marvelled that it was no worse. After the horrors ofParis the calm of the last two days had fallen on her as balm on a wound. Worn out in body and mind, she had rested, and only rested; withoutthought, almost without emotion, save for the feeling, half fear, halfcuriosity, which stirred her in regard to the strange man, her husband. Who on his side left her alone. 

But the last hour had wrought a change. Her eyes were grown restless, her colour came and went. The past stirred in its shallow--ah, soshallow--grave; and dead hopes and dead forebodings, strive as she might, thrust out hands to plague and torment her. If the man who sought tospeak with her by stealth, who dogged her footsteps and hung on theskirts of her party, were Tignonville--her lover, who at his own requesthad been escorted to the Arsenal before their departure from Paris--thenher plight was a sorry one. For what woman, wedded as she had beenwedded, could think otherwise than indulgently of his persistence? Andyet, lover and husband! What peril, what shame the words had oftenspelled! At the thought only she trembled and her colour ebbed. Shesaw, as one who stands on the brink of a precipice, the depth whichyawned before her. She asked herself, shivering, if she would ever sinkto _that_. 

All the loyalty of a strong nature, all the virtue of a good woman, revolted against the thought. True, her husband--husband she must callhim--had not deserved her love; but his bizarre magnanimity, the gloomy, disdainful kindness with which he had crowned possession, even the unityof their interests, which he had impressed upon her in so strange afashion, claimed a return in honour. 

To be paid--how? how? That was the crux which perplexed, whichfrightened, which harassed her. For, if she told her suspicions, sheexposed her lover to capture by one who had no longer a reason to bemerciful. And if she sought occasion to see Tignonville and so todissuade him, she did it at deadly risk to herself. Yet what othercourse lay open to her if she would not stand by? If she would not playthe traitor? If she--

"Madame, "--it was her husband, and he spoke to her suddenly, --"are younot well?" And, looking up guiltily, she found his eyes fixed curiouslyon hers. 

Her face turned red and white and red again, and she faltered somethingand looked from him, but only to meet Madame St. Lo's eyes. My ladylaughed softly in sheer mischief. 

"What is it?" Count Hannibal asked sharply. 

But Madame St. Lo's answer was a line of Ronsard. 

CHAPTER XX. ON THE CASTLE HILL. 

Thrice she hummed it, bland and smiling. Then from the neighbouringgroup came an interruption. The wine he had drunk had put it intoBigot's head to snatch a kiss from Suzanne; and Suzanne's modesty, whichwas very nice in company, obliged her to squeal. The uproar whichensued, the men backing the man and the women the woman, brought Tavannesto his feet. He did not speak, but a glance from his eyes was enough. There was not one who failed to see that something was amiss with him, and a sudden silence fell on the party. 

He turned to the Countess. "You wished to see the castle?" he said. "Youhad better go now, but not alone. " He cast his eyes over the company, and summoned La Tribe, who was seated with the Carlats. "Go withMadame, " he said curtly. "She has a mind to climb the hill. Bear inmind, we start at three, and do not venture out of hearing. "

"I understand, M. Le Comte, " the minister answered. He spoke quietly, but there was a strange light in his face as he turned to go with her. 

None the less he was silent until Madame's lagging feet--for all herinterest in the expedition was gone--had borne her a hundred paces fromthe company. Then--

"Who knoweth our thoughts and forerunneth all our desires, " he murmured. And when she turned to him, astonished, "Madame, " he continued, "I haveprayed, ah, how I have prayed, for this opportunity of speaking to you!And it has come. I would it had come this morning, but it has come. Donot start or look round; many eyes are on us, and, alas! I have that tosay to you which it will move you to hear, and that to ask of you whichit must task your courage to perform. "

She began to tremble, and stood looking up the green slope to the brokengrey wall which crowned its summit. 

"What is it?" she whispered, commanding herself with an effort. "What isit? If it have aught to do with M. Tignonville--"

"It has not!"

In her surprise--for although she had put the question she had felt nodoubt of the answer--she started and turned to him. 

"It has not?" she exclaimed almost incredulously. 

"No. "

"Then what is it, Monsieur?" she replied, a little haughtily. "What canthere be that should move me so?"

"Life or death, Madame, " he answered solemnly. "Nay, more; for sinceProvidence has given me this chance of speaking to you, a thing of whichI despaired, I know that the burden is laid on us, and that it is guiltor it is innocence, according as we refuse the burden or bear it. "

"What is it, then?" she cried impatiently. "What is it?"

"I tried to speak to you this morning. "

"Was it you, then, whom Madame St. Lo saw stalking me before dinner?

"It was. "

She clasped her hands and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank God, Monsieur!" she replied. "You have lifted a weight from me. I fearnothing in comparison of that. Nothing!"

"Alas!" he answered sombrely, "there is much to fear, for others if notfor ourselves! Do you know what that is which M. De Tavannes bearsalways in his belt? What it is he carries with such care? What it washe handed to you to keep while he bathed to-day?"

"Letters from the King. "

"Yes, but the import of those letters?"

"No. "

"And yet, should they be written in letters of blood!" the ministerexclaimed, his face kindling. "They should scorch the hands that holdthem and blister the eyes that read them. They are the fire and thesword! They are the King's order to do at Angers as they have done inParis. To slay all of the religion who are found there--and they aremany! To spare none, to have mercy neither on the old man nor the unbornchild! See yonder hawk!" he continued, pointing with a shaking hand to afalcon which hung light and graceful above the valley, the movement ofits wings invisible. "How it disports itself in the face of the sun! Howeasy its way, how smooth its flight! But see, it drops upon its prey inthe rushes beside the brook, and the end of its beauty is slaughter! Sois it with yonder company!" His finger sank until it indicated thelittle camp seated toy-like in the green meadow four hundred feet belowthem, with every man and horse, and the very camp-kettle, clear-cut andvisible, though diminished by distance to fairy-like proportions. "So itis with yonder company!" he repeated sternly. "They play and are merry, and one fishes and another sleeps! But at the end of the journey isdeath. Death for their victims, and for them the judgment!"

She stood, as he spoke, in the ruined gateway, a walled grass-plot behindher, and at her feet the stream, the smiling valley, the alders, and thelittle camp. The sky was cloudless, the scene drowsy with the stillnessof an August afternoon. But his words went home so truly that the sunlitlandscape before the eyes added one more horror to the picture he calledup before the mind. 

The Countess turned white and sick. "Are you sure?" she whispered atlast. 

"Quite sure. "

"Ah, God!" she cried, "are we never to have peace?" And turning from thevalley, she walked some distance into the grass court, and stood. Aftera time, she turned to him; he had followed her doggedly, pace for pace. "What do you want me to do?" she cried, despair in her voice. "What canI do?"

"Were the letters he bears destroyed--"

"The letters?"

"Yes, were the letters destroyed, " La Tribe answered relentlessly, "hecould do nothing! Nothing! Without that authority the magistrates ofAngers would not move. He could do nothing. And men and women andchildren--men and women and children whose blood will otherwise cry forvengeance, perhaps for vengeance on us who might have saved them--willlive! Will live!" he repeated, with a softening eye. And with an all-embracing gesture he seemed to call to witness the open heavens, thesunshine and the summer breeze which wrapped them round. "Will live!"

She drew a deep breath. "And you have brought me here, " she said, "toask me to do this?"

"I was sent here to ask you to do this. "

"Why me? Why me?" she wailed, and she held out her open hands to him, her face wan and colourless. "You come to me, a woman! Why to me?"

"You are his wife!"

"And he is my husband!"

"Therefore he trusts you, " was the unyielding, the pitiless answer. "You, and you alone, have the opportunity of doing this. "

She gazed at him in astonishment. "And it is you who say that?" shefaltered, after a pause. "You who made us one, who now bid me betrayhim, whom I have sworn to love? To ruin him whom I have sworn tohonour?"

"I do!" he answered solemnly. "On my head be the guilt, and on yours themerit. "

"Nay, but--" she cried quickly, and her eyes glittered with passion--"doyou take both guilt and merit! You are a man, " she continued, her wordscoming quickly in her excitement, "he is but a man! Why do you not callhim aside, trick him apart on some pretence or other, and when there arebut you two, man to man, wrench the warrant from him? Staking your lifeagainst his, with all those lives for prize? And save them or perish?Why I, even I, a woman, could find it in my heart to do that, were he notmy husband! Surely you, you who are a man, and young--"

"Am no match for him in strength or arms, " the minister answered sadly. "Else would I do it! Else would I stake my life, Heaven knows, as gladlyto save their lives as I sit down to meat! But I should fail, and if Ifailed all were lost. Moreover, " he continued solemnly, "I am certifiedthat this task has been set for you. It was not for nothing, Madame, norto save one poor household that you were joined to this man; but toransom all these lives and this great city. To be the Judith of ourfaith, the saviour of Angers, the--"

"Fool! Fool!" she cried. "Will you be silent?" And she stamped theturf passionately, while her eyes blazed in her white face. "I am noJudith, and no madwoman as you are fain to make me. Mad?" she continued, overwhelmed with agitation, "My God, I would I were, and I should be freefrom this!" And, turning, she walked a little way from him with thegesture of one under a crushing burden. 

He waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, and still she did notreturn. At length she came back, her bearing more composed; she lookedat him, and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would read hissoul. 

"Are you sure, " she said, "of what you have told me? Will you swear thatthe contents of these letters are as you say?"

"As I live, " he answered gravely. "As God lives. "

"And you know--of no other way, Monsieur? Of no other way?" she repeatedslowly and piteously. 

"Of none, Madame, of none, I swear. "

She sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought. Then, "When do we reachAngers?" she asked heavily. 

"The day after to-morrow. "

"I have--until the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes. To-night we lie near Vendome. "

"And to-morrow night?"

"Near a place called La Fleche. It is possible, " he went on withhesitation--for he did not understand her--"that he may bathe to-morrow, and may hand the packet to you, as he did to-day when I vainly soughtspeech with you. If he does that--"

"Yes?" she said, her eyes on his face. 

"The taking will be easy. But when he finds you have it not"--hefaltered anew--"it may go hard with you. "

She did not speak. 

"And there, I think, I can help you. If you will stray from the party, Iwill meet you and destroy the letter. That done--and would God it weredone already--I will take to flight as best I can, and you will raise thealarm and say that I robbed you of it! And if you tear your dress--"

"No, " she said. 

He looked a question. 

"No!" she repeated in a low voice. "If I betray him I will not lie tohim! And no other shall pay the price! If I ruin him it shall bebetween him and me, and no other shall have part in it!"

He shook his head. "I do not know, " he murmured, "what he may do toyou!"

"Nor I, " she said proudly. "That will be for him. "

* * * * *

Curious eyes had watched the two as they climbed the hill. For the pathran up the slope to the gap which served for gate, much as the path leadsup to the Castle Beautiful in old prints of the Pilgrim's journey, andMadame St. Lo had marked the first halt and the second, and, noting everygesture, had lost nothing of the interview save the words. But until thetwo, after pausing a moment, passed out of sight she made no sign. Thenshe laughed. And as Count Hannibal, at whom the laugh was aimed, did notheed her, she laughed again. And she hummed the line of Ronsard. 

Still he would not be roused, and, piqued, she had recourse to words. 

"I wonder what you would do, " she said, "if the old lover followed us, and she went off with him!"

"She would not go, " he answered coldly, and without looking up. 

"But if he rode off with her?"

"She would come back on her feet!"

Madame St. Lo's prudence was not proof against that. She had the woman'sinclination to hide a woman's secret; and she had not intended, when shelaughed, to do more than play with the formidable man with whom so fewdared to play. Now, stung by his tone and his assurance, she must needsshow him that his trustfulness had no base. And, as so often happens inthe circumstances, she went a little farther than the facts bore her. 

"Any way, he has followed us so far!" she cried viciously. 

"M. De Tignonville?"

"Yes. I saw him this morning while you were bathing. She left me andwent into the little coppice. He came down the other side of the brook, stooping and running, and went to join her. "

"How did he cross the brook?"

Madame St. Lo blushed. "Old Badelon was there, gathering simples, " shesaid. "He scared him. And he crawled away. "

"Then he did not cross?"

"No. I did not say he did!"

"Nor speak to her?"

"No. But if you think it will pass so next time--you do not know much ofwomen!"

"Of women generally, not much, " he answered, grimly polite. "Of thiswoman a great deal!"

"You looked in her big eyes, I suppose!" Madame St. Lo cried with heat. "And straightway fell down and worshipped her!" She liked rather thandisliked the Countess; but she was of the lightest, and the leastopposition drove her out of her course. "And you think you know her! Andshe, if she could save you from death by opening an eye, would go with apatch on it till her dying day! Take my word for it, Monsieur, betweenher and her lover you will come to harm. "

Count Hannibal's swarthy face darkened a tone, and his eyes grew a verylittle smaller. 

"I fancy that he runs the greater risk, " he muttered. 

"You may deal with him, but, for her--"

"I can deal with her. You deal with some women with a whip--"

"You would whip me, I suppose?"

"Yes, " he said quietly. "It would do you good, Madame. And with otherwomen otherwise. There are women who, if they are well frightened, willnot deceive you. And there are others who will not deceive you thoughthey are frightened. Madame de Tavannes is of the latter kind. "

"Wait! Wait and see!" Madame cried in scorn. 

"I am waiting. "

"Yes! And whereas if you had come to me I could have told her that aboutM. De Tignonville which would have surprised her, you will go on waitingand waiting and waiting until one fine day you'll wake up and find Madamegone, and--"

"Then I'll take a wife I can whip!" he answered, with a look whichapprised her how far she had carried it. "But it will not be you, sweetcousin. For I have no whip heavy enough for your case. "

CHAPTER XXI. SHE WOULD, AND WOULD NOT. 

We noted some way back the ease with which women use one concession as astepping-stone to a second; and the lack of magnanimity, amounting almostto unscrupulousness, which the best display in their dealings with aretiring foe. But there are concessions which touch even a good woman'sconscience; and Madame de Tavannes, free by the tenure of a blow, andwith that exception treated from hour to hour with rugged courtesy, shrank appalled before the task which confronted her. 

To ignore what La Tribe had told her, to remain passive when a movementon her part might save men, women, and children from death, and a wholecity from massacre--this was a line of conduct so craven, so selfish, that from the first she knew herself incapable of it. But to take theonly other course open to her, to betray her husband and rob him of that, the loss of which might ruin him, this needed not courage only, notdevotion only, but a hardness proof against reproaches as well as againstpunishment. And the Countess was no fanatic. No haze of bigotryglorified the thing she contemplated, or dressed it in colours other thanits own. Even while she acknowledged the necessity of the act and itsultimate righteousness, even while she owned the obligation which layupon her to perform it, she saw it as he would see it, and saw herself ashe would see her. 

True, he had done her a great wrong; and this in the eyes of some mightpass for punishment. But he had saved her life where many had perished;and, the wrong done, he had behaved to her with fantastic generosity. Inreturn for which she was to ruin him? It was not hard to imagine what hewould say of her, and of the reward with which she had requited him. 

She pondered over it as they rode that evening, with the weltering sun intheir eyes and the lengthening shadows of the oaks falling athwart thebracken which fringed the track. Across breezy heaths and over downs, through green bottoms and by hamlets, from which every human creaturefled at their approach, they ambled on by twos and threes; riding in aworld of their own, so remote, so different from the real world--fromwhich they came and to which they must return--that she could have weptin anguish, cursing God for the wickedness of man which lay so heavy oncreation. The gaunt troopers riding at ease with swinging legs andswaying stirrups--and singing now a refrain from Ronsard, and now one ofthose verses of Marot's psalms which all the world had sung three decadesbefore--wore their most lamb-like aspect. Behind them Madame St. Lochattered to Suzanne of a riding mask which had not been brought, orplanned expedients, if nothing sufficiently in the mode could be found atAngers. And the other women talked and giggled, screamed when they cameto fords, and made much of steep places, where the men must help them. Intime of war death's shadow covers but a day, and sorrow out of sight isout of mind. Of all the troop whom the sinking sun left within sight ofthe lofty towers and vine-clad hills of Vendome, three only wore facesattuned to the cruel August week just ending; three only, like dark beadsstrung far apart on a gay nun's rosary, rode, brooding and silent, intheir places. The Countess was one--the others were the two men whosethoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again sought her, La Tribe'swith sombre fire in their depths, Count Hannibal's fraught with a gloomyspeculation, which belied his brave words to Madame St. Lo. 

He, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; dark ones, which did nottouch her. And she, too, had other thoughts at times, dreams of heryoung lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry out of thedarkness which had suddenly whelmed her. So that of the three only LaTribe was single-minded. 

This day they rode a long league after sunset, through a scattered oak-wood, where the rabbits sprang up under their horses' heads and thesquirrels made angry faces at them from the lower branches. Night washard upon them when they reached the southern edge of the forest, andlooked across the dusky open slopes to a distant light or two whichmarked where Vendome stood. 

"Another league, " Count Hannibal muttered; and he bade the men lightfires where they were, and unload the packhorses. "'Tis pure and dryhere, " he said. "Set a watch, Bigot, and let two men go down for water. I hear frogs below. You do not fear to be moonstruck, Madame?"

"I prefer this, " she answered in a low voice. 

"Houses are for monks and nuns!" he rejoined heartily. "Give me God'sheaven. "

"The earth is His, but we deface it, " she murmured, reverting to herthoughts, and unconscious that it was to him she spoke. 

He looked at her sharply, but the fire was not yet kindled; and in thegloaming her face was a pale blot undecipherable. He stood a moment, butshe did not speak again; and Madame St. Lo bustling up, he moved away togive an order. By-and-by the fires burned up, and showed the pillaredaisle in which they sat, small groups dotted here and there on the floorof Nature's cathedral. Through the shadowy Gothic vaulting, the groiningof many boughs which met overhead, a rare star twinkled, as through someclerestory window; and from the dell below rose in the night, now themonotonous chanting of the frogs, and now, as some great bull-frog tookthe note, a diapason worthy of a Brescian organ. The darkness walled allin; the night was still; a falling caterpillar sounded. Even the rudemen at the farthest fire stilled their voices at times; awed, they knewnot why, by the silence and vastness of the night. 

The Countess long remembered that vigil--for she lay late awake; the coolgloom, the faint wood-rustlings, the distant cry of fox or wolf, the softglow of the expiring fires that at last left the world to darkness andthe stars; above all, the silent wheeling of the planets, which spokeindeed of a supreme Ruler, but crushed the heart under a sense of itsinsignificance, and of the insignificance of all human revolutions. 

"Yet, I believe!" she cried, wrestling upwards, wrestling with herself. "Though I have seen what I have seen, yet I believe!"

And though she had to bear what she had to bear, and do that from whichher soul shrank! The woman, indeed, within her continued to cry outagainst this tragedy ever renewed in her path, against this necessity forchoosing evil, or good, ease for herself or life for others. But themoving heavens, pointing onward to a time when good and evil alike shouldbe past, strengthened a nature essentially noble; and before she slept noshame and no suffering seemed--for the moment at least--too great a priceto pay for the lives of little children. Love had been taken from herlife; the pride which would fain answer generosity with generosity--thatmust go, too!

She felt no otherwise when the day came, and the bustle of the start andthe common round of the journey put to flight the ideals of the night. But things fell out in a manner she had not pictured. They halted beforenoon on the north bank of the Loir, in a level meadow with lines ofpoplars running this way and that, and filling all the place with thesoft shimmer of leaves. Blue succory, tiny mirrors of the summer sky, flecked the long grass, and the women picked bunches of them, or, Italianfashion, twined the blossoms in their hair. A road ran across the meadowto a ferry, but the ferryman, alarmed by the aspect of the party, hadconveyed his boat to the other side and hidden himself. 

Presently Madame St. Lo espied the boat, clapped her hands and must haveit. The poplars threw no shade, the flies teased her, the life of ahermit--in a meadow--was no longer to her taste. 

"Let us go on the water!" she cried. "Presently you will go to bathe, Monsieur, and leave us to grill!"

"Two livres to the man who will fetch the boat!" Count Hannibal cried. 

In less than half a minute three men had thrown off their boots, and wereswimming across, amid the laughter and shouts of their fellows. In fiveminutes the boat was brought. 

It was not large and would hold no more than four. Tavannes' eye fell onCarlat. 

"You understand a boat, " he said. "Go with Madame St. Lo. And you, M. La Tribe. "

"But you are coming?" Madame St. Lo cried, turning to the Countess. "Oh, Madame, " with a curtsey, "you are not? You--"

"Yes, I will come, " the Countess answered. 

"I shall bathe a short distance up the stream, " Count Hannibal said. Hetook from his belt the packet of letters, and as Carlat held the boat forMadame St. Lo to enter, he gave it to the Countess, as he had given it toher yesterday. "Have a care of it, Madame, " he said in a low voice, "anddo not let it pass out of your hands. To lose it may be to lose myhead. "

The colour ebbed from her cheeks. In spite of herself her shaking handput back the packet. "Had you not better then--give it to Bigot?" shefaltered. 

"He is bathing. "

"Let him bathe afterwards. "

"No, " he answered almost harshly; he found a species of pleasure inshowing her that, strange as their relations were, he trusted her. "No;take it, Madame. Only have a care of it. "

She took it then, hid it in her dress, and he turned away; and she turnedtowards the boat. La Tribe stood beside the stern, holding it for her toenter, and as her fingers rested an instant on his arm their eyes met. His were alight, his arm even quivered; and she shuddered. 

She avoided looking at him a second time, and this was easy, since hetook his seat in the bows beyond Carlat, who handled the oars. Silentlythe boat glided out on the surface of the stream, and floated downwards, Carlat now and again touching an oar, and Madame St. Lo chattering gailyin a voice which carried far on the water. Now it was a flowering rushshe must have, now a green bough to shield her face from the sun'sreflection; and now they must lie in some cool, shadowy pool under fern-clad banks, where the fish rose heavily, and the trickle of a rivuletfell down over stones. 

It was idyllic. But not to the Countess. Her face burned, her templesthrobbed, her fingers gripped the side of the boat in the vain attempt tosteady her pulses. The packet within her dress scorched her. The greatcity and its danger, Tavannes and his faith in her, the need of action, the irrevocableness of action hurried through her brain. The knowledgethat she must act now--or never--pressed upon her with distracting force. Her hand felt the packet, and fell again nerveless. 

"The sun has caught you, _ma mie_, " Madame St. Lo said. "You should ridein a mask as I do. "

"I have not one with me, " she muttered, her eyes on the water. 

"And I but an old one. But at Angers--"

The Countess heard no more; on that word she caught La Tribe's eye. Hewas beckoning to her behind Carlat's back, pointing imperiously to thewater, making signs to her to drop the packet over the side. When shedid not obey--she felt sick and faint--she saw through a mist his browgrow dark. He menaced her secretly. And still the packet scorched her;and twice her hand went to it, and dropped again empty. 

On a sudden Madame St. Lo cried out. The bank on one side of the streamwas beginning to rise more boldly above the water, and at the head of thesteep thus formed she had espied a late rosebush in bloom; nothing wouldnow serve but she must land at once and plunder it. The boat was put intherefore, she jumped ashore, and began to scale the bank. 

"Go with Madame!" La Tribe cried, roughly nudging Carlat in the back. "Doyou not see that she cannot climb the bank? Up, man, up!"

The Countess opened her mouth to cry "No!" but the word died half-born onher lips; and when the steward looked at her, uncertain what she hadsaid, she nodded. 

"Yes, go!" she muttered. She was pale. 

"Yes, man, go!" cried the minister, his eyes burning. And he almostpushed the other out of the boat. 

The next second the craft floated from the bank, and began to driftdownwards. La Tribe waited until a tree interposed and hid them from thetwo whom they had left; then he leaned forward. 

"Now, Madame!" he cried imperiously. "In God's name, now!"

"Oh!" she cried. "Wait! Wait! I want to think. "

"To think?"

"He trusted me!" she wailed. "He trusted me! How can I do it?"Nevertheless, and even while she spoke, she drew forth the packet. 

"Heaven has given you the opportunity!"

"If I could have stolen it!" she answered. 

"Fool!" he returned, rocking himself to and fro, and fairly besidehimself with impatience. "Why steal it? It is in your hands! You haveit! It is Heaven's own opportunity, it is God's opportunity given toyou!"

For he could not read her mind nor comprehend the scruple which held herhand. He was single-minded. He had but one aim, one object. He saw thehaggard faces of brave men hopeless; he heard the dying cries of womenand children. Such an opportunity of saving God's elect, of redeemingthe innocent, was in his eyes a gift from Heaven. And having thesethoughts and seeing her hesitate--hesitate when every movement caused himagony, so imperative was haste, so precious the opportunity--he couldbear the suspense no longer. When she did not answer he stooped forward, until his knees touched the thwart on which Carlat had sat; then, withouta word, he flung himself forward, and, with one hand far extended, grasped the packet. 

Had he not moved, she would have done his will; almost certainly shewould have done it. But, thus attacked, she resisted instinctively; sheclung to the letters. 

"No!" she cried. "No! Let go, Monsieur!" And she tried to drag thepacket from him. 

"Give it me!"

"Let go, Monsieur! Do you hear?" she repeated. And, with a vigorousjerk, she forced it from him--he had caught it by the edge only--and heldit behind her. "Go back, and--"

"Give it me!" he panted. 

"I will not!"

"Then throw it overboard!"

"I will not!" she cried again, though his face, dark with passion, glaredinto hers, and it was clear that the man, possessed by one idea only, wasno longer master of himself. "Go back to your place!"

"Give it me, " he gasped, "or I will upset the boat!" And, seizing her bythe shoulder, he reached over her, striving to take hold of the packetwhich she held behind her. The boat rocked; and, as much in rage asfear, she screamed. 

A cry uttered wholly in rage answered hers; it came from Carlat. LaTribe, however, whose whole mind was fixed on the packet, did not heed, nor would have heeded, the steward. But the next moment a second cry, fierce as that of a wild beast, clove the air from the lower and fartherbank; and the Huguenot, recognizing Count Hannibal's voice, involuntarilydesisted and stood erect. A moment the boat rocked perilously under him;then--for unheeded it had been drifting that way--it softly touched thebank on which Carlat stood staring and aghast. 

La Tribe's chance was gone; he saw that the steward must reach him beforehe could succeed in a second attempt. On the other hand, the undergrowthon the bank was thick, he could touch it with his hand, and if he fled atonce he might escape. 

He hung an instant irresolute; then, with a look which went to theCountess's heart, he sprang ashore, plunged among the alders, and in amoment was gone. 

"After him! After him!" thundered Count Hannibal. "After him, man!" andCarlat, stumbling down the steep slope and through the rough briars, didhis best to obey. But in vain. Before he reached the water's edge, thenoise of the fugitive's retreat had grown faint. A few seconds and itdied away. 

CHAPTER XXII. PLAYING WITH FIRE. 

The impulse of La Tribe's foot as he landed had driven the boat into thestream. It drifted slowly downward, and if naught intervened, would takethe ground on Count Hannibal's side, a hundred and fifty yards below him. He saw this, and walked along the bank, keeping pace with it, while theCountess sat motionless, crouching in the stern of the craft, her fingersstrained about the fatal packet. The slow glide of the boat, as almostimperceptibly it approached the low bank; the stillness of the mirror-like surface on which it moved, leaving only the faintest ripple behindit; the silence--for under the influence of emotion Count Hannibal toowas mute--all were in tremendous contrast with the storm which raged inher breast. 

Should she--should she even now, with his eyes on her, drop the lettersover the side? It needed but a movement. She had only to extend herhand, to relax the tension of her fingers, and the deed was done. Itneeded only that; but the golden sands of opportunity were runningout--were running out fast. Slowly and more slowly, silently and moresilently, the boat slid in towards the bank on which he stood, and stillshe hesitated. The stillness, and the waiting figure, and the watchingeyes now but a few feet distant, weighed on her and seemed to paralyzeher will. A foot, another foot! A moment and it would be too late, thelast of the sands would have run out. The bow of the boat rustled softlythrough the rushes; it kissed the bank. And her hand still held theletters. 

"You are not hurt?" he asked curtly. "The scoundrel might have drownedyou. Was he mad?"

She was silent. He held out his hand, and she gave him the packet. 

"I owe you much, " he said, a ring of gaiety, almost of triumph, in histone. "More than you guess, Madame. God made you for a soldier's wife, and a mother of soldiers. What? You are not well, I am afraid?"

"If I could sit down a minute, " she faltered. She was swaying on herfeet. 

He supported her across the belt of meadow which fringed the bank, andmade her recline against a tree. Then as his men began to come up--forthe alarm had reached them--he would have sent two of them in the boat tofetch Madame St. Lo to her. But she would not let him. 

"Your maid, then?" he said. 

"No, Monsieur, I need only to be alone a little! Only to be alone, " sherepeated, her face averted; and believing this he sent the men away, and, taking the boat himself, he crossed over, took in Madame St. Lo andCarlat, and rowed them to the ferry. Here the wildest rumours werecurrent. One held that the Huguenot had gone out of his senses; another, that he had watched for this opportunity of avenging his brethren; athird, that his intention had been to carry off the Countess and hold herto ransom. Only Tavannes himself, from his position on the farther bank, had seen the packet of letters, and the hand which withheld them; and hesaid nothing. Nay, when some of the men would have crossed to search forthe fugitive, he forbade them, he scarcely knew why, save that it mightplease her; and when the women would have hurried to join her and hearthe tale from her lips he forbade them also. 

"She wishes to be alone, " he said curtly. 

"Alone?" Madame St. Lo cried, in a fever of curiosity. "You'll find herdead, or worse! What? Leave a woman alone after such a fright as that!"

"She wishes it. "

Madame laughed cynically; and the laugh brought a tinge of colour to hisbrow. 

"Oh, does she?" she sneered. "Then I understand! Have a care, have acare, or one of these days, Monsieur, when you leave her alone, you'llfind them together!"

"Be silent!"

"With pleasure, " she returned. "Only when it happens don't say that youwere not warned. You think that she does not hear from him--"

"How can she hear?" The words were wrung from him. 

Madame St. Lo's contempt passed all limits. "How can she!" she retorted. "You trail a woman across France, and let her sit by herself, and lie byherself, and all but drown by herself, and you ask how she hears from herlover? You leave her old servants about her, and you ask how shecommunicates with him?"

"You know nothing!" he snarled. 

"I know this, " she retorted. "I saw her sitting this morning, andsmiling and weeping at the same time! Was she thinking of you, Monsieur?Or of him? She was looking at the hills through tears; a blue mist hungover them, and I'll wager she saw some one's eyes gazing and some one'shand beckoning out of the blue!"

"Curse you!" he cried, tormented in spite of himself. "You love to makemischief!"

"No!" she answered swiftly. "For 'twas not I made the match. But goyour way, go your way, Monsieur, and see what kind of a welcome you'llget!"

"I will, " Count Hannibal growled. And he started along the bank torejoin his wife. 

The light in his eyes had died down. Yet would they have been moresombre, and his face more harsh, had he known the mind of the woman towhom he was hastening. The Countess had begged to be left alone; alone, she found the solitude she had craved a cruel gift. She had saved thepacket. She had fulfilled her trust. But only to experience, the momentthe deed was done, the full poignancy of remorse. Before the act, whilethe choice had lain with her, the betrayal of her husband had loomedlarge; now she saw that to treat him as she had treated him was the truebetrayal, and that even for his own sake, and to save him from a fearfulsin, it had become her to destroy the letters. 

Now, it was no longer her duty to him which loomed large, but her duty tothe innocent, to the victims of the massacre which she might have stayed, to the people of her faith whom she had abandoned, to the women andchildren whose death-warrant she had preserved. Now, she perceived thata part more divine had never fallen to woman, nor a responsibility soheavy been laid upon woman. Nor guilt more dread!

She writhed in misery, thinking of it. What had she done? She couldhear afar off the sounds of the camp; an occasional outcry, a snatch oflaughter. And the cry and the laughter rang in her ears, a bittermockery. This summer camp, to what was it the prelude? This forbearanceon her husband's part, in what would it end? Were not the one and theother cruel make-believes? Two days, and the men who laughed beside thewater would slay and torture with equal zest. A little, and the husbandwho now chose to be generous would show himself in his true colours. Andit was for the sake of such as these that she had played the coward. Thatshe had laid up for herself endless remorse. That henceforth the criesof the innocent would haunt her dreams. 

Racked by such thoughts she did not hear his step, and it was his shadowfalling across her feet which first warned her of his presence. Shelooked up, saw him, and involuntarily recoiled. Then, seeing the changein his face--

"Oh! Monsieur, " she stammered, affrighted, her hand pressed to her side, "I ask your pardon! You startled me!"

"So it seems, " he answered. And he stood over her regarding her dryly. 

"I am not quite--myself yet, " she murmured. His look told her that herstart had betrayed her feelings. 

Alas! the plan of taking a woman by force has drawbacks, and among othersthis one: that he must be a sanguine husband who deems her heart his, anda husband without jealousy, whose suspicions are not aroused by thefaintest flush or the lightest word. He knows that she is hisunwillingly, a victim, not a mistress; and behind every bush beside theroad and behind every mask in the crowd he espies a rival. 

Moreover, where women are in question, who is always strong? Or who cansay how long he will pursue this plan or that? A man of sternest temper, Count Hannibal had set out on a path of conduct carefully anddeliberately chosen; knowing--and he still knew--that if he abandoned ithe had little to hope, if the less to fear. But the proof of fidelitywhich the Countess had just given him had blown to a white heat thesmouldering flame in his heart, and Madame St. Lo's gibes, which shouldhave fallen as cold water alike on his hopes and his passion, had but fedthe desire to know the best. For all that, he might not have spoken now, if he had not caught her look of affright; strange as it sounds, thatlook, which of all things should have silenced him and warned him thatthe time was not yet, stung him out of patience. Suddenly the man in himcarried him away. 

"You still fear me, then?" he said, in a voice hoarse and unnatural. "Isit for what I do or for what I leave undone that you hate me, Madame?Tell me, I beg, for--"

"For neither!" she said, trembling. His eyes, hot and passionate, wereon her, and the blood had mounted to his brow. "For neither! I do nothate you, Monsieur!"

"You fear me then? I am right in that. "

"I fear--that which you carry with you, " she stammered, speaking onimpulse and scarcely knowing what she said. 

He started, and his expression changed. "So?" he exclaimed. "So? Youknow what I carry, do you? And from whom? From whom, " he continued in atone of menace, "if you please, did you get that knowledge?"

"From M. La Tribe, " she muttered. She had not meant to tell him. Whyhad she told him?

He nodded. "I might have known it, " he said. "I more than suspected it. Therefore I should be the more beholden to you for saving the letters. But"--he paused and laughed harshly--"it was out of no love for me yousaved them. That too I know. "

She did not answer or protest; and when he had waited a moment in vainexpectation of her protest, a cruel look crept into his eyes. 

"Madame, " he said slowly, "do you never reflect that you may push thepart you play too far? That the patience, even of the worst of men, doesnot endure for ever?"

"I have your word!" she answered. 

"And you do not fear?"

"I have your word, " she repeated. And now she looked him bravely in theface, her eyes full of the courage of her race. 

The lines of his mouth hardened as he met her look. "And what have I ofyours?" he said in a low voice. "What have I of yours?"

Her face began to burn at that, her eyes fell and she faltered. 

"My gratitude, " she murmured, with an upward look that prayed for pity. "God knows, Monsieur, you have that!"

"God knows I do not want it!" he answered. And he laughed derisively. "Your gratitude!" And he mocked her tone rudely and coarsely. "Yourgratitude!" Then for a minute--for so long a time that she began towonder and to quake--he was silent. At last, "A fig for your gratitude, "he said. "I want your love! I suppose--cold as you are, and aHuguenot--you can love like other women!"

It was the first, the very first time he had used the word to her; andthough it fell from his lips like a threat, though he used it as a manpresents a pistol, she flushed anew from throat to brow. But she did notquail. 

"It is not mine to give, " she said. 

"It is his?"

"Yes, Monsieur, " she answered, wondering at her courage, at her audacity, her madness. "It is his. "

"And it cannot be mine--at any time?"

She shook her head, trembling. 

"Never?" And, suddenly reaching forward, he gripped her wrist in an irongrasp. There was passion in his tone. His eyes burned her. 

Whether it was that set her on another track, or pure despair, or the cryin her ears of little children and of helpless women, something in amoment inspired her, flashed in her eyes and altered her voice. Sheraised her head and looked him firmly in the face. 

"What, " she said, "do you mean by love?"

"You!" he answered brutally. 

"Then--it may be, Monsieur, " she returned. "There is a way if you will. "

"A way!"

"If you will!"

As she spoke she rose slowly to her feet; for in his surprise he hadreleased her wrist. He rose with her, and they stood confronting oneanother on the strip of grass between the river and the poplars. 

"If I will?" His form seemed to dilate, his eyes devoured her. "If Iwill?"

"Yes, " she replied. "If you will give me the letters that are in yourbelt, the packet which I saved to-day--that I may destroy them--I will beyours freely and willingly. "

He drew a deep breath, still devouring her with his eyes. 

"You mean it?" he said at last. 

"I do. " She looked him in the face as she spoke, and her cheeks werewhite, not red. "Only--the letters! Give me the letters. "

"And for them you will give me your love?"

Her eyes flickered, and involuntarily she shivered. A faint blush roseand dyed her cheeks. 

"Only God can give love, " she said, her tone low. 

"And yours is given?"

"Yes. "

"To another?"

"I have said it. "

"It is his. And yet for these letters--"

"For these lives!" she cried proudly. 

"You will give yourself?"

"I swear it, " she answered, "if you will give them to me! If you willgive them to me, " she repeated. And she held out her hands; her face, full of passion, was bright with a strange light. A close observer mighthave thought her distraught; still excited by the struggle in the boat, and barely mistress of herself. 

But the man whom she tempted, the man who held her price at his belt, after one searching look at her turned from her; perhaps because he couldnot trust himself to gaze on her. Count Hannibal walked a dozen pacesfrom her and returned, and again a dozen paces and returned; and again athird time, with something fierce and passionate in his gait. At last hestopped before her. 

"You have nothing to offer for them, " he said, in a cold, hard tone. "Nothing that is not mine already, nothing that is not my right, nothingthat I cannot take at my will. My word?" he continued, seeing her aboutto interrupt him. "True, Madame, you have it, you had it. But why needI keep my word to you, who tempt me to break my word to the King?"

She made a weak gesture with her hands. Her head had sunk on herbreast--she seemed dazed by the shock of his contempt, dazed by hisreception of her offer. 

"You saved the letters?" he continued, interpreting her action. "True, but the letters are mine, and that which you offer for them is mine also. You have nothing to offer. For the rest, Madame, " he went on, eyeing hercynically, "you surprise me! You, whose modesty and virtue are so great, would corrupt your husband, would sell yourself, would dishonour the loveof which you boast so loudly, the love that only God gives!" He laughedderisively as he quoted her words. "Ay, and, after showing at how low aprice you hold yourself, you still look, I doubt not, to me to respectyou, and to keep my word. Madame!" in a terrible voice, "do not playwith fire! You saved my letters, it is true! And for that, for thistime, you shall go free, if God will help me to let you go! But tempt menot! Tempt me not!" he repeated, turning from her and turning back againwith a gesture of despair, as if he mistrusted the strength of therestraint which he put upon himself. "I am no more than other men!Perhaps I am less. And you--you who prate of love, and know not whatlove is--could love! could love!"

He stopped on that word as if the word choked him--stopped, strugglingwith his passion. At last, with a half-stifled oath, he flung away fromher, halted and hung a moment, then, with a swing of rage, went off againviolently. His feet as he strode along the river-bank trampled theflowers, and slew the pale water forget-me-not, which grew among thegrasses. 

CHAPTER XXIII. A MIND, AND NOT A MIND. 

La Tribe tore through the thicket, imagining Carlat and Count Hannibalhot on his heels. He dared not pause even to listen. The underwoodtripped him, the lissom branches of the alders whipped his face andblinded him; once he fell headlong over a moss-grown stone, and pickedhimself up groaning. But the hare hard-pushed takes no account of thebriars, nor does the fox heed the mud through which it draws itself intocovert. And for the time he was naught but a hunted beast. With elbowspinned to his sides, or with hands extended to ward off the boughs, withbursting lungs and crimson face, he plunged through the tangle, nowslipping downwards, now leaping upwards, now all but prostrate, nowbreasting a mass of thorns. On and on he ran, until he came to the vergeof the wood, saw before him an open meadow devoid of shelter or hiding-place, and with a groan of despair cast himself flat. He listened. Howfar were they behind him?

He heard nothing--nothing, save the common noises of the wood, the angrychatter of a disturbed blackbird as it flew low into hiding, or the harshnotes of a flock of starlings as they rose from the meadow. The hum ofbees filled the air, and the August flies buzzed about his sweating brow, for he had lost his cap. But behind him--nothing. Already the stillnessof the wood had closed upon his track. 

He was not the less panic-stricken. He supposed that Tavannes' peoplewere getting to horse, and calculated that, if they surrounded and beatthe wood, he must be taken. At the thought, though he had barely got hisbreath, he rose, and keeping within the coppice crawled down the slopetowards the river. Gently, when he reached it, he slipped into thewater, and stooping below the level of the bank, his head and shouldershidden by the bushes, he waded down stream until he had put anotherhundred and fifty yards between himself and pursuit. Then he paused andlistened. Still he heard nothing, and he waded on again, until the watergrew deep. At this point he marked a little below him a clump of treeson the farther side; and reflecting that that side--if he could reach itunseen--would be less suspect, he swam across, aiming for a thorn bushwhich grew low to the water. Under its shelter he crawled out, and, worming himself like a snake across the few yards of grass whichintervened, he stood at length within the shadow of the trees. A momenthe paused to shake himself, and then, remembering that he was stillwithin a mile of the camp, he set off, now walking, and now running inthe direction of the hills which his party had crossed that morning. 

For a time he hurried on, thinking only of escape. But when he hadcovered a mile or two, and escape seemed probable, there began to minglewith his thankfulness a bitter--a something which grew more bitter witheach moment. Why had he fled and left the work undone? Why had he givenway to unworthy fear, when the letters were within his grasp? True, ifhe had lingered a few seconds longer, he would have failed to make goodhis escape; but what of that if in those seconds he had destroyed theletters, he had saved Angers, he had saved his brethren? Alas! he hadplayed the coward. The terror of Tavannes' voice had unmanned him. Hehad saved himself and left the flock to perish; he, whom God had setapart by many and great signs for this work!

He had commonly courage enough. He could have died at the stake for hisconvictions. But he had not the presence of mind which is proof againsta shock, nor the cool judgment which, in the face of death, sees to theend of two roads. He was no coward, but now he deemed himself one, andin an agony of remorse he flung himself on his face in the long grass. Hehad known trials and temptations, but hitherto he had held himself erect;now, like Peter, he had betrayed his Lord. 

He lay an hour groaning in the misery of his heart, and then he fell onthe text "Thou art Peter, and on this rock--" and he sat up. Peter hadbetrayed his trust through cowardice--as he had. But Peter had not beenheld unworthy. Might it not be so with him? He rose to his feet, a newlight in his eyes. He would return! He would return, and at all costs, even at the cost of surrendering himself, he would obtain access to theletters. And then--not the fear of Count Hannibal, not the fear ofinstant death, should turn him from his duty. 

He had cast himself down in a woodland glade which lay near the pathalong which he had ridden that morning. But the mental conflict fromwhich he rose had shaken him so violently that he could not recall theside on which he had entered the clearing, and he turned himself about, endeavouring to remember. At that moment the light jingle of a bridlestruck his ear; he caught through the green bushes the flash and sparkleof harness. They had tracked him then, they were here! So had he clearproof that this second chance was to be his. In a happy fervour he stoodforward where the pursuers could not fail to see him. 

Or so he thought. Yet the first horseman, riding carelessly with hisface averted and his feet dangling, would have gone by and seen nothingif his horse, more watchful, had not shied. The man turned then; and fora moment the two stared at one another between the pricked ears of thehorse. At last--

"M. De Tignonville!" the minister ejaculated. 

"La Tribe!"

"It is truly you?"

"Well--I think so, " the young man answered. 

The minister lifted up his eyes and seemed to call the trees and theclouds and the birds to witness. 

"Now, " he cried, "I know that I am chosen! And that we were instrumentsto do this thing from the day when the hen saved us in the haycart inParis! Now I know that all is forgiven and all is ordained, and that thefaithful of Angers shall to-morrow live and not die!" And with a faceradiant, yet solemn, he walked to the young man's stirrup. 

An instant Tignonville looked sharply before him. "How far ahead arethey?" he asked. His tone, hard and matter-of-fact, was little inharmony with the other's enthusiasm. 

"They are resting a league before you, at the ferry. You are in pursuitof them?"

"Yes. "

"Not alone?"

"No. " The young man's look as he spoke was grim. "I have five behindme--of your kidney, M. La Tribe. They are from the Arsenal. They havelost one his wife, and one his son. The three others--"

"Yes?"

"Sweethearts, " Tignonville answered dryly. And he cast a singular lookat the minister. 

But La Tribe's mind was so full of one matter, he could think only ofthat. 

"How did you hear of the letters?" he asked. 

"The letters?"

"Yes. "

"I do not know what you mean. "

La Tribe stared. "Then why are you following him?" he asked. 

"Why?" Tignonville echoed, a look of hate darkening his face. "Do youask why we follow--" But on the name he seemed to choke and was silent. 

By this time his men had come up, and one answered for him. 

"Why are we following Hannibal de Tavannes?" he said sternly. "To do tohim as he has done to us! To rob him as he has robbed us--of more thangold! To kill him as he has killed ours, foully and by surprise! In hisbed if we can! In the arms of his wife if God wills it!"

The speaker's face was haggard from brooding and lack of sleep, but hiseyes glowed and burned, as his fellows growled assent. 

"'Tis simple why we follow, " a second put in. "Is there a man of ourfaith who will not, when he hears the tale, rise up and stab the nearestof this black brood--though it be his brother? If so, God's curse onhim!"

"Amen! Amen!"

"So, and so only, " cried the first, "shall there be faith in our land!And our children, our little maids, shall lie safe in their beds!"

"Amen! Amen!"

The speaker's chin sank on his breast, and with his last word the lightdied out of his eyes. La Tribe looked at him curiously, then at theothers. Last of all at Tignonville, on whose face he fancied that hesurprised a faint smile. Yet Tignonville's tone when he spoke was graveenough. 

"You have heard, " he said. "Do you blame us?"

"I cannot, " the minister answered, shivering. "I cannot. " He had beenfor a while beyond the range of these feelings; and in the greenwood, under God's heaven, with the sunshine about him, they jarred on him. Yethe could not blame men who had suffered as these had suffered; who weremaddened, as these were maddened, by the gravest wrongs which it ispossible for one man to inflict on another. "I dare not, " he continuedsorrowfully. "But in God's name I offer you a higher and a noblererrand. "

"We need none, " Tignonville muttered impatiently. 

"Yet many others need you, " La Tribe answered in a tone of rebuke. "Youare not aware that the man you follow bears a packet from the King forthe hands of the magistrates of Angers?"

"Ha! Does he?"

"Bidding them do at Angers as his Majesty has done in Paris?"

The men broke into cries of execration. "But he shall not see Angers!"they swore. "The blood that he has shed shall choke him by the way! Andas he would do to others it shall be done to him. "

La Tribe shuddered as he listened, as he looked. Try as he would, thethirst of these men for vengeance appalled him. 

"How?" he said. "He has a score and more with him and you are only six. "

"Seven now, " Tignonville answered with a smile. 

"True, but--"

"And he lies to-night at La Fleche? That is so?"

"It was his intention this morning. "

"At the old King's Inn at the meeting of the great roads?"

"It was mentioned, " La Tribe admitted, with a reluctance he did notcomprehend. "But if the night be fair he is as like as not to lie in thefields. "

One of the men pointed to the sky. A dark bank of cloud fresh risen fromthe ocean, and big with tempest, hung low in the west. 

"See! God will deliver him into our hands!" he cried. 

Tignonville nodded. "If he lie there, " he said, "He will. " And then toone of his followers, as he dismounted, "Do you ride on, " he said, "andstand guard that we be not surprised. And do you, Perrot, tell Monsieur. Perrot here, as God wills it, " he added, with the faint smile which didnot escape the minister's eye, "married his wife from the great inn at LaFleche, and he knows the place. "

"None better, " the man growled. He was a sullen, brooding knave, whoseeyes when he looked up surprised by their savage fire. 

La Tribe shook his head. "I know it, too, " he said. "'Tis strong as afortress, with a walled court, and all the windows look inwards. Thegates are closed an hour after sunset, no matter who is without. If youthink, M. De Tignonville, to take him there--"

"Patience, Monsieur, you have not heard me, " Perrot interposed. "I knowit after another fashion. Do you remember a rill of water which runsthrough the great yard and the stables?"

La Tribe nodded. 

"Grated with iron at either end and no passage for so much as a dog? Youdo? Well, Monsieur, I have hunted rats there, and where the water passesunder the wall is a culvert, a man's height in length. In it is a stone, one of those which frame the grating at the entrance, which a strong mancan remove--and the man is in!"

"Ay, in! But where?" La Tribe asked, his eyebrows drawn together. 

"Well said, Monsieur, where?" Perrot rejoined in a tone of triumph. "There lies the point. In the stables, where will be sleeping men, and asnorer on every truss? No, but in a fairway between two stables wherethe water at its entrance runs clear in a stone channel; a channeldeepened in one place that they may draw for the chambers above with arope and a bucket. The rooms above are the best in the house, four inone row, opening all on the gallery; which was uncovered, in the commonfashion until Queen-Mother Jezebel, passing that way to Nantes, two yearsback, found the chambers draughty; and that end of the gallery was closedin against her return. Now, Monsieur, he and his Madame will lie there;and he will feel safe, for there is but one way to those fourrooms--through the door which shuts off the covered gallery from the openpart. But--" he glanced up an instant and La Tribe caught thesmouldering fire in his eyes--"we shall not go in by the door. "

"The bucket rises through a trap?"

"In the gallery? To be sure, monsieur. In the corner beyond the fourthdoor. There shall he fall into the pit which he dug for others, and theevil that he planned rebound on his own head!"

La Tribe was silent. 

"What think you of it?" Tignonville asked. 

"That it is cleverly planned, " the minister answered. 

"No more than that?"

"No more until I have eaten. "

"Get him something!" Tignonville replied in a surly tone. "And we may aswell eat, ourselves. Lead the horses into the wood. And do you, Perrot, call Tuez-les-Moines, who is forward. Two hours' riding should bring usto La Fleche. We need not leave here, therefore, until the sun is low. To dinner! To dinner!"

Probably he did not feel the indifference he affected, for his face as heate grew darker, and from time to time he shot a glance, barbed withsuspicion, at the minister. La Tribe on his side remained silent, although the men ate apart. He was in doubt, indeed, as to his ownfeelings. His instinct and his reason were at odds. Through all, however, a single purpose, the rescue of Angers, held good, and graduallyother things fell into their places. When the meal was at an end, andTignonville challenged him, he was ready. 

"Your enthusiasm seems to have waned, " the younger man said with a sneer, "since we met, monsieur! May I ask now if you find any fault with theplan?"

"With the plan, none. "

"If it was Providence brought us together, was it not Providencefurnished me with Perrot who knows La Fleche? If it was Providencebrought the danger of the faithful in Angers to your knowledge, was itnot Providence set us on the road--without whom you had been powerless?"

"I believe it!"

"Then, in His name, what is the matter?" Tignonville rejoined with apassion of which the other's manner seemed an inadequate cause. "Whatwill you! What is it?"

"I would take your place, " La Tribe answered quietly. 

"My place?"

"Yes. "

"What, are we too many?"

"We are enough without you, M. Tignonville, " the minister answered. "These men, who have wrongs to avenge, God will justify them. "

Tignonville's eyes sparkled with anger. "And have I no wrongs toavenge?" he cried. "Is it nothing to lose my mistress, to be robbed ofmy wife, to see the woman I love dragged off to be a slave and a toy? Arethese no wrongs?"

"He spared your life, if he did not save it, " the minister said solemnly. "And hers. And her servants. "

"To suit himself. "

La Tribe spread out his hands. 

"To suit himself! And for that you wish him to go free?" Tignonvillecried in a voice half-choked with rage. "Do you know that this man, andthis man alone, stood forth in the great Hall of the Louvre, and wheneven the King flinched, justified the murder of our people? After thatis he to go free?"

"At your hands, " La Tribe answered quietly. "You alone of our peoplemust not pursue him. " He would have added more, but Tignonville wouldnot listen. 

Brooding on his wrongs behind the wall of the Arsenal, he had let hatredeat away his more generous instincts. Vain and conceited, he fanciedthat the world laughed at the poor figure he had cut; and the wound inhis vanity festered until nothing would serve but to see the downfall ofhis enemy. Instant pursuit, instant vengeance--only these, he fancied, could restore him in his fellows' eyes. 

In his heart he knew what would become him better. But vanity is apotent motive: and his conscience, even when supported by La Tribe, struggled but weakly. From neither would he hear more. 

"You have travelled with him, until you side with him!" he criedviolently. "Have a care, monsieur, have a care, lest we think youpapist!" And walking over to the men, he bade them saddle; adding a sourword which turned their eyes, in no friendly gaze, on the minister. 

After that La Tribe said no more. Of what use would it have been?

But as darkness came on and cloaked the little troop, and the storm whichthe men had foreseen began to rumble in the west, his distaste for thebusiness waxed. The summer lightning which presently began to playacross the sky revealed not only the broad gleaming stream, between whichand a wooded hill their road ran, but the faces of his companions; andthese, in their turn, shed a grisly light on the bloody enterprisetowards which they were set. Nervous and ill at ease, the minister'smind dwelt on the stages of that enterprise: the stealthy entrancethrough the waterway, the ascent through the trap, the surprise, theslaughter in the sleeping-chamber. And either because he had lived fordays in the victim's company, or was swayed by the arguments he hadaddressed to another, the prospect shook his soul. 

In vain he told himself that this was the oppressor; he saw only the man, fresh roused from sleep, with the horror of impending dissolution in hiseyes. And when the rider, behind whom he sat, pointed to a faint sparkof light, at no great distance before them, and whispered that it was St. Agnes's Chapel, hard by the inn, he could have cried with the bestCatholic of them all, "Inter pontem et fontem, Domine!" Nay, some suchwords did pass his lips. 

For the man before him turned halfway in his saddle. "What?" he asked. 

But the Huguenot did not explain. 

CHAPTER XXIV. AT THE KING'S INN. 

The Countess sat up in the darkness of the chamber. She had writhedsince noon under the stings of remorse; she could bear them no longer. The slow declension of the day, the evening light, the signs of comingtempest which had driven her company to the shelter of the inn at thecrossroads, all had racked her, by reminding her that the hours wereflying, and that soon the fault she had committed would be irreparable. One impulsive attempt to redeem it she had made; but it had failed, and, by rendering her suspect, had made reparation more difficult. Still, bydaylight it had seemed possible to rest content with the trial made; notso now, when night had fallen, and the cries of little children and thehaggard eyes of mothers peopled the darkness of her chamber. She sat up, and listened with throbbing temples. 

To shut out the lightning which played at intervals across the heavens, Madame St. Lo, who shared the room, had covered the window with a cloak;and the place was dark. To exclude the dull roll of the thunder was lesseasy, for the night was oppressively hot, and behind the cloak thecasement was open. Gradually, too, another sound, the hissing fall ofheavy rain, began to make itself heard, and to mingle with the regularbreathing which proved that Madame St. Lo slept. 

Assured of this fact, the Countess presently heaved a sigh, and slippedfrom the bed. She groped in the darkness for her cloak, found it, anddonned it over her night gear. Then, taking her bearings by her bed, which stood with its head to the window and its foot to the entrance, shefelt her way across the floor to the door, and after passing her hands adozen times over every part of it, she found the latch, and raised it. The door creaked, as she pulled it open, and she stood arrested; but thesound went no farther, for the roofed gallery outside, which looked bytwo windows on the courtyard, was full of outdoor noises, the rushing ofrain and the running of spouts and eaves. One of the windows stood wide, admitting the rain and wind, and as she paused, holding the door open, the draught blew the cloak from her. She stepped out quickly and shutthe door behind her. On her left was the blind end of the passage; sheturned to the right. She took one step into the darkness and stoodmotionless. Beside her, within a few feet of her, some one had moved, with a dull sound as of a boot on wood; a sound so near her that she heldher breath, and pressed herself against the wall. 

She listened. Perhaps some of the servants--it was a common usage--hadmade their beds on the floor. Perhaps one of the women had stirred inthe room against the wall of which she crouched. Perhaps--but, evenwhile she reassured herself, the sound rose anew at her feet. 

Fortunately at the same instant the glare of the lightning flooded all, and showed the passage, and showed it empty. It lit up the row of doorson her right and the small windows on her left, and discovered facing herthe door which shut off the rest of the house. She could havethanked--nay, she did thank God for that light. If the sound she hadheard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the thunder which followedhard on the flash crashed overhead and rolled heavily eastwards, she felther way boldly along the passage, touching first one door, and then asecond, and then a third. 

She groped for the latch of the last, and found it, but, with her hand onit, paused. In order to summon up her courage, she strove to hear againthe cries of misery and to see again the haggard eyes which had drivenher hither. And if she did not wholly succeed, other reflections came toher aid. This storm, which covered all smaller noises, and opened, nowand again, God's lantern for her use, did it not prove that He was on herside, and that she might count on His protection? The thought at leastwas timely, and with a better heart she gathered her wits. Waiting untilthe thunder burst over her head, she opened the door, slid within it, andclosed it. She would fain have left it ajar, that in case of need shemight escape the more easily. But the wind, which beat into the passagethrough the open window, rendered the precaution too perilous. 

She went forward two paces into the room, and as the roll of the thunderdied away she stooped forward and listened with painful intensity for thesound of Count Hannibal's breathing. But the window was open, and thehiss of the rain persisted; she could hear nothing through it, andfearfully she took another step forward. The window should be beforeher; the bed in the corner to the left. But nothing of either could shemake out. She must wait for the lightning. 

It came, and for a second or more the room shone. The window, the lowtruckle-bed, the sleeper, she saw all with dazzling clearness, and beforethe flash had well passed she was crouching low, with the hood of hercloak dragged about her face. For the glare had revealed Count Hannibal;but not asleep! He lay on his side, his face towards her; lay with openeyes, staring at her. 

Or had the light tricked her? The light must have tricked her, for inthe interval between the flash and the thunder, while she crouchedquaking, he did not move or call. The light must have deceived her. Shefelt so certain of it that she found courage to remain where she wasuntil another flash came and showed him sleeping with closed eyes. 

She drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to her feet. Butshe dared not go forward until a third flash had confirmed the second. Then, while the thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept onuntil she stood beside the pillow, and, stooping, could hear thesleeper's breathing. 

Alas! the worst remained to be done. The packet, she was sure of it, layunder his pillow. How was she to find it, how remove it without rousinghim? A touch might awaken him. And yet, if she would not return empty-handed, if she would not go back to the harrowing thoughts which hadtortured her through the long hours of the day, it must be done, and donenow. 

She knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before themanual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain. Then a second time she drew courage from the storm. How timely had itbroken. How signally had it aided her! How slight had been her chancewithout it! And so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slidher fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down thelatter with her other hand. For an instant she fancied that thesleeper's breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. But thebreathing went on the next instant--if it had stopped--and dreading thereturn of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so near him, andin that act--for which the darkness seemed more fitting--she gropedfarther, and touched something. Then, as her fingers closed upon it andgrasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew thatthe real danger lay in the withdrawal. 

At the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwing outhis hand. She thought that he was going to awake, and had hard work tokeep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she began again withso infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down her face and herhair within the hood hung dank on her neck. Slowly, oh so slowly, shedrew back the hand, and with it the packet; so slowly, and yet soresolutely, being put to it, that when the dreaded flash surprised her, and she saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in the mysterious aloofnessof sleep, within a hand's breadth of hers, not a muscle of her arm moved, nor did her hand quiver. 

It was done--at last! With a burst of gratitude, of triumph, ofexultation, she stood erect. She realized that it was done, and thathere in her hand she held the packet. A deep gasp of relief, of joy, ofthankfulness, and she glided towards the door. 

She groped for the latch, and in the act fancied his breathing waschanged. She paused, and bent her head to listen. But the patter of therain, drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, persuaded herthat she was mistaken, and, finding the latch, she raised it, slippedlike a shadow into the passage, and closed the door behind her. 

That done she stood arrested, all the blood in her body running to herheart. She must be dreaming! The passage in which she stood--thepassage which she had left in black darkness--was alight; was so farlighted, at least, that to eyes fresh from the night, the figures ofthree men, grouped at the farther end, stood out against the glow of thelanthorn which they appeared to be trimming--for the two nearest werestooping over it. These two had their backs to her, the third his face;and it was the sight of this third man which had driven the blood to herheart. He ended at the waist! It was only after a few seconds, it wasonly when she had gazed at him awhile in speechless horror, that he roseanother foot from the floor, and she saw that he had paused in the act ofascending through a trapdoor. What the scene meant, who these men were, or what their entrance portended, with these questions her brain refusedat the moment to grapple. It was much that--still remembering who mighthear her, and what she held--she did not shriek aloud. 

Instead, she stood in the gloom at her end of the passage, gazing withall her eyes until she had seen the third man step clear of the trap. Shecould see him; but the light intervened and blurred his view of her. Hestooped, almost as soon as he had cleared himself, to help up a fourthman, who rose with a naked knife between his teeth. She saw then thatall were armed, and something stealthy in their bearing, something cruelin their eyes as the light of the lanthorn fell now on one dark face andnow on another, went to her heart and chilled it. Who were they, and whywere they here? What was their purpose? As her reason awoke, as sheasked herself these questions, the fourth man stooped in his turn, andgave his hand to a fifth. And on that she lost her self-control, andcried out. For the last man to ascend was La Tribe--La Tribe, from whomshe had parted that morning. 

The sound she uttered was low, but it reached the men's ears, and the twowhose backs were towards her turned as if they had been pricked. He whoheld the lanthorn raised it, and the five glared at her and she at them. Then a second cry, louder and more full of surprise, burst from her lips. The nearest man, he who held the lanthorn high that he might view her, was Tignonville, was her lover!

"_Mon Dieu_!" she whispered. "What is it? What is it?"

Then, not till then, did he know her. Until then the light of thelanthorn had revealed only a cloaked and cowled figure, a gloomy phantomwhich shook the heart of more than one with superstitious terror. Butthey knew her now--two of them; and slowly, as in a dream, Tignonvillecame forward. 

The mind has its moments of crisis, in which it acts upon instinct ratherthan upon reason. The girl never knew why she acted as she did; why sheasked no questions, why she uttered no exclamations, no remonstrances;why, with a finger on her lips and her eyes on his, she put the packetinto his hands. 

He took it from her, too, as mechanically as she gave it--with the handwhich held his bare blade. That done, silent as she, with his eyes sethard, he would have gone by her. The sight of her _there_, guarding thedoor of him who had stolen her from him, exasperated his worst passions. But she moved to hinder him, and barred the way. With her hand raisedshe pointed to the trapdoor. 

"Go!" she whispered, her tone stern and low, "you have what you want!Go!"

"No!" And he tried to pass her. 

"Go!" she repeated in the same tone. "You have what you need. " Andstill she held her hand extended; still without faltering she faced thefive men, while the thunder, growing more distant, rolled sullenlyeastward, and the midnight rain, pouring from every spout and drippingeave about the house, wrapped the passage in its sibilant hush. Graduallyher eyes dominated his, gradually her nobler nature and nobler aimsubdued his weaker parts. For she understood now; and he saw that shedid, and had he been alone he would have slunk away, and said no word inhis defence. 

But one of the men, savage and out of patience, thrust himself betweenthem. 

"Where is he?" he muttered. "What is the use of this? Where is he?" Andhis bloodshot eyes--it was Tuez-les-Moines--questioned the doors, whilehis hand, trembling and shaking on the haft of his knife, bespoke hiseagerness. "Where is he? Where is he, woman? Quick, or--"

"I shall not tell you, " she answered. 

"You lie, " he cried, grinning like a dog. "You will tell us! Or we willkill you too! Where is he? Where is he?"

"I shall not tell you, " she repeated, standing before him in thefearlessness of scorn. "Another step and I rouse the house! M. DeTignonville, to you who know me, I swear that if this man does notretire--"

"He is in one of these rooms?" was Tignonville's answer. "In which? Inwhich?"

"Search them!" she answered, her voice low, but biting in its contempt. "Try them. Rouse my women, alarm the house! And when you have hispeople at your throats--five as they will be to one of you--thank yourown mad folly!"

Tuez-les-Moines' eyes glittered. "You will not tell us?" he cried. 

"No!"

"Then--"

But as the fanatic sprang on her, La Tribe flung his arms round him anddragged him back. 

"It would be madness, " he cried. "Are you mad, fool? Have done!" hepanted, struggling with him. "If Madame gives the alarm--and he may bein any one of these four rooms, you cannot be sure which--we are undone. "He looked for support to Tignonville, whose movement to protect the girlhe had anticipated, and who had since listened sullenly. "We haveobtained what we need. Will you requite Madame, who has gained it for usat her own risk--"

"It is Monsieur I would requite, " Tignonville muttered grimly. 

"By using violence to her?" the minister retorted passionately. He andTuez were still gripping one another. "I tell you, to go on is to riskwhat we have got! And I for one--"

"Am chicken-hearted!" the young man sneered. "Madame--" He seemed tochoke on the word. "Will you swear that he is not here?"

"I swear that if you do not go I will raise the alarm!" she hissed--alltheir words were sunk to that stealthy note. "Go! if you have not stayedtoo long already. Go! Or see!" And she pointed to the trapdoor, fromwhich the face and arms of a sixth man had that moment risen--the facedark with perturbation, so that her woman's wit told her at once thatsomething was amiss. "See what has come of your delay already!"

"The water is rising, " the man muttered earnestly. "In God's name come, whether you have done it or not, or we cannot pass out again. It iswithin a foot of the crown of the culvert now, and it is rising. "

"Curse on the water!" Tuez-les-Moines answered in a frenzied whisper. "And on this Jezebel. Let us kill her and him! What matter afterwards?"And he tried to shake off La Tribe's grasp. 

But the minister held him desperately. "Are you mad? Are you mad?" heanswered. "What can we do against thirty? Let us be gone while we can. Let us be gone! Come. "

"Ay, come, " Perrot cried, assenting reluctantly. He had taken no sidehitherto. "The luck is against us! 'Tis no use to-night, man!" And heturned with an air of sullen resignation. Letting his legs drop throughthe trap, he followed the bearer of the tidings out of sight. Anothermade up his mind to go, and went. Then only Tignonville, holding thelanthorn, and La Tribe, who feared to release Tuez-les-Moines, remainedwith the fanatic. 

The Countess's eyes met her old lover's, and whether old memoriesovercame her, or, now that the danger was nearly past, she began to giveway, she swayed a little on her feet. But he did not notice it. He wassunk in black rage--rage against her, rage against himself. 

"Take the light, " she muttered unsteadily. "And--and he must follow!"

"And you?"

But she could bear it no longer. "Oh, go, " she wailed. "Go! Will younever go? If you love me, if you ever loved me, I implore you to go. "

He had betrayed little of a lover's feeling. But he could not resistthat appeal, and he turned silently. Seizing Tuez-les-Moines by theother arm, he drew him by force to the trap. 

"Quiet, fool, " he muttered savagely when the man would have resisted, "and go down! If we stay to kill him, we shall have no way of escape, and his life will be dearly bought. Down, man, down!" And between them, in a struggling silence, with now and then an audible rap, or a ring ofmetal, the two forced the desperado to descend. 

La Tribe followed hastily. Tignonville was the last to go. In the actof disappearing he raised his lanthorn for a last glimpse of theCountess. To his astonishment the passage was empty; she was gone. Hardby him a door stood an inch or two ajar, and he guessed that it was hers, and swore under his breath, hating her at that moment. But he did notguess how nicely she had calculated her strength; how nearly exhaustionhad overcome her; or that, even while he paused--a fatal pause had heknown it--eyeing the dark opening of the door, she lay as one dead, onthe bed within. She had fallen in a swoon, from which she did notrecover until the sun had risen, and marched across one quarter of theheavens. 

Nor did he see another thing, or he might have hastened his steps. Beforethe yellow light of his lanthorn faded from the ceiling of the passage, the door of the room farthest from the trap slid open. A man, whoseeyes, until darkness swallowed him, shone strangely in a faceextraordinarily softened, came out on tip-toe. This man stood awhile, listening. At length, hearing those below utter a cry of dismay, heawoke to sudden activity. He opened with a turn of the key the doorwhich stood at his elbow, the door which led to the other part of thehouse. He vanished through it. A second later a sharp whistle piercedthe darkness of the courtyard, and brought a dozen sleepers to theirsenses and their feet. A moment, and the courtyard hummed with voices, above which one voice rang clear and insistent. With a startled cry theinn awoke. 

CHAPTER XXV. THE COMPANY OF THE BLEEDING HEART. 

"But why, " Madame St. Lo asked, sticking her arms akimbo, "why stay inthis forsaken place a day and a night, when six hours in the saddle wouldset us in Angers?"

"Because, " Tavannes replied coldly--he and his cousin were walking beforethe gateway of the inn--"the Countess is not well, and will be thebetter, I think, for staying a day. "

"She slept soundly enough! I'll answer for that!"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"She never raised her head this morning, though my women were shrieking'Murder!' next door, and--Name of Heaven!" Madame resumed, after breakingoff abruptly, and shading her eyes with her hand, "what comes here? Isit a funeral? Or a pilgrimage? If all the priests about here are asblack, no wonder M. Rabelais fell out with them!"

The inn stood without the walls for the convenience of those who wishedto take the road early: a little also, perhaps, because food and foragewere cheaper, and the wine paid no town-dues. Four great roads metbefore the house, along the most easterly of which the sombre companywhich had caught Madame St. Lo's attention could be seen approaching. Atfirst Count Hannibal supposed with his companion that the travellers wereconveying to the grave the corpse of some person of distinction; for the_cortege_ consisted mainly of priests and the like mounted on mules, andclothed for the most part in black. Black also was the small bannerwhich waved above them, and bore in place of arms the emblem of theBleeding Heart. But a second glance failed to discover either litter orbier; and a nearer approach showed that the travellers, whether they worethe tonsure or not, bore weapons of one kind or another. 

Suddenly Madame St. Lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in greatastonishment that she knew them. 

"Why, there is Father Boucher, the Cure of St. Benoist!" she said, "andFather Pezelay of St. Magloire. And there is another I know, though Icannot remember his name! They are preachers from Paris! That is whothey are! But what can they be doing here? Is it a pilgrimage, thinkyou?"

"Ay, a pilgrimage of Blood!" Count Hannibal answered between his teeth. And, turning to him to learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyeswhich portended a storm. Before she could ask a question, however, thegloomy company, which had first appeared in the distance, moving, an inkyblot, through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had drawn near, andwas almost abreast of them. Stepping from her side, he raised his handand arrested the march. 

"Who is master here?" he asked haughtily. 

"I am the leader, " answered a stout pompous Churchman, whose smallmalevolent eyes belied the sallow fatuity of his face. "I, M. DeTavannes, by your leave. "

"And you, by your leave, " Tavannes sneered, "are--"

"Archdeacon and Vicar of the Bishop of Angers and Prior of the LesserBrethren of St. Germain, M. Le Comte. Visitor also of the Diocese ofAngers, " the dignitary continued, puffing out his cheeks, "and Chaplainto the Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, whose unworthy brother I am. "

"A handsome glove, and well embroidered!" Tavannes retorted in a tone ofdisdain. "The hand I see yonder!" He pointed to the lean parchment maskof Father Pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, but held his peace underthe sneer. "You are bound for Angers?" Count Hannibal continued. "Forwhat purpose, Sir Prior?"

"His Grace the Bishop is absent, and in his absence--"

"You go to fill his city with strife! I know you! Not you!" hecontinued, contemptuously turning from the Prior, and regarding the thirdof the principal figures of the party. "But you! You were the Cure whogot the mob together last All Souls'. "

"I speak the words of Him Who sent me!" answered the third Churchman, whose brooding face and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fitsof frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous in Paris. 

"Then Kill and Burn are His alphabet!" Tavannes retorted, and heedless ofthe start of horror which a saying so near blasphemy excited among theChurchmen, he turned to Father Pezelay. "And you! You, too, I know!" hecontinued. "And you know me! And take this from me. Turn, father!Turn! Or worse than a broken head--you bear the scar, I see--will befallyou. These good persons, whom you have moved, unless I am in error, totake this journey, may not know me; but you do, and can tell them. Ifthey will to Angers, they must to Angers. But if I find trouble inAngers when I come, I will hang some one high. Don't scowl at me, man!"--in truth, the look of hate in Father Pezelay's eyes was enough toprovoke the exclamation. "Some one, and it shall not be a bare patch onthe crown will save his windpipe from squeezing!"

A murmur of indignation broke from the preachers' attendants; one or twomade a show of drawing their weapons. But Count Hannibal paid no heed tothem, and had already turned on his heel when Father Pezelay spurred hismule a pace or two forward. Snatching a heavy brass cross from one ofthe acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which had oftenthrilled the heated congregation of St. Magloire, he called on Tavannesto pause. 

"Stand, my lord!" he cried. "And take warning! Stand, reckless andprofane, whose face is set hard as a stone, and his heart as a flint, against High Heaven and Holy Church! Stand and hear! Behold the word ofthe Lord is gone out against this city, even against Angers, for theunbelief thereof! Her place shall be left unto her desolate, and herchildren shall be dashed against the stones! Woe unto you, therefore, ifyou gainsay it, or fall short of that which is commanded! You shallperish as Achan, the son of Charmi, and as Saul! The curse that has goneout against you shall not tarry, nor your days continue! For theCanaanitish woman that is in your house, and for the thought that is inyour heart, the place that was yours is given to another! Yea, the swordis even now drawn that shall pierce your side!"

"You are more like to split my ears!" Count Hannibal answered sternly. "And now mark me! Preach as you please here. But a word in Angers, andthough you be shaven twice over, I will have you silenced after a fashionwhich will not please you! If you value your tongue therefore, father--Oh, you shake off the dust, do you? Well, pass on! 'Tis wise, perhaps. "

And undismayed by the scowling brows, and the cross ostentatiously liftedto heaven, he gazed after the procession as it moved on under its swayingbanner, now one and now another of the acolytes looking back and raisinghis hands to invoke the bolt of Heaven on the blasphemer. As the_cortege_ passed the huge watering-troughs, and the open gateway of theinn, the knot of persons congregated there fell on their knees. Inanswer the Churchmen raised their banner higher, and began to sing the_Eripe me, Domine_! and to its strains, now vengeful, now despairing, nowrising on a wave of menace, they passed slowly into the distance, slowlytowards Angers and the Loire. 

Suddenly Madame St. Lo twitched his sleeve. "Enough for me!" she criedpassionately. "I go no farther with you!"

"Ah?"

"No farther!" she repeated. She was pale, she shivered. "Many thanks, my cousin, but we part company here. I do not go to Angers. I have seenhorrors enough. I will take my people, and go to my aunt by Tours andthe east road. For you, I foresee what will happen. You will perishbetween the hammer and the anvil. "

"Ah?"

"You play too fine a game, " she continued, her face quivering. "Giveover the girl to her lover, and send away her people with her. And washyour hands of her and hers. Or you will see her fall, and fall besideher! Give her to him, I say--give her to him!"

"My wife?"

"Wife?" she echoed, for, fickle, and at all times swept away by theemotions of the moment, she was in earnest now. "Is there a tie, " andshe pointed after the vanishing procession, "that they cannot unloose?That they will not unloose? Is there a life which escapes if they doomit? Did the Admiral escape? Or Rochefoucauld? Or Madame de Luns in olddays? I tell you they go to rouse Angers against you, and I seebeforehand what will happen. She will perish, and you with her. Wife? Apretty wife, at whose door you took her lover last night. "

"And at your door!" he answered quietly, unmoved by the gibe. 

But she did not heed. "I warned you of that!" she cried. "And you wouldnot believe me. I told you he was following. And I warn you of this. You are between the hammer and the anvil, M. Le Comte! If Tignonvilledoes not murder you in your bed--"

"I hold him in my power. "

"Then Holy Church will fall on you and crush you. For me, I have seenenough and more than enough. I go to Tours by the east road. "

He shrugged his shoulders. "As you please, " he said. 

She flung away in disgust with him. She could not understand a man whoplayed fast and loose at such a time. The game was too fine for her, itsdanger too apparent, the gain too small. She had, too, a woman's dreadof the Church, a woman's belief in the power of the dead hand to punish. And in half an hour her orders were given. In two hours her people weregathered, and she departed by the eastward road, three of Tavannes'riders reinforcing her servants for a part of the way. Count Hannibalstood to watch them start, and noticed Bigot riding by the side ofSuzanne's mule. He smiled; and presently, as he turned away, he did athing rare with him--he laughed outright. 

A laugh which reflected a mood rare as itself. Few had seen CountHannibal's eye sparkle as it sparkled now; few had seen him laugh as helaughed, walking to and fro in the sunshine before the inn. His menwatched him, and wondered, and liked it little, for one or two who hadoverheard his altercation with the Churchmen had reported it, and therewas shaking of heads over it. The man who had singed the Pope's beardand chucked cardinals under the chin was growing old, and the most daringof the others had no mind to fight with foes whose weapons were not ofthis world. 

Count Hannibal's gaiety, however, was well grounded, had they known it. He was gay, not because he foresaw peril, and it was his nature to loveperil; not--in the main, though a little, perhaps--because he knew thatthe woman whose heart he desired to win had that night stood between himand death; not, though again a little, perhaps, because she had confirmedhis choice by conduct which a small man might have deprecated, but whicha great man loved; but chiefly, because the events of the night hadplaced in his grasp two weapons by the aid of which he looked to recoverall the ground he had lost--lost by his impulsive departure from the pallof conduct on which he had started. 

Those weapons were Tignonville, taken like a rat in a trap by the risingof the water; and the knowledge that the Countess had stolen the preciouspacket from his pillow. The knowledge--for he had lain and felt herbreath upon his cheek, he had lain and felt her hand beneath his pillow, he had lain while the impulse to fling his arms about her had been almostmore than he could tame! He had lain and suffered her to go, to pass outsafely as she had passed in. And then he had received his reward in theknowledge that, if she robbed him, she robbed him not for herself; andthat where it was a question of his life she did not fear to risk herown. 

When he came, indeed, to that point, he trembled. How narrowly had hebeen saved from misjudging her! Had he not lain and waited, had he notpossessed himself in patience, he might have thought her in collusionwith the old lover whom he found at her door, and with those who came toslay him. Either he might have perished unwarned; or escaping thatdanger, he might have detected her with Tignonville and lost for all timethe ideal of a noble woman. 

He had escaped that peril. More, he had gained the weapons we haveindicated; and the sense of power, in regard to her, almost intoxicatedhim. Surely if he wielded those weapons to the best advantage, if hestrained generosity to the uttermost, the citadel of her heart must yieldat last!

He had the defect of his courage and his nature, a tendency to do thingsafter a flamboyant fashion. He knew that her act would plunge him inperils which she had not foreseen. If the preachers roused the Papistsof Angers, if he arrived to find men's swords whetted for the massacreand the men themselves awaiting the signal, then if he did not give thatsignal there would be trouble. There would be trouble of the kind inwhich the soul of Hannibal de Tavannes revelled, trouble about theancient cathedral and under the black walls of the Angevin castle;trouble amid which the hearts of common men would be as water. 

Then, when things seemed at their worst, he would reveal his knowledge. Then, when forgiveness must seem impossible, he would forgive. With theflood of peril which she had unloosed rising round them, he would say, "Go!" to the man who had aimed at his life; he would say to her, "I know, and I forgive!" That, that only, would fitly crown the policy on whichhe had decided from the first, though he had not hoped to conduct it onlines so splendid as those which now dazzled him. 

CHAPTER XXVI. TEMPER. 

It was his gaiety, that strange unusual gaiety, still continuing, whichon the following day began by perplexing and ended by terrifying theCountess. She could not doubt that he had missed the packet on which somuch hung and of which he had indicated the importance. But if he hadmissed it, why, she asked herself, did he not speak? Why did he not crythe alarm, search and question and pursue? Why did he not give her thatopening to tell the truth, without which even her courage failed, herresolution died within her?

Above all, what was the secret of his strange merriment? Of the snatchesof song which broke from him, only to be hushed by her look ofastonishment? Of the parades which his horse, catching the infection, made under him, as he tossed his riding-cane high in the air and caughtit?

Ay, what? Why, when he had suffered so great a loss, when he had beenrobbed of that of which he must give account--why did he cast off hismelancholy and ride like the youngest? She wondered what the menthought, and looking, saw them stare, saw that they watched himstealthily, saw that they laid their heads together. What were theythinking of it? She could not tell; and slowly a terror, more insistentthan any to which the extremity of violence would have reduced her, beganto grip her heart. 

Twenty hours of rest had lifted her from the state of collapse into whichthe events of the night had cast her; still her limbs at starting hadshaken under her. But the cool freshness of the early summer morning, and the sight of the green landscape and the winding Loir, beside whichtheir road ran, had not failed to revive her spirits; and if he had shownhimself merely gloomy, merely sunk in revengeful thoughts, or dartinghither and thither the glance of suspicion, she felt that she could havefaced him, and on the first opportunity could have told him the truth. 

But his new mood veiled she knew not what. It seemed, if shecomprehended it at all, the herald of some bizarre, some dreadfulvengeance, in harmony with his fierce and mocking spirit. Before it herheart became as water. Even her colour little by little left her cheeks. She knew that he had only to look at her now to read the truth; that itwas written in her face, in her shrinking figure, in the eyes which nowguiltily sought and now avoided his. And feeling sure that he did readit and know it, she fancied that he licked his lips, as the cat whichplays with the mouse; she fancied that he gloated on her terror and herperplexity. 

This, though the day and the road were warrants for all cheerfulthoughts. On one side vineyards clothed the warm red slopes, and rose insteps from the valley to the white buildings of a convent. On the otherthe stream wound through green flats where the black cattle stood knee-deep in grass, watched by wild-eyed and half-naked youths. Again thetravellers lost sight of the Loir, and crossing a shoulder, rode throughthe dim aisles of a beech-forest, through deep rustling drifts of lastyear's leaves. And out again and down again they passed, and turningaside from the gateway, trailed along beneath the brown machicolated wallof an old town, from the crumbling battlements of which faceshalf-sleepy, half-suspicious, watched them as they moved below throughthe glare and heat. Down to the river-level again, where a squalidanchorite, seated at the mouth of a cave dug in the bank, begged of them, and the bell of a monastery on the farther bank tolled slumberously thehour of Nones. 

And still he said nothing, and she, cowed by his mysterious gaiety, yetspurning herself for her cowardice, was silent also. He hoped to arriveat Angers before nightfall. What, she wondered, shivering, would happenthere? What was he planning to do to her? How would he punish her?Brave as she was, she was a woman, with a woman's nerves; and fear andanticipation got upon them; and his silence--his silence which must meana thing worse than words!

And then on a sudden, piercing all, a new thought. Was it possible thathe had other letters? If his bearing were consistent with anything, itwas consistent with that. Had he other genuine letters, or had heduplicate letters, so that he had lost nothing, but instead had gainedthe right to rack and torture her, to taunt and despise her?

That thought stung her into sudden self-betrayal. They were riding alonga broad dusty track which bordered a stone causey raised above the levelof winter floods. Impulsively she turned to him. 

"You have other letters!" she cried. "You have other letters!" Andfreed for the moment from her terror, she fixed her eyes on his andstrove to read his face. 

He looked at her, his mouth grown hard. "What do you mean, Madame?" heasked, "You have other letters?"

"For whom?"

"From the King, for Angers!"

He saw that she was going to confess, that she was going to derange hischerished plan; and unreasonable anger awoke in the man who had been morethan willing to forgive a real injury. 

"Will you explain?" he said between his teeth. And his eyes glitteredunpleasantly. "What do you mean?"

"You have other letters, " she cried, "besides those which I stole. "

"Which you stole?" He repeated the words without passion. Enraged bythis unexpected turn, he hardly knew how to take it. 

"Yes, I!" she cried. "I! I took them from under your pillow!"

He was silent a minute. Then he laughed and shook his head. 

"It will not do, Madame, " he said, his lip curling. "You are clever, butyou do not deceive me. "

"Deceive you?"

"Yes. "

"You do not believe that I took the letters?" she cried in greatamazement. 

"No, " he answered, "and for a good reason. " He had hardened his heartnow. He had chosen his line, and he would not spare her. 

"Why, then?" she cried. "Why?"

"For the best of all reasons, " he answered. "Because the person whostole the letters was seized in the act of making his escape, and is nowin my power. "

"The person--who stole the letters?" she faltered. 

"Yes, Madame. "

"Do you mean M. De Tignonville?"

"You have said it. "

She turned white to the lips, and trembling, could with difficulty sither horse. With an effort she pulled it up, and he stopped also. Theirattendants were some way ahead. 

"And you have the letters?" she whispered, her eyes meeting his. "Youhave the letters?"

"No, but I have the thief!" Count Hannibal answered with sinistermeaning. "As I think you knew, Madame, " he continued ironically, "awhile back before you spoke. "

"I? Oh no, no!" and she swayed in her saddle. "What--what are you--goingto do?" she muttered after a moment's stricken silence. 

"To him?"

"Yes. "

"The magistrates will decide, at Angers. "

"But he did not do it! I swear he did not. "

Count Hannibal shook his head coldly. 

"I swear, Monsieur, I took the letters!" she repeated piteously. "Punishme!" Her figure, bowed like an old woman's over the neck of her horse, seemed to crave his mercy. 

Count Hannibal smiled. 

"You do not believe me?"

"No, " he said. And then, in a tone which chilled her, "If I did believeyou, " he continued, "I should still punish him!" She was broken; but hewould see if he could not break her further. He would try if there wereno weak spot in her armour. He would rack her now, since in the end shemust go free. "Understand, Madame, " he continued in his harshest tone, "I have had enough of your lover. He has crossed my path too often. Youare my wife, I am your husband. In a day or two there shall be an end ofthis farce and of him. "

"He did not take them!" she wailed, her face sinking lower on her breast. "He did not take them! Have mercy!"

"Any way, Madame, they are gone!" Tavannes answered. "You have takenthem between you; and as I do not choose that you should pay, he will paythe price. "

If the discovery that Tignonville had fallen into her husband's hands hadnot sufficed to crush her, Count Hannibal's tone must have done so. Theshoot of new life which had raised its head after those dreadful days inParis, and--for she was young--had supported her under the weight whichthe peril of Angers had cast on her shoulders, died, withered under theheel of his brutality. The pride which had supported her, which had wonTavannes' admiration and exacted his respect, sank, as she sank herself, bowed to her horse's neck, weeping bitter tears before him. Sheabandoned herself to her misery, as she had once abandoned herself in theupper room in Paris. 

And he looked at her. He had willed to crush her; he had his will, andhe was not satisfied. He had bowed her so low that his magnanimity wouldnow have its full effect, would shine as the sun into a dark world; andyet he was not happy. He could look forward to the morrow, and say, "Shewill understand me, she will know me!" and, lo, the thought that she weptfor her lover stabbed him, and stabbed him anew; and he thought, "Ratherwould she death from him, than life from me! Though I give her creation, it will not alter her! Though I strike the stars with my head, it is hewho fills her world. "

The thought spurred him to further cruelty, impelled him to try if, prostrate as she was, he could not draw a prayer from her. 

"You don't ask after him?" he scoffed. "He may be before or behind? Orwounded or well? Would you not know, Madame? And what message he sentyou? And what he fears, and what hope he has? And his last wishes?And--for while there is life there is hope--would you not learn where thekey of his prison lies to-night? How much for the key to-night, Madame?"

Each question fell on her like the lash of a whip; but as one who hasbeen flogged into insensibility, she did not wince. That drove him on:he felt a mad desire to hear her prayers, to force her lower, to bringher to her knees. And he sought about for a keener taunt. Theirattendants were almost out of sight before them; the sun, decliningapace, was in their eyes. 

"In two hours we shall be in Angers, " he said. "Mon Dieu, Madame, it wasa pity, when you two were taking letters, you did not go a step farther. You were surprised, or I doubt if I should be alive to-day!"

Then she did look up. She raised her head and met his gaze with suchwonder in her eyes, such reproach in her tear-stained face, that hisvoice sank on the last word. 

"You mean--that I would have murdered you?" she said. "I would have cutoff my hand first. What I did"--and now her voice was as firm as it waslow--"what I did, I did to save my people. And if it were to be doneagain, I would do it again!"

"You dare to tell me that to my face?" he cried, hiding feelings whichalmost choked him. "You would do it again, would you? Mon Dieu, Madame, you need to be taught a lesson!"

And by chance, meaning only to make the horses move on again, he raisedhis whip. She thought that he was going to strike her, and she flinchedat last. The whip fell smartly on her horse's quarters, and it sprangforward. Count Hannibal swore between his teeth. 

He had turned pale, she red as fire. "Get on! Get on!" he criedharshly. "We are falling behind!" And riding at her heels, flipping herhorse now and then, he forced her to trot on until they overtook theservants. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE BLACK TOWN. 

It was late evening when, riding wearily on jaded horses, they came tothe outskirts of Angers, and saw before them the term of their journey. The glow of sunset had faded, but the sky was still warm with the lasthues of day; and against its opal light the huge mass of the Angevincastle, which even in sunshine rises dark and forbidding above theMayenne, stood up black and sharply defined. Below it, on both banks ofthe river, the towers and spires of the city soared up from a sombrehuddle of ridge-roofs, broken here by a round-headed gateway, crumblingand pigeon-haunted, that dated from St. Louis, and there by the gauntarms of a windmill. 

The city lay dark under a light sky, keeping well its secrets. Thousandswere out of doors enjoying the evening coolness in alley and court, yetit betrayed the life which pulsed in its arteries only by the low murmurwhich rose from it. Nevertheless, the Countess at sight of its roofstasted the first moment of happiness which had been hers that day. Shemight suffer, but she had saved. Those roofs would thank her! In thatmurmur were the voices of women and children she had redeemed! At thesight and at the thought a wave of love and tenderness swept allbitterness from her breast. A profound humility, a boundlessthankfulness took possession of her. Her head sank lower above herhorse's mane; but this time it sank in reverence, not in shame. 

Could she have known what was passing beneath those roofs which night wasblending in a common gloom--could she have read the thoughts which atthat moment paled the cheeks of many a stout burgher, whose gabled houselooked on the great square, she had been still more thankful. For inattics and back rooms women were on their knees at that hour, prayingwith feverish eyes; and in the streets men--on whom their fellows, seeingthe winding-sheet already at the chin, gazed askance--smiled, and showedbrave looks abroad, while their hearts were sick with fear. 

For darkly, no man knew how, the news had come to Angers. It had beenknown, more or less, for three days. Men had read it in other men'seyes. The tongue of a scold, the sneer of an injured woman had spreadit, the birds of the air had carried it. From garret window to garretwindow across the narrow lanes of the old town it had been whispered atdead of night; at convent grilles, and in the timber-yards beside theriver. Ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, it wasrumoured, had perished in Paris. In Orleans, all. In Tours this man'ssister; at Saumur that man's son. Through France the word had gone forththat the Huguenots must die; and in the busy town the same roof-treesheltered fear and hate, rage and cupidity. On one side of the party-wall murder lurked fierce-eyed; on the other, the victim lay watching thelatch, and shaking at a step. Strong men tasted the bitterness of death, and women clasping their babes to their breasts smiled sickly intochildren's eyes. 

The signal only was lacking. It would come, said some, from Saumur, where Montsoreau, the Duke of Anjou's Lieutenant-Governor and a Papist, had his quarters. From Paris, said others, directly from the King. Itmight come at any hour now, in the day or in the night; the magistrates, it was whispered, were in continuous session, awaiting its coming. Nowonder that from lofty gable windows, and from dormers set high above thetiles, haggard faces looked northward and eastward, and ears sharpened byfear imagined above the noises of the city the ring of the iron shoesthat carried doom. 

Doubtless the majority desired--as the majority in France have alwaysdesired--peace. But in the purlieus about the cathedral and in the laneswhere the sacristans lived, in convent parlours and college courts, amongall whose livelihood the new faith threatened, was a stir as of a hivederanged. Here was grumbling against the magistrates--why wait? There, stealthy plannings and arrangements; everywhere a grinding of weapons andcasting of slugs. Old grudges, new rivalries, a scholar's venom, apriest's dislike, here was final vent for all. None need leave thisfeast unsated!

It was a man of this class, sent out for the purpose, who first espiedCount Hannibal's company approaching. He bore the news into the town, and by the time the travellers reached the city gate, the dusky streetwithin, on which lights were beginning to twinkle from booths andcasements, was alive with figures running to meet them and crying thenews as they ran. The travellers, weary and road-stained, had no soonerpassed under the arch than they found themselves the core of a greatcrowd which moved with them and pressed about them; now unbonneting, andnow calling out questions, and now shouting, "Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!"Above the press, windows burst into light; and over all, the quaintleaning gables of the old timbered houses looked down on the hurry andtumult. 

They passed along a narrow street in which the rabble, hurrying at CountHannibal's bridle, and often looking back to read his face, had much adoto escape harm; along this street and before the yawning doors of a greatchurch whence a breath heavy with incense and burning wax issued to meetthem. A portion of the congregation had heard the tumult and struggledout, and now stood close-packed on the steps under the double vault ofthe portal. Among them the Countess's eyes, as she rode by, a sturdy man-at-arms on either hand, caught and held one face. It was the face of atall, lean man in dusty black; and though she did not know him she seemedto have an equal attraction for him; for as their eyes met he seized theshoulder of the man next him and pointed her out. And something in theenergy of the gesture, or in the thin lips and malevolent eyes of the manwho pointed, chilled the Countess's blood and shook her, she knew notwhy. 

Until then, she had known no fear save of her husband. But at that asense of the force and pressure of the crowd--as well as of the fiercepassions, straining about her, which a word might unloose--broke uponher; and looking to the stern men on either side she fancied that sheread anxiety in their faces. 

She glanced behind. Boot to boot, the Count's men came on, pressinground her women and shielding them from the exuberance of the throng. Intheir faces too she thought that she traced uneasiness. What wonder ifthe scenes through which she had passed in Paris began to recur to hermind, and shook nerves already overwrought?

She began to tremble. "Is there--danger?" she muttered, speaking in alow voice to Bigot, who rode on her right hand. "Will they do anything?"

The Norman snorted. "Not while he is in the saddle, " he said, noddingtowards his master, who rode a pace in front of them, his reins loose. "There be some here know him!" Bigot continued, in his drawling tone. "And more will know him if they break line. Have no fear, Madame, hewill bring you safe to the inn. Down with the Huguenots?" he continued, turning from her and addressing a rogue who, holding his stirrup, wasshouting the cry till he was crimson. "Then why not away, and--"

"The King! The King's word and leave!" the man answered. 

"Ay, tell us!" shrieked another, looking upward, while he waved his cap;"have we the King's leave?"

"You'll bide _his_ leave!" the Norman retorted, indicating the Count withhis thumb. "Or 'twill be up with you--on the three-legged horse!"

"But he comes from the King!" the man panted. 

"To be sure. To be sure!"

"Then--"

"You'll bide his time! That's all!" Bigot answered, rather it seemed forhis own satisfaction than the other's enlightenment. "You'll all bideit, you dogs!" he continued in his beard, as he cast his eye over theweltering crowd. "Ha! so we are here, are we? And not too soon, either. "

He fell silent as they entered an open space, overlooked on one side bythe dark facade of the cathedral, on the other three sides by houses moreor less illumined. The rabble swept into this open space with them andbefore them, filled much of it in an instant, and for a while eddied andswirled this way and that, thrust onward by the worshippers who hadissued from the church and backwards by those who had been first in thesquare, and had no mind to be hustled out of hearing. A stranger, confused by the sea of excited faces, and deafened by the clamour of"Vive le Roi!" "Vive Anjou!" mingled with cries against the Huguenots, might have fancied that the whole city was arrayed before him. But hewould have been wide of the mark. The scum, indeed--and a dangerousscum--frothed and foamed and spat under Tavannes' bridle-hand; and hereand there among them, but not of them, the dark-robed figure of a priestmoved to and fro; or a Benedictine, or some smooth-faced acolyte egged onto the work he dared not do. But the decent burghers were not there. They lay bolted in their houses; while the magistrates, with little heartto do aught except bow to the mob--or other their masters for the timebeing--shook in their council chamber. 

There is not a city of France which has not seen it; which has not knownthe moment when the mass impended, and it lay with one man to start it orstay its course. Angers within its houses heard the clamour, and fromthe child, clinging to its mother's skirt, and wondering why she wept, tothe Provost, trembled, believing that the hour had come. The Countessheard it too, and understood it. She caught the savage note in the voiceof the mob--that note which means danger--and, her heart beating wildly, she looked to her husband. Then, fortunately for her, fortunately forAngers, it was given to all to see that in Count Hannibal's saddle sat aman. 

He raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once, forthe square was dusky--it was obtained. He rose in his stirrups, andbared his head. 

"I am from the King!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of thecrowd. "And this is his Majesty's pleasure and good will! That everyman hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! And atnoon his further pleasure will be known! Vive le Roi!"

And he covered his head again. 

"Vive le Roi!" cried a number of the foremost. But their shouts werefeeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmur ofdiscontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is that all? Isthere no more? Down with the Huguenots!" rose from all parts. Presentlythese cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, asfar as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square. A callfor "Montsoreau! Montsoreau! Give us Montsoreau!"

With another man, or had Tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed theleast anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in thetwinkling of an eye. But Count Hannibal, sitting his horse, with hishandful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it asthe Armed Knight of Notre Dame. Only once did he say a word. Then, raising his hand as before to gain a hearing--

"You ask for Montsoreau?" he thundered. "You will have Montfaucon if youdo not quickly go to your homes!"

At which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright. Feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention ofwithdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. Soon othersmissed them and took the alarm, and followed. A moment and scores werestreaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. Atlast the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. Theyglanced uneasily at one another and at Tavannes, took fright in theirturn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now and thenas they passed through the streets a cry of "Vive Montsoreau!Montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow. 

Count Hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozen groupsremained in the open. Then he gave the word to dismount; for, so far, even the Countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the movementwhich their retreat into the inn must have caused should be misread bythe mob. Last of all he dismounted himself, and with lights going beforehim and behind, and preceded by Bigot, bearing his cloak and pistols, heescorted the Countess into the house. Not many minutes had elapsed sincehe had called for silence; but long before he reached the chamber lookingover the square from the first floor, in which supper was being set forthem, the news had flown through the length and breadth of Angers thatfor this night the danger was past. The hawk had come to Angers, and lo!it was a dove. 

Count Hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. In theroom, which was well lighted, were people of the house, going to and fro, setting out the table; to Madame, standing beside the hearth--which heldits summer dressing of green boughs--while her woman held water for herto wash, the scene recalled with painful vividness the meal at which shehad been present on the morning of the St. Bartholomew--the meal whichhad ushered in her troubles. Naturally her eyes went to her husband, hermind to the horror in which she had held him then; and with a kind ofshock--perhaps because the last few minutes had shown him in a newlight--she compared her old opinion of him with that which, much as shefeared him, she now entertained. 

This afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, if at all, he hadacted in a way to justify that horror and that opinion. He had treatedher--brutally; he had insulted and threatened her, had almost struck her. And yet--and yet Madame felt that she had moved so far from the pointwhich she had once occupied that the old attitude was hard to understand. Hardly could she believe that it was on this man, much as she stilldreaded him, that she had looked with those feelings of repulsion. 

She was still gazing at him with eyes which strove to see two men in one, when he turned from the window. Absorbed in thought, she had forgottenher occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in her half-dried hands. Before she knew what he was doing he was at her side; he bade the womanhold the bowl, and he rinsed his hands. Then he turned, and withoutlooking at the Countess, he dried his hands on the farther end of thetowel which she was still using. 

She blushed faintly. A something in the act, more intimate and morefamiliar than had ever marked their intercourse, set her blood runningstrangely. When he turned away and bade Bigot unbuckle hisspur-leathers, she stepped forward. 

"I will do it!" she murmured, acting on a sudden and unaccountableimpulse. And as she knelt, she shook her hair about her face to hide itscolour. 

"Nay, Madame, but you will soil your fingers!" he said coldly. 

"Permit me, " she muttered half coherently. And though her fingers shook, she pursued and performed her task. 

When she rose he thanked her; and then the devil in the man, or theNemesis he had provoked when he took her by force from another--theNemesis of jealousy, drove him to spoil all. 

"And for whose sake, Madame?" he added, with a jeer; "mine or M. DeTignonville's?" And with a glance between jest and earnest, he tried toread her thoughts. 

She winced as if he had indeed struck her, and the hot colour fled hercheeks. 

"For his sake!" she said, with a shiver of pain. "That his life may bespared!" And she stood back humbly, like a beaten dog. Though, indeed, it was for the sake of Angers, in thankfulness for the past rather thanin any desperate hope of propitiating her husband, that she had done it!

Perhaps he would have withdrawn his words. But before he could answer, the host, bowing to the floor, came to announce that all was ready, andthat the Provost of the City, for whom M. Le Comte had sent, was inwaiting below. 

"Let him come up!" Tavannes answered, grave and frowning. "And see you, close the room, sirrah! My people will wait on us. Ah!" as the Provost, a burly man, with a face framed for jollity, but now pale and long, entered and approached him with many salutations. "How comes it, M. LePrevot--you are the Prevot, are you not?"

"Yes, M. Le Comte. "

"How comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in the streets?And that at my entrance, though I come unannounced, I find half of thecity gathered together?"

The Provost stared. "Respect, M. Le Comte, " he said, "for His Majesty'sletters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced some to cometogether. "

"Who said I brought letters?"

"Who--?"

"Who said I brought letters?" Count Hannibal repeated in a strenuousvoice. And he ground his chair half about and faced the astonishedmagistrate. "Who said I brought letters?"

"Why, my lord, " the Provost stammered, "it was everywhere yesterday--"

"Yesterday?"

"Last night, at latest--that letters were coming from the King. "

"By my hand?"

"By your lordship's hand--whose name is so well known here, " themagistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man's brow. 

Count Hannibal laughed darkly. "My hand will be better known by-and-by, "he said. "See you, sirrah, there is some practice here. What is thiscry of Montsoreau that I hear?"

"Your lordship knows that he is His Grace's lieutenant-governor inSaumur. "

"I know that, man. But is he here?"

"He was at Saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured three days back that hewas coming here to extirpate the Huguenots. Then word came of yourlordship and of His Majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that M. DeMontsoreau would not come, his authority being superseded. "

"I see. And now your rabble think that they would prefer M. Montsoreau. That is it, is it?"

The magistrate shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands. 

"Pigs!" he said. And having spat on the floor, he looked apologeticallyat the lady. "True pigs!"

"What connections has he here?" Tavannes asked. 

"He is a brother of my lord the Bishop's vicar, who arrived yesterday. "

"With a rout of shaven heads who have been preaching and stirring up thetown!" Count Hannibal cried, his face growing red. "Speak, man; is itso? But I'll be sworn it is!"

"There has been preaching, " the Provost answered reluctantly. 

"Montsoreau may count his brother, then, for one. He is a fool, but witha knave behind him, and a knave who has no cause to love us! And theCastle? 'Tis held by one of M. De Montsoreau's creatures, I take it?"

"Yes, my lord. "

"With what force?"

The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully at Badelon, who was keeping the door. Tavannes followed the glance with his usualimpatience. "Mon Dieu, you need not look at him!" he cried. "He hassacked St. Peter's and singed the Pope's beard with a holy candle! Hehas been served on the knee by Cardinals; and is Turk or Jew, or monk orHuguenot as I please. And Madame"--for the Provost's astonished eyes, after resting awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed toher--"is Huguenot, so you need have no fear of her! There, speak, man, "with impatience, "and cease to think of your own skin!"

The Provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on CountHannibal. 

"If I knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused, hisface began to work, his voice shook--"is a Huguenot! Ay, my lord, aHuguenot! And they know it!" he continued, a flush of rage augmentingthe emotion which his countenance betrayed. "Ay, they know it! And theypush me on at the Council, and grin behind my back; Lescot, who wasProvost two years back, and would match his son with my daughter; andThuriot, who prints for the University! They nudge one another, and eggme on, till half the city thinks it is I who would kill the Huguenots!I!" Again his voice broke. "And my own sister's son a Huguenot! And mygirl at home white-faced for--for his sake. "

Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "Perhaps she is of the same way ofthinking?" he said. 

The Provost started, and lost one half of his colour. "God forbid!" hecried, "saving Madame's presence! Who says so, my lord, lies!"

"Ay, lies not far from the truth. "

"My lord!"

"Pish, man, Lescot has said it, and will act on it. And Thuriot, whoprints for the University! Would you 'scape them? You would? Thenlisten to me. I want but two things. First, how many men hasMontsoreau's fellow in the Castle? Few, I know, for he is a niggard, andif he spends, he spends the Duke's pay. "

"Twelve. But five can hold it. "

"Ay, but twelve dare not leave it! Let them stew in their own broth! Andnow for the other matter. See, man, that before daybreak three gibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square. And letone be before this door. You understand? Then let it be done! Therest, " he added with a ferocious smile, "you may leave to me. "

The magistrate nodded rather feebly. "Doubtless, " he said, his eyewandering here and there, "there are rogues in Angers. And for roguesthe gibbet! But saving your presence, my lord, it is a questionwhether--"

But M. De Tavannes' patience was exhausted. "Will you do it?" he roared. "That is the question. And the only question. "

The Provost jumped, he was so startled. "Certainly, my lord, certainly!"he muttered humbly. "Certainly, I will!" And bowing frequently, butsaying no more, he backed himself out of the room. 

Count Hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, and doubtless thoughtthat he had seen the last of the magistrate for that night. Great washis wrath, therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before Bigothad carved for him--the door opened, and the Provost appeared again. Heslid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairs timeto cool, plunged into his trouble. 

"It stands this way, M. Le Comte, " he bleated. "If I put up the gibbetsand a man is hanged, and you have letters from the King, 'tis a rogue theless, and no harm done. But if you have no letters from His Majesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they donot find a way to hang me to right him. "

Count Hannibal smiled grimly. "And your sister's son?" he sneered. "Andyour girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the samebonfire with him? And--"

"Mercy! Mercy!" the wretched Provost cried. And he wrung his hands. "Lescot and Thuriot--"

"Perhaps we may hang Lescot and Thuriot--"

"But I see no way out, " the Provost babbled. "No way! No way!"

"I am going to show you one, " Tavannes retorted. "If the gibbets are notin place by sunrise, I shall hang you from this window. That is one wayout; and you'll be wise to take the other! For the rest and for yourcomfort, if I have no letters, it is not always to paper that the Kingcommits his inmost heart. "

The magistrate bowed. He quaked, he doubted, but he had no choice. 

"My lord, " he said, "I put myself in your hands. It shall be done, certainly it shall be done. But, but--" and shaking his head inforeboding, he turned to the door. At the last moment, when he waswithin a pace of it, the Countess rose impulsively to her feet. Shecalled to him. 

"M. Le Prevot, a minute, if you please, " she said. "There may be troubleto-morrow; your daughter may be in some peril. You will do well to sendher to me. My lord"--and on the word her voice, uncertain before, grewfull and steady--"will see that I am safe. And she will be safe withme. "

The Provost saw before him only a gracious lady, moved by athoughtfulness unusual in persons of her rank. He was at no pains toexplain the flame in her cheek, or the soft light which glowed in hereyes, as she looked at him across her formidable husband. He was onlyprofoundly grateful--moved even to tears. Humbly thanking her, heaccepted her offer for his child, and withdrew wiping his eyes. When hewas gone, and the door had closed behind him, Tavannes turned to theCountess, who still kept her feet. 

"You are very confident this evening, " he sneered. "Gibbets do notfrighten you, it seems, madame. Perhaps if you knew for whom the onebefore the door is intended?"

She met his look with a searching gaze, and spoke with a ring of defiancein her tone. "I do not believe it!" she said. "I do not believe it! Youwho save Angers will not destroy him!" And then her woman's moodchanging, with courage and colour ebbing together, "Oh no, you will not!You will not!" she wailed. And she dropped on her knees before him, andholding up her clasped hands, "God will put it in your heart to sparehim--and me!"

He rose with a stifled oath, took two steps from her, and in a tonehoarse and constrained, "Go!" he said. "Go, or sit! Do you hear, Madame? You try my patience too far!"

But when she had gone his face was radiant. He had brought her, he hadbrought all, to the point at which he aimed. To-morrow his triumphawaited him. To-morrow he who had cast her down would raise her up. 

He did not foresee what a day would bring forth. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE LITTLE CHAPTER-HOUSE. 

The sun was an hour high, and in Angers the shops and booths, after theearly fashion of the day, were open or opening. Through all the gatescountry folk were pressing into the gloomy streets of the Black Town withmilk and fruit; and at doors and windows housewives cheapened fish, orchaffered over the fowl for the pot. For men must eat, though there begibbets in the Place Ste. -Croix: gaunt gibbets, high and black andtwofold, each, with its dangling ropes, like a double note ofinterrogation. 

But gibbets must eat also; and between ground and noose was so small aspace in those days that a man dangled almost before he knew it. Thesooner, then, the paniers were empty, and the clown, who pays for all, was beyond the gates, the better he, for one, would be pleased. In themarket, therefore, was hurrying. Men cried their wares in loweredvoices, and tarried but a little for the oldest customer. The bargainstruck, the more timid among the buyers hastened to shut themselves intotheir houses again; the bolder, who ventured to the Place to confirm therumour with their eyes, talked in corners and in lanes, avoided the open, and eyed the sinister preparations from afar. The shadow of the thingswhich stood before the cathedral affronting the sunlight with their gauntblack shapes lay across the length and breadth of Angers. Even in thecorners where men whispered, even in the cloisters where men bit theirnails in impotent anger, the stillness of fear ruled all. Whatever CountHannibal had it in his mind to tell the city, it seemed unlikely--andhour by hour it seemed less likely--that any would contradict him. 

He knew this as he walked in the sunlight before the inn, his spursringing on the stones as he made each turn, his movements watched by ahundred peering eyes. After all, it was not hard to rule, nor to haveone's way in this world. But then, he went on to remember, not every onehad his self-control, or that contempt for the weak and unsuccessfulwhich lightly took the form of mercy. He held Angers safe, curbed by hisgibbets. With M. De Montsoreau he might have trouble; but the troublewould be slight, for he knew Montsoreau, and what it was the Lieutenant-Governor valued above profitless bloodshed. 

He might have felt less confident had he known what was passing at thatmoment in a room off the small cloister of the Abbey of St. Aubin, a roomknown at Angers as the Little Chapter-house. It was a long chamber witha groined roof and stone walls, panelled as high as a tall man mightreach with dark chestnut wood. Gloomily lighted by three grated windows, which looked on a small inner green, the last resting-place of theBenedictines, the room itself seemed at first sight no more than the lastresting-place of worn-out odds and ends. Piles of thin sheepskin folios, dog's-eared and dirty, the rejected of the choir, stood against thewalls; here and there among them lay a large brass-bound tome on whichthe chains that had fettered it to desk or lectern still rusted. Abroken altar cumbered one corner: a stand bearing a curious--androtting--map filled another. In the other two corners a medley of fadedscutcheons and banners, which had seen their last Toussaint procession, mouldered slowly into dust--into much dust. The air of the room was fullof it. 

In spite of which the long oak table that filled the middle of thechamber shone with use: so did the great metal standish which it bore. And though the seven men who sat about the table seemed, at a firstglance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded as the rubbish behindthem, it needed but a second look at their lean jaws and hungry eyes tobe sure of their vitality. 

He who sat in the great chair at the end of the table was indeed ratherplump than thin. His white hands, gay with rings, were well cared for;his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy of a Cardinal. But though the Bishop's Vicar was heard with deference, it was noticeablethat when he had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest on hisleft, to Father Pezelay, and waited to hear his opinion before they gavetheir own. The Father's energy, indeed, had dominated the Angerins, clerks and townsfolk alike, as it had dominated the Parisian _devotes_who knew him well. The vigour which hate inspires passes often for solidstrength; and he who had seen with his own eyes the things done in Parisspoke with an authority to which the more timid quickly and easilysuccumbed. 

Yet gibbets are ugly things; and Thuriot, the printer, whose pride hadbeen tickled by a summons to the conclave, began to wonder if he had donewisely in coming. Lescot, too, who presently ventured a word. 

"But if M. De Tavannes' order be to do nothing, " he began doubtfully, "you would not, reverend Father, have us resist his Majesty's will?"

"God forbid, my friend!" Father Pezelay answered with unction. "But hisMajesty's will is to do--to do for the glory of God and the saints andHis Holy Church! How? Is that which was lawful at Saumur unlawful here?Is that which was lawful at Tours unlawful here? Is that which the Kingdid in Paris--to the utter extermination of the unbelieving and thepurging of that Sacred City--against his will here? Nay, his will is todo--to do as they have done in Paris and in Tours and in Saumur! But hisMinister is unfaithful! The woman whom he has taken to his bosom hasbewildered him with her charms and her sorceries, and put it in his mindto deny the mission he bears. "

"You are sure, beyond chance of error, that he bears letters to thateffect, good Father?" the printer ventured. 

"Ask my lord's Vicar! He knows the letters and the import of them!"

"They are to that effect, " the Archdeacon answered, drumming on the tablewith his fingers and speaking somewhat sullenly. "I was in theChancellery, and I saw them. They are duplicates of those sent toBordeaux. "

"Then the preparations he has made must be against the Huguenots, "Lescot, the ex-Provost, said with a sigh of relief. And Thuriot's facelightened also. "He must intend to hang one or two of the ringleaders, before he deals with the herd. "

"Think it not!" Father Pezelay cried in his high shrill voice. "I tellyou the woman has bewitched him, and he will deny his letters!"

For a moment there was silence. Then, "But dare he do that, reverendFather?" Lescot asked slowly and incredulously. "What? Suppress theKing's letters?"

"There is nothing he will not dare! There is nothing he has not dared!"the priest answered vehemently, the recollection of the scene in thegreat guard-room of the Louvre, when Tavannes had so skilfully turned thetables on him, instilling venom into his tone. "She who lives with himis the devil's. She has bewitched him with her spells and her Sabbaths!She bears the mark of the Beast on her bosom, and for her the fire iseven now kindling!"

The laymen who were present shuddered. The two canons who faced themcrossed themselves, muttering, "Avaunt, Satan!"

"It is for you to decide, " the priest continued, gazing on thempassionately, "whether you will side with him or with the Angel of God!For I tell you it was none other executed the Divine judgments at Paris!It was none other but the Angel of God held the sword at Tours! It isnone other holds the sword here! Are you for him or against him? Areyou for him, or for the woman with the mark of the Beast? Are you forGod or against God? For the hour draws near! The time is at hand! Youmust choose! You must choose!" And, striking the table with his hand, he leaned forward, and with glittering eyes fixed each of them in turn, as he cried, "You must choose! You must choose!" He came to theArchdeacon last. 

The Bishop's Vicar fidgeted in his chair, his face a shade more shallow, his cheeks hanging a trifle more loosely, than ordinary. 

"If my brother were here!" he muttered. "If M. De Montsoreau hadarrived!"

But Father Pezelay knew whose will would prevail if Montsoreau metTavannes at his leisure. To force Montsoreau's hand, therefore, tosurround him on his first entrance with a howling mob already committedto violence, to set him at their head and pledge him before he knew withwhom he had to do--this had been, this still was, the priest's design. 

But how was he to pursue it while those gibbets stood? While theirshadows lay even on the chapter table, and darkened the faces of his mostforward associates? That for a moment staggered the priest; and had notprivate hatred, ever renewed by the touch of the scar on his brow, fedthe fire of bigotry he had yielded, as the rabble of Angers wereyielding, reluctant and scowling, to the hand which held the city in itsgrip. But to have come so far on the wings of hate, and to do nothing!To have come avowedly to preach a crusade, and to sneak away cowed! Tohave dragged the Bishop's Vicar hither, and fawned and cajoled andthreatened by turns--and for nothing! These things were passingbitter--passing bitter, when the morsel of vengeance he had foreseensmacked so sweet on the tongue. 

For it was no common vengeance, no layman's vengeance, coarse and clumsy, which the priest had imagined in the dark hours of the night, when hisfeverish brain kept him wakeful. To see Count Hannibal roll in the dusthad gone but a little way towards satisfying him. No! But to drag fromhis arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject her to shame andtorture in the depths of some convent, and finally to burn her as awitch--it was that which had seemed to the priest in the night hours avengeance sweet in the mouth. 

But the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. The city wascowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed on Montsoreau, whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. To the Archdeacon'sfeeble words, therefore, "We must look, " the priest retorted sternly, "not to M. De Montsoreau, reverend Father, but to the pious of Angers! Wemust cry in the streets, 'They do violence to God! They wound God andHis Mother!' And so, and so only, shall the unholy thing be rooted out!"

"Amen!" the Cure of St. -Benoist muttered, lifting his head; and his dulleyes glowed awhile. "Amen! Amen!" Then his chin sank again upon hisbreast. 

But the Canons of Angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidly atthe speakers; the meat was too strong for them. And Lescot and Thuriotshuffled in their seats. At length, "I do not know, " Lescot mutteredtimidly. 

"You do not know?"

"What can be done!"

"The people will know!" Father Pezelay retorted "Trust them!"

"But the people will not rise without a leader. "

"Then will I lead them!"

"Even so, reverend Father--I doubt, " Lescot faltered. And Thuriot noddedassent. Gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymen than forthe Church. 

"You doubt!" the priest cried. "You doubt!" His baleful eyes passedfrom one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. He saw thatwith the exception of the Cure of St. -Benoist all were of a mind. "Youdoubt! Nay, but I see what it is! It is this, " he continued slowly andin a different tone, "the King's will goes for nothing in Angers! Hiswrit runs not here. And Holy Church cries in vain for help against theoppressor. I tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched him has bewitchedyou also. Beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with you as with him!And the fire that shall consume her, spare not your houses!"

The two citizens crossed themselves, grew pale and shuddered. The fearof witchcraft was great in Angers, the peril, if accused of it, enormous. Even the Canons looked startled. 

"If--if my brother were here, " the Archdeacon repeated feebly, "somethingmight be done!"

"Vain is the help of man!" the priest retorted sternly, and with agesture of sublime dismissal. "I turn from you to a mightier than you!"And, leaning his head on his hands, he covered his face. 

The Archdeacon and the churchmen looked at him, and from him their scaredeyes passed to one another. Their one desire now was to be quit of thematter, to have done with it, to escape; and one by one with the air ofwhipped curs they rose to their feet, and in a hurry to be gone muttereda word of excuse shamefacedly and got themselves out of the room. Lescotand the printer were not slow to follow, and in less than a minute thetwo strange preachers, the men from Paris, remained the only occupants ofthe chamber; save, to be precise, a lean official in rusty black, whothroughout the conference had sat by the door. 

Until the last shuffling footstep had ceased to sound in the stillcloister no one spoke. Then Father Pezelay looked up, and the eyes ofthe two priests met in a long gaze. 

"What think you?" Pezelay muttered at last. 

"Wet hay, " the other answered dreamily, "is slow to kindle, yet burns ifthe fire be big enough. At what hour does he state his will?"

"At noon. "

"In the Council Chamber?"

"It is so given out. "

"It is three hundred yards from the Place Ste. -Croix and he must goguarded, " the Cure of St. -Benoist continued in the same dull fashion. "Hecannot leave many in the house with the woman. If it were attacked inhis absence--"

"He would return, and--" Father Pezelay shook his head, his cheek turneda shade paler. Clearly, he saw with his mind's eye more than heexpressed. 

"_Hoc est corpus_, " the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table. "Ifhe met us then, on his way to the house and we had bell, book, andcandle, would he stop?"

"He would not stop!" Father Pezelay rejoined. 

"He would not?"

"I know the man!"

"Then--" but the rest St. Benoist whispered, his head drooping forward;whispered so low that even the lean man behind him, listening with greedyears, failed to follow the meaning of his superior's words. But that hespoke plainly enough for his hearer Father Pezelay's face was witness. Astonishment, fear, hope, triumph, the lean pale face reflected all inturn; and, underlying all, a subtle malignant mischief, as if a devil'seyes peeped through the holes in an opera mask. 

When the other was at last silent, Pezelay drew a deep breath. 

"'Tis bold! Bold! Bold!" he muttered. "But have you thought? He whobears the--"

"Brunt?" the other whispered, with a chuckle. "He may suffer? Yes, butit will not be you or I! No, he who was last here shall be first there!The Archdeacon-Vicar--if we can persuade him--who knows but that even forhim the crown of martyrdom is reserved?" The dull eyes flickered withunholy amusement. 

"And the alarm that brings him from the Council Chamber?"

"Need not of necessity be real. The pinch will be to make use of it. Make use of it--and the hay will burn!"

"You think it will?"

"What can one man do against a thousand? His own people dare not supporthim. "

Father Pezelay turned to the lean man who kept the door, and, beckoningto him, conferred a while with him in a low voice. 

"A score or so I might get, " the man answered presently, after somedebate. "And well posted, something might be done. But we are not inParis, good father, where the Quarter of the Butchers is to be countedon, and men know that to kill Huguenots is to do God service! Here"--heshrugged his shoulders contemptuously--"they are sheep. "

"It is the King's will, " the priest answered, frowning on him darkly. 

"Ay, but it is not Tavannes', " the man in black answered with a grimace. "And he rules here to-day. "

"Fool!" Pezelay retorted. "He has not twenty with him. Do you do as Isay, and leave the rest to Heaven!"

"And to you, good master?" the other answered. "For it is not all youare going to do, " he continued, with a grin, "that you have told me. Well, so be it! I'll do my part, but I wish we were in Paris. St. Genevieve is ever kind to her servants. "

CHAPTER XXIX. THE ESCAPE. 

In a small back room on the second floor of the inn at Angers, a mean, dingy room which looked into a narrow lane, and commanded no prospectmore informing than a blind wall, two men sat, fretting; or, rather, oneman sat, his chin resting on his hand, while his companion, less patientor more sanguine, strode ceaselessly to and fro. In the first despair ofcapture--for they were prisoners--they had made up their minds to theworst, and the slow hours of two days had passed over their heads withoutkindling more than a faint spark of hope in their breasts. But when theyhad been taken out and forced to mount and ride--at first with feet tiedto the horses' girths--they had let the change, the movement, and theopen air fan the flame. They had muttered a word to one another, theyhad wondered, they had reasoned. And though the silence of theirguards--from whose sour vigilance the keenest question drew noresponse--seemed of ill-omen, and, taken with their knowledge of the maninto whose hands they had fallen, should have quenched the spark, thesetwo, having special reasons, the one the buoyancy of youth, the other thefaith of an enthusiast, cherished the flame. In the breast of one indeedit had blazed into a confidence so arrogant that he now took all forgranted, and was not content. 

"It is easy for you to say 'Patience!'" he cried, as he walked the floorin a fever. "You stand to lose no more than your life, and if you escapego free at all points! But he has robbed me of more than life! Of mylove, and my self-respect, curse him! He has worsted me not once, buttwice and thrice! And if he lets me go now, dismissing me with my life, I shall--I shall kill him!" he concluded, through his teeth. 

"You are hard to please!"

"I shall kill him!"

"That were to fall still lower!" the minister answered, gravely regardinghim. "I would, M. De Tignonville, you remembered that you are not yetout of jeopardy. Such a frame of mind as yours is no good preparationfor death, let me tell you!"

"He will not kill us!" Tignonville cried. "He knows better than most menhow to avenge himself!"

"Then he is above most!" La Tribe retorted. "For my part I wish I weresure of the fact, and I should sit here more at ease. "

"If we could escape, now, of ourselves!" Tignonville cried. "Then weshould save not only life, but honour! Man, think of it! If we couldescape, not by his leave, but against it! Are you sure that this isAngers?"

"As sure as a man can be who has only seen the Black Town once or twice!"La Tribe answered, moving to the casement--which was not glazed--andpeering through the rough wooden lattice. "But if we could escape we arestrangers here. We know not which way to go, nor where to find shelter. And for the matter of that, " he continued, turning from the window with ashrug of resignation, "'tis no use to talk of it while yonder foot goesup and down the passage, and its owner bears the key in his pocket. "

"If we could get out of his power as we came into it!" Tignonville cried. 

"Ay, if! But it is not every floor has a trap!"

"We could take up a board. "

The minister raised his eyebrows. 

"We could take up a board!" the younger man repeated; and he stepped themean chamber from end to end, his eyes on the floor. "Or--yes, _monDieu_!" with a change of attitude, "we might break through the roof?"And, throwing back his head, he scanned the cobwebbed surface of lathswhich rested on the unceiled joists. 

"Umph!"

"Well, why not, Monsieur? Why not break through the ceiling?"Tignonville repeated, and in a fit of energy he seized his companion'sshoulder and shook him. "Stand on the bed, and you can reach it. "

"And the floor which rests on it!"

"_Par Dieu_, there is no floor! 'Tis a cockloft above us! See there!And there!" And the young man sprang on the bed, and thrust the rowel ofa spur through the laths. La Tribe's expression changed. He rose slowlyto his feet. 

"Try again!" he said. 

Tignonville, his face red, drove the spur again between the laths, andworked it to and fro until he could pass his fingers into the hole he hadmade. Then he gripped and bent down a length of one of the laths, and, passing his arm as far as the elbow through the hole, moved it this wayand that. His eyes, as he looked down at his companion through thefalling rubbish, gleamed with triumph. 

"Where is your floor now?" he asked. 

"You can touch nothing?"

"Nothing. It's open. A little more and I might touch the tiles. " Andhe strove to reach higher. 

For answer La Tribe gripped him. "Down! Down, Monsieur, " he muttered. "They are bringing our dinner. "

Tignonville thrust back the lath as well as he could, and slipped to thefloor; and hastily the two swept the rubbish from the bed. When Badelon, attended by two men, came in with the meal he found La Tribe at thewindow blocking much of the light, and Tignonville laid sullenly on thebed. Even a suspicious eye must have failed to detect what had beendone; the three who looked in suspected nothing and saw nothing. Theywent out, the key was turned again on the prisoners, and the footsteps oftwo of the men were heard descending the stairs. 

"We have an hour, now!" Tignonville cried; and leaping, with flamingeyes, on the bed, he fell to hacking and jabbing and tearing at the lathsamid a rain of dust and rubbish. Fortunately the stuff, falling on thebed, made little noise; and in five minutes, working half-choked and in afrenzy of impatience, he had made a hole through which he could thrusthis arms, a hole which extended almost from one joist to its neighbour. By this time the air was thick with floating lime; the two could scarcelybreathe, yet they dared not pause. Mounting on La Tribe's shoulders--whotook his stand on the bed--the young man thrust his head and arms throughthe hole, and, resting his elbows on the joists, dragged himself up, andwith a final effort of strength landed nose and knees on the timbers, which formed his supports. A moment to take breath, and press his tornand bleeding fingers to his lips; then, reaching down, he gave a hand tohis companion and dragged him to the same place of vantage. 

They found themselves in a long narrow cockloft, not more than six feethigh at the highest, and insufferably hot. Between the tiles, whichsloped steeply on either hand, a faint light filtered in, disclosing thegiant rooftree running the length of the house, and at the farther end ofthe loft the main tie-beam, from which a network of knees and struts roseto the rooftree. 

Tignonville, who seemed possessed by unnatural energy, stayed only to putoff his boots. Then "Courage!" he panted, "all goes well!" and, carryinghis boots in his hands, he led the way, stepping gingerly from joist tojoist until he reached the tie-beam. He climbed on it, and, squeezinghimself between the struts, entered a second loft, similar to the first. At the farther end of this a rough wall of bricks in a timber-framelowered his hopes; but as he approached it, joy! Low down in the cornerwhere the roof descended, a small door, square, and not more than twofeet high, disclosed itself. 

The two crept to it on hands and knees and listened. "It will lead tothe leads, I doubt?" La Tribe whispered. They dared not raise theirvoices. 

"As well that way as another!" Tignonville answered recklessly. He wasthe more eager, for there is a fear which transcends the fear of death. His eyes shone through the mask of dust, the sweat ran down to his chin, his breath came and went noisily. "Naught matters if we can escape him!"he panted. And he pushed the door recklessly. It flew open; the twodrew back their faces with a cry of alarm. 

They were looking, not into the sunlight, but into a grey dingy garretopen to the roof, and occupying the upper part of a gable-end somewhathigher than the wing in which they had been confined. Filthy truckle-beds and ragged pallets covered the floor, and, eked out by old saddlesand threadbare horserugs, marked the sleeping quarters either of theservants or of travellers of the meaner sort. But the dinginess wasnaught to the two who knelt looking into it, afraid to move. Was theplace empty? That was the point; the question which had first stayed, and then set their pulses at the gallop. 

Painfully their eyes searched each huddle of clothing, scanned eachdubious shape. And slowly, as the silence persisted, their heads cameforward until the whole floor lay within the field of sight. And stillno sound! At last Tignonville stirred, crept through the doorway, androse up, peering round him. He nodded, and, satisfied that all was safe, the minister followed him. 

They found themselves a pace or so from the head of a narrow staircase, leading downwards. Without moving, they could see the door which closedit below. Tignonville signed to La Tribe to wait, and himself crept downthe stairs. He reached the door, and, stooping, set his eye to the holethrough which the string of the latch passed. A moment he looked, andthen, turning on tiptoe, he stole up again, his face fallen. 

"You may throw the handle after the hatchet!" he muttered. "The man onguard is within four yards of the door. " And in the rage ofdisappointment he struck the air with his hand. 

"Is he looking this way?"

"No. He is looking down the passage towards our room. But it isimpossible to pass him. "

La Tribe nodded, and moved softly to one of the lattices which lightedthe room. It might be possible to escape that way, by the parapet andthe tiles. But he found that the casement was set high in the roof, which sloped steeply from its sill to the eaves. He passed to the otherwindow, in which a little wicket in the lattice stood open. He lookedthrough it. In the giddy void white pigeons were wheeling in thedazzling sunshine, and, gazing down, he saw far below him, in the hotsquare, a row of booths, and troops of people moving to and fro likepigmies; and--and a strange thing, in the middle of all! Involuntarily, as if the persons below could have seen his face at the tiny dormer, hedrew back. 

He beckoned to M. Tignonville to come to him; and when the young mancomplied, he bade him in a whisper look down. "See!" he muttered. "There!"

The younger man saw and drew in his breath. Even under the coating ofdust his face turned a shade greyer. 

"You had no need to fear that he would let us go!" the minister muttered, with half-conscious irony. 

"No. "

"Nor I! There are two ropes. " And La Tribe breathed a few words ofprayer. The object which had fixed his gaze was a gibbet: the only oneof the three which could be seen from their eyrie. 

Tignonville, on the other hand, turned sharply away, and with haggardeyes stared about the room. "We might defend the staircase, " hemuttered. "Two men might hold it for a time. "

"We have no food. "

"No. " Suddenly he gripped La Tribe's arm. "I have it!" he cried. "Andit may do! It must do!" he continued, his face working. "See!" Andlifting from the floor one of the ragged pallets, from which the strawprotruded in a dozen places, he set it flat on his head. 

It drooped at each corner--it had seen much wear--and, while it almosthid his face, it revealed his grimy chin and mortar-stained shoulders. Heturned to his companion. 

La Tribe's face glowed as he looked. "It may do!" he cried. "It's achance! But you are right! It may do!"

Tignonville dropped the ragged mattress, and tore off his coat; then herent his breeches at the knee, so that they hung loose about his calves. 

"Do you the same!" he cried. "And quick, man, quick! Leave your boots!Once outside we must pass through the streets under these"--he took uphis burden again and set it on his head--"until we reach a quiet part, and there we--"

"Can hide! Or swim the river!" the minister said. He had followed hiscompanion's example, and now stood under a similar burden. With breechesrent and whitened, and his upper garments in no better case, he looked asorry figure. 

Tignonville eyed him with satisfaction, and turned to the staircase. 

"Come, " he cried, "there is not a moment to be lost. At any minute theymay enter our room and find it empty! You are ready? Then, not toosoftly, or it may rouse suspicion! And mumble something at the door. "

He began himself to scold, and, muttering incoherently, stumbled down thestaircase, the pallet on his head rustling against the wall on each side. Arrived at the door, he fumbled clumsily with the latch, and, when thedoor gave way, plumped out with an oath--as if the awkward burden he borewere the only thing on his mind. Badelon--he was on duty--stared at theapparition; but the next moment he sniffed the pallet, which was none ofthe freshest, and, turning up his nose, he retreated a pace. He had nosuspicion; the men did not come from the part of the house where theprisoners lay, and he stood aside to let them pass. In a moment, staggering, and going a little unsteadily, as if they scarcely saw theirway, they had passed by him, and were descending the staircase. 

So far well! Unfortunately, when they reached the foot of that flightthey came on the main passage of the first-floor. It ran right and left, and Tignonville did not know which way he must turn to reach the lowerstaircase. Yet he dared not hesitate; in the passage, waiting about thedoors, were four or five servants, and in the distance he caught sight ofthree men belonging to Tavannes' company. At any moment, too, an upperservant might meet them, ask what they were doing, and detect the fraud. He turned at random, therefore--to the left as it chanced--and marchedalong bravely, until the very thing happened which he had feared. A mancame from a room plump upon them, saw them, and held up his hands inhorror. 

"What are you doing?" he cried in a rage and with an oath. "Who set youon this?"

Tignonville's tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. La Tribe frombehind muttered something about the stable. 

"And time too!" the man said. "Faugh! But how come you this way? Areyou drunk? Here!" He opened the door of a musty closet beside him, "Pitch them in here, do you hear? And take them down when it is dark. Faugh. I wonder you did not carry the things though her ladyship's roomat once! If my lord had been in and met you! Now then, do as I tellyou! Are you drunk?"

With a sullen air Tignonville threw in his mattress. La Tribe did thesame. Fortunately the passage was ill-lighted, and there were manyhelpers and strange servants in the inn. The butler only thought themill-looking fellows who knew no better. 

"Now be off!" he continued irascibly. "This is no place for your sort. Be off!" And, as they moved, "Coming! Coming!" he cried in answer to adistant summons; and he hurried away on the errand which their appearancehad interrupted. 

Tignonville would have gone to work to recover the pallets, for the manhad left the key in the door. But as he went to do so the butler lookedback, and the two were obliged to make a pretence of following him. Amoment, however, and he was gone; and Tignonville turned anew to regainthem. A second time fortune was adverse; a door within a pace of himopened, a woman came out. She recoiled from the strange figure; her eyesmet his. Unluckily the light from the room behind her fell on his face, and with a shrill cry she named him. 

One second and all had been lost, for the crowd of idlers at the otherend of the passage had caught her cry, and were looking that way. Withpresence of mind Tignonville clapped his hand on her mouth, and, huddlingher by force into the room, followed her, with La Tribe at his heels. 

It was a large room, in which seven or eight people, who had been atprayers when the cry startled them, were rising from their knees. Thefirst thing they saw was Javette on the threshold, struggling in thegrasp of a wild man, ragged and begrimed; they deemed the city risen andthe massacre upon them. Carlat threw himself before his mistress, theCountess in her turn sheltered a young girl, who stood beside her andfrom whose face the last trace of colour had fled. Madame Carlat and awaiting-woman ran shrieking to the window; another instant and the alarmwould have gone abroad. 

Tignonville's voice stopped it. "Don't you know me?" he cried, "Madame!you at least! Carlat! Are you all mad?"

The words stayed them where they stood in an astonishment scarce lessthan their alarm. The Countess tried twice to speak; the third time--

"Have you escaped?" she muttered. 

Tignonville nodded, his eyes bright with triumph. "So far, " he said. "But they may be on our heels at any moment! Where can we hide?"

The Countess, her hand pressed to her side, looked at Javette. 

"The door, girl!" she whispered. "Lock it!"

"Ay, lock it! And they can go by the back-stairs, " Madame Carlatanswered, awaking suddenly to the situation. "Through my closet! Oncein the yard they may pass out through the stables. "

"Which way?" Tignonville asked impatiently. "Don't stand looking at me, but--"

"Through this door!" Madame Carlat answered, hurrying to it. 

He was following when the Countess stepped forward and interposed betweenhim and the door. 

"Stay!" she cried; and there was not one who did not notice a newdecision in her voice, a new dignity in her bearing. "Stay, Monsieur, wemay be going too fast. To go out now and in that guise--may it not be toincur greater peril than you incur here? I feel sure that you are in nodanger of your life at present. Therefore, why run the risk--"

"In no danger, Madame!" he cried, interrupting her in astonishment. "Haveyou seen the gibbet in the Square? Do you call that no danger?"

"It is not erected for you. "

"No?"

"No, Monsieur, " she answered firmly, "I swear it is not. And I know ofreasons, urgent reasons, why you should not go. M. De Tavannes"--shenamed her husband nervously, as conscious of the weak spot--"before herode abroad laid strict orders on all to keep within, since the smallestmatter might kindle the city. Therefore, M. De Tignonville, I request, nay I entreat, " she continued with greater urgency, as she saw hisgesture of denial, "you to stay here until he returns. "

"And you, Madame, will answer for my life?"

She faltered. For a moment, a moment only, her colour ebbed. What ifshe deceived herself? What if she surrendered her old lover to death?What if--but the doubt was of a moment only. Her duty was plain. 

"I will answer for it, " she said, with pale lips, "if you remain here. And I beg, I implore you--by the love you once had for me, M. DeTignonville, " she added desperately, seeing that he was about to refuse, "to remain here. "

"Once!" he retorted, lashing himself into ignoble rage. "By the love Ionce had! Say, rather, the love I have, Madame--for I am nowoman-weathercock to wed the winner, and hold or not hold, stay or go, ashe commands! You, it seems, " he continued with a sneer, "have learnedthe wife's lesson well! You would practise on me now, as you practisedon me the other night when you stood between him and me! I yielded then, I spared him. And what did I get by it? Bonds and a prison! And whatshall I get now? The same! No, Madame, " he continued bitterly, addressing himself as much to the Carlats and the others as to his oldmistress. "I do not change! I loved! I love! I was going and I go! Ifdeath lay beyond that door"--and he pointed to it--"and life at his willwere certain here, I would pass the threshold rather than take my life ofhim!" And, dragging La Tribe with him, with a passionate gesture herushed by her, opened the door, and disappeared in the next room. 

The Countess took one pace forward, as if she would have followed him, asif she would have tried further persuasion. But as she moved a cryrooted her to the spot. A rush of feet and the babel of many voicesfilled the passage with a tide of sound, which drew rapidly nearer. Theescape was known! Would the fugitives have time to slip out below?

Some one knocked at the door, tried it, pushed and beat on it. But theCountess and all in the room had run to the windows and were looking out. 

If the two had not yet made their escape they must be taken. Yet no; asthe Countess leaned from the window, first one dusty figure and then asecond darted from a door below, and made for the nearest turning, out ofthe Place Ste. -Croix. Before they gained it, four men, of whom, Badelon, his grey locks flying, was first, dashed out in pursuit, and the streetrang with cries of "Stop him! Seize him! Seize him!" Some one--one ofthe pursuers or another--to add to the alarm let off a musket, and in amoment, as if the report had been a signal, the Place was in a hubbub, people flocked into it with mysterious quickness, and from a neighbouringroof--whence, precisely, it was impossible to say--the crackling fire ofa dozen arquebuses alarmed the city far and wide. 

Unfortunately, the fugitives had been baulked at the first turning. Making for a second, they found it choked, and, swerving, darted acrossthe Place towards St. -Maurice, seeking to lose themselves in thegathering crowd. But the pursuers clung desperately to their skirts, overturning here a man and there a child; and then in a twinkling, Tignonville, as he ran round a booth, tripped over a peg and fell, and LaTribe stumbled over him and fell also. The four riders flung themselvesfiercely on their prey, secured them, and began to drag them with oathsand curses towards the door of the inn. 

The Countess had seen all from her window; had held her breath while theyran, had drawn it sharply when they fell. Now, "They have them!" shemuttered, a sob choking her, "they have them!" And she clasped herhands. If he had followed her advice! If he had only followed heradvice!

But the issue proved less certain than she deemed it. The crowd, whichgrew each moment, knew nothing of pursuers or pursued. On the contrary, a cry went up that the riders were Huguenots, and that the Huguenots wererising and slaying the Catholics; and as no story was too improbable forthose days, and this was one constantly set about, first one stone flew, and then another, and another. A man with a staff darted forward andstruck Badelon on the shoulder, two or three others pressed in andjostled the riders; and if three of Tavannes' following had not run outon the instant and faced the mob with their pikes, and for a momentforced them to give back, the prisoners would have been rescued at thevery door of the inn. As it was they were dragged in, and the gates wereflung to and barred in the nick of time. Another moment, almost anothersecond, and the mob had seized them. As it was, a hail of stones pouredon the front of the inn, and amid the rising yells of the rabble therepresently floated heavy and slow over the city the tolling of the greatbell of St. -Maurice. 

CHAPTER XXX. SACRILEGE!

M. De Montsoreau, Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur almost rose from his seatin his astonishment. 

"What! No letters?" he cried, a hand on either arm of the chair. 

The Magistrates stared, one and all. "No letters?" they muttered. 

And "No letters?" the Provost chimed in more faintly. 

Count Hannibal looked smiling round the Council table. He alone wasunmoved. 

"No, " he said. "I bear none. "

M. De Montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his corselet, had the secondplace of honour at the foot of the table, frowned. 

"But, M. Le Comte, " he said, "my instructions from Monsieur were toproceed to carry out his Majesty's will in co-operation with you, who, Iunderstood, would bring letters _de par le Roi_. "

"I had letters, " Count Hannibal answered negligently. "But on the way Imislaid them. "

"Mislaid them?" Montsoreau cried, unable to believe his ears; while thesmaller dignitaries of the city, the magistrates and churchmen who sat oneither side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. It was incredible! It wasunbelievable! Mislay the King's letters! Who had ever heard of such athing?

"Yes, I mislaid them. Lost them, if you like it better. "

"But you jest!" the Lieutenant-Governor retorted, moving uneasily in hischair. He was a man more highly named for address than courage; and, like most men skilled in finesse, he was prone to suspect a trap. "Youjest, surely, Monsieur! Men do not lose his Majesty's letters, by theway. "

"When they contain his Majesty's will, no, " Tavannes answered, with apeculiar smile. 

"You imply, then?"

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but had not answered when Bigotentered and handed him his sweetmeat box; he paused to open it and selecta prune. He was long in selecting; but no change of countenance led anyof those at the table to suspect that inside the lid of the box was amessage--a scrap of paper informing him that Montsoreau had left fiftyspears in the suburb without the Saumur gate, besides those whom he hadbrought openly into the town. Tavannes read the note slowly while heseemed to be choosing his fruit. And then--

"Imply?" he answered. "I imply nothing, M. De Montsoreau. "

"But--"

"But that sometimes his Majesty finds it prudent to give orders which hedoes not mean to be carried out. There are things which start up beforethe eye, " Tavannes continued, negligently tapping the box on the table, "and there are things which do not; sometimes the latter are the moreimportant. You, better than I, M. De Montsoreau, know that the King inthe Gallery at the Louvre is one, and in his closet is another. "

"Yes. "

"And that being so--"

"You do not mean to carry the letters into effect?"

"Had I the letters, certainly, my friend. I should be bound by them. ButI took good care to lose them, " Tavannes added naively. "I am no fool. "

"Umph!"

"However, " Count Hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is myaffair. If you, M. De Montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absenceof my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so--aftermidnight of to-day. "

M. De Montsoreau breathed hard. "And why, " he asked, half sulkily andhalf ponderously, "after midnight only, M. Le Comte?"

"Merely that I may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part in thematter, " Count Hannibal answered pleasantly. "After midnight of to-nightby all means do as you please. Until midnight, by your leave, we will bequiet. "

The Lieutenant-Governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear--whichTavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind--that he might be disownedif he carried out his instructions, struggling with his avarice and hisself-importance. He was rather crafty than bold; and such things hadbeen, he knew. Little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, thenotion of dealing with one or two and holding the body of the Huguenotsto ransom--a notion which, in spite of everything, was to bear good fruitfor Angers--began to form in his mind. The plan suited him: it left himfree to face either way, and it would fill his pockets more genteellythan would open robbery. On the other hand, he would offend his brotherand the fanatical party, with whom he commonly acted. They were lookingto see him assert himself. They were looking to hear him declarehimself. And--

Harshly Count Hannibal's voice broke in on his thoughts; harshly, asomething sinister in its tone. 

"Where is your brother?" he said. And it was evident that he had notnoted his absence until then. "My lord's Vicar of all people should behere!" he continued, leaning forward and looking round the table. Hisbrow was stormy. 

Lescot squirmed under his eye; Thuriot turned pale and trembled. It wasone of the canons of St. -Maurice, who at length took on himself toanswer. 

"His lordship requested, M. Le Comte, " he ventured, "that you wouldexcuse him. His duties--"

"Is he ill?"

"He--"

"Is he ill, sirrah?" Tavannes roared. And while all bowed before thelightning of his eye, no man at the table knew what had roused the suddentempest. But Bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose ear, keen ashis master's, had caught the distant report of a musket shot. "If he benot ill, " Tavannes continued, rising and looking round the table insearch of signs of guilt, "and there be foul play here, and he theplayer, the Bishop's own hand shall not save him! By Heaven it shallnot! Nor yours!" he continued, looking fiercely at Montsoreau. "Noryour master's!"

The Lieutenant-Governor sprang to his feet. "M. Le Comte, " he stammered, "I do not understand this language! Nor this heat, which may be real ornot! All I say is, if there be foul play here--"

"If!" Tavannes retorted. "At least, if there be, there be gibbets too!And I see necks!" he added, leaning forward. "Necks!" And then, with alook of flame, "Let no man leave this table until I return, " he cried, "or he will have to deal with me. Nay, " he continued, changing his toneabruptly, as the prudence, which never entirely left him--and perhaps theremembrance of the other's fifty spearmen--sobered him in the midst ofhis rage, "I am hasty. I mean not you, M. De Montsoreau! Ride where youwill; ride with me, if you will, and I will thank you. Only remember, until midnight Angers is mine!"

He was still speaking when he moved from the table, and, leaving allstaring after him, strode down the room. An instant he paused on thethreshold and looked back; then he passed out, and clattered down thestone stairs. His horse and riders were waiting, but, his foot in thestirrup, he stayed for a word with Bigot. 

"Is it so?" he growled. 

The Norman did not speak, but pointed towards the Place Ste. -Croix, whence an occasional shot made answer for him. 

In those days the streets of the Black City were narrow and crooked, overhung by timber houses, and hampered by booths; nor could Tavannesfrom the old Town Hall--now abandoned--see the Place Ste. -Croix. Butthat he could cure. He struck spurs to his horse, and, followed by histen horsemen, he clattered noisily down the paved street. A dozen groupshurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the walls, or savedthemselves in doorways. He was up with them, he was beyond them! Anotherhundred yards, and he would see the Place. 

And then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, discovering what wasbefore him. In the narrow gut of the way a great black banner, borne ontwo poles, was lurching towards him. It was moving in the van of a darkprocession of priests, who, with their attendants and a crowd of devout, filled the street from wall to wall. They were chanting one of thepenitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drown the uproar in the Placebeyond them. 

They made no way, and Count Hannibal swore furiously, suspectingtreachery. But he was no madman, and at the moment the least reflectionwould have sent him about to seek another road. Unfortunately, as hehesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warning to his horse's head andseized it; and Tavannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self-control. He struck the fellow down, and, with a reckless word, rodeheadlong into the procession, shouting to the black robes to make way, make way! A cry, nay, a shriek of horror, answered him and rent the air. And in a minute the thing was done. Too late, as the Bishop's Vicar, struck by his horse, fell screaming under its hoofs--too late, as theconsecrated vessels which he had been bearing rolled in the mud, Tavannessaw that they bore the canopy and the Host!

He knew what he had done, then. Before his horse's iron shoes struck theground again, his face--even his face--had lost its colour. But he knewalso that to hesitate now, to pause now, was to be torn in pieces; forhis riders, seeing that which the banner had veiled from him, had notfollowed him, and he was alone, in the middle of brandished fists andweapons. He hesitated not a moment. Drawing a pistol, he spurredonwards, his horse plunging wildly among the shrieking priests; andthough a hundred hands, hands of acolytes, hands of shaven monks, clutched at his bridle or gripped his boot, he got clear of them. Clear, carrying with him the memory of one face seen an instant amid the crowd, one face seen, to be ever remembered--the face of Father Pezelay, white, evil, scarred, distorted by wicked triumph. 

Behind him, the thunder of "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" rose to Heaven, andmen were gathering. In front the crowd which skirmished about the innwas less dense, and, ignorant of the thing that had happened in thenarrow street, made ready way for him, the boldest recoiling before thelook on his face. Some who stood nearest to the inn, and had begun tohurl stones at the window and to beat on the doors--which had only theminute before closed on Badelon and his prisoners--supposed that he hadhis riders behind him; and these fled apace. But he knew better eventhan they the value of time; he pushed his horse up to the gates, andhammered them with his boot while be kept his pistol-hand towards thePlace and the cathedral, watching for the transformation which he knewwould come!

And come it did; on a sudden, in a twinkling! A white-faced monk, frenzyin his eyes, appeared in the midst of the crowd. He stood and tore hisgarments before the people, and, stooping, threw dust on his head. Asecond and a third followed his example; then from a thousand throats thecry of "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" rolled up, while clerks flew wildlyhither and thither shrieking the tale, and priests denied the Sacramentsto Angers until it should purge itself of the evil thing. 

By that time Count Hannibal had saved himself behind the great gates, bythe skin of his teeth. The gates had opened to him in time. But noneknew better than he that Angers had no gates thick enough, nor walls of aheight, to save him for many hours from the storm he had let loose!

CHAPTER XXXI. THE FLIGHT FROM ANGERS. 

But that only the more roused the devil in the man; that, and theknowledge that he had his own headstrong act to thank for the position. He looked on the panic-stricken people who, scared by the turmoilwithout, had come together in the courtyard, wringing their hands andchattering; and his face was so dark and forbidding that fear of him tookthe place of all other fear, and the nearest shrank from contact withhim. On any other entering as he had entered, they would have hailedquestions; they would have asked what was amiss, and if the city wererising, and where were Bigot and his men. But Count Hannibal's eyestruck curiosity dumb. When he cried from his saddle, "Bring me thelandlord!" the trembling man was found, and brought, and thrust forwardalmost without a word. 

"You have a back gate?" Tavannes said, while the crowd leaned forward tocatch his words. 

"Yes, my lord, " the man faltered. 

"Into the street which leads to the ramparts?"

"Ye-yes, my lord. "

"Then"--to Badelon--"saddle! You have five minutes. Saddle as you neversaddled before, " he continued in a low tone, "or--" His tongue did notfinish the threat, but his hand waved the man away. "For you"--he heldTignonville an instant with his lowering eye--"and the preaching foolwith you, get arms and mount! You have never played aught but the womanyet; but play me false now, or look aside but a foot from the path I bidyou take, and you thwart me no more, Monsieur! And you, Madame, " hecontinued, turning to the Countess, who stood bewildered at one of thedoors, the Provost's daughter clinging and weeping about her, "you havethree minutes to get your women to horse! See you, if you please, thatthey take no longer!"

She found her voice with difficulty. "And this child?" she said. "Sheis in my care. "

"Bring her, " he muttered with a scowl of impatience. And then, raisinghis voice as he turned on the terrified gang of hostlers and inn servantswho stood gaping round him, "Go help!" he thundered. "Go help! Andquickly!" he added, his face growing a shade darker as a second bellbegan to toll from a neighbouring tower, and the confused babel in thePlace Ste. -Croix settled into a dull roar of "_Sacrilege_!_sacrilege_. "--"Hasten!"

Fortunately it had been his first intention to go to the Council attendedby the whole of his troop; and eight horses stood saddled in the stalls. Others were hastily pulled out and bridled, and the women were mounted. La Tribe, at a look from Tavannes, took behind him the Provost'sdaughter, who was helpless with terror. Between the suddenness of thealarm, the uproar without, and the panic within, none but a man whosepeople served him at a nod and dreaded his very gesture could have gothis party mounted in time. Javette would fain have swooned, but shedared not. Tignonville would fain have questioned, but he shrank fromthe venture. The Countess would fain have said something, but she forcedherself to obey and no more. Even so the confusion in the courtyard, themingling of horses and men and trappings and saddle-bags, would have madeanother despair; but wherever Count Hannibal, seated in his saddle in themiddle, turned his face, chaos settled into a degree of order, servants, ceasing to listen to the yells and cries outside, ran to fetch, womendropped cloaks from the gallery, and men loaded muskets and strapped onbandoliers. 

Until at last--but none knew what those minutes of suspense cost him--hesaw all mounted, and, pistol in hand, shepherded them to the back gates. As he did so he stooped for a few scowling words with Badelon, whom hesent to the van of the party: then he gave the word to open. It wasdone; and even as Montsoreau's horsemen, borne on the bosom of a secondand more formidable throng, swept raging into the already crowded square, and the cry went up for "a ram! a ram!" to batter in the gates, Tavannes, hurling his little party before him, dashed out at the back, and puttingto flight a handful of rascals who had wandered to that side, canteredunmolested down the lane to the ramparts. Turning eastward at the footof the frowning Castle, he followed the inner side of the wall in thedirection of the gate by which he had entered the preceding evening. 

To gain this his party had to pass the end of the Rue Toussaint, whichissues from the Place Ste. -Croix and runs so straight that the mobseething in front of the inn had only to turn their heads to see them. The danger incurred at this point was great; for a party as small asTavannes' and encumbered with women would have had no chance if attackedwithin the walls. 

Count Hannibal knew it. But he knew also that the act which he hadcommitted rendered the north bank of the Loire impossible for him. Neither King nor Marshal, neither Charles of Valois nor Gaspard ofTavannes, would dare to shield him from an infuriated Church, a Churchtoo wise to forgive certain offences. His one chance lay in reaching thesouthern bank of the Loire--roughly speaking, the Huguenot bank--andtaking refuge in some town, Rochelle or St. Jean d'Angely, where theHuguenots were strong, and whence he might take steps to set himselfright with his own side. 

But to cross the great river which divides France into two lands widelydiffering he must leave the city by the east gate; for the only bridgeover the Loire within forty miles of Angers lay eastward from the town, at Ponts de Ce, four miles away. To this gate, therefore, past the RueToussaint, he whirled his party daringly; and though the women grew paleas the sounds of riot broke louder on the ear, and they discovered thatthey were approaching instead of leaving the danger--and thoughTignonville for an instant thought him mad, and snatched at theCountess's rein--his men-at-arms, who knew him, galloped stolidly on, passed like clockwork the end of the street, and, reckless of the streamof persons hurrying in the direction of the alarm, heedless of the frightand anger their passage excited, pressed steadily on. A moment and thegate through which they had entered the previous evening appeared beforethem. And--a sight welcome to one of them--it was open. 

They were fortunate indeed, for a few seconds later they had been toolate. The alarm had preceded them. As they dashed up, a man ran to thechains of the portcullis and tried to lower it. He failed to do so atthe first touch, and, quailing, fled from Badelon's levelled pistol. Awatchman on one of the bastions of the wall shouted to them to halt or hewould fire: but the riders yelled in derision, and thundering through theechoing archway, emerged into the open, and saw, extended before them, inplace of the gloomy vistas of the Black Town, the glory of the opencountry and the vine-clad hills, and the fields about the Loire yellowwith late harvest. 

The women gasped their relief, and one or two who were most out of breathwould have pulled up their horses and let them trot, thinking the dangerat an end. But a curt savage word from the rear set them flying again, and down and up and on again they galloped, driven forward by the ironhand which never relaxed its grip of them. Silent and pitiless hewhirled them before him until they were within a mile of the long Pontsde Ce--a series of bridges rather than one bridge--and the broad shallowLoire lay plain before them, its sandbanks grilling in the sun, and greylines of willows marking its eyots. By this time some of the women, white with fatigue, could only cling to their saddles with their hands;while others were red-hot, their hair unrolled, and the perspirationmingled with the dust on their faces. But he who drove them had no pityfor weakness in an emergency. He looked back and saw, a half-mile behindthem, the glitter of steel following hard on their heels: and "Faster!faster!" he cried, regardless of their prayers: and he beat the rearmostof the horses with his scabbard. A waiting-woman shrieked that sheshould fall, but he answered ruthlessly, "Fall then, fool!" and theinstinct of self-preservation coming to her aid, she clung and bumped andtoiled on with the rest until they reached the first houses of the townabout the bridges, and Badelon raised his hand as a signal that theymight slacken speed. 

The bewilderment of the start had been so great that it was then only, when they found their feet on the first link of the bridge, that two ofthe party, the Countess and Tignonville, awoke to the fact that theirfaces were set southwards. To cross the Loire in those days meant muchto all: to a Huguenot, very much. It chanced that these two rode on tothe bridge side by side, and the memory of their last crossing--theremembrance that, on their journey north a month before, they had crossedit hand-in-hand with the prospect of passing their lives together, andwith no faintest thought of the events which were to ensue, flashed intothe mind of each of them. It deepened the flush which exertion hadbrought to the woman's cheek, then left it paler than before. A minuteearlier she had been wroth with her old lover; she had held himaccountable for the outbreak in the town and this hasty retreat; now heranger died as she looked and she remembered. In the man, shallower offeeling and more alive to present contingencies, the uppermost emotion ashe trod the bridge was one of surprise and congratulation. 

He could not at first believe in their good fortune. "_Mon Dieu_!" hecried, "we are crossing!" And then again in a lower tone, "We arecrossing! We are crossing!" And he looked at her. 

It was impossible that she should not look back; that she who had ceasedto be angry should not feel and remember; impossible that her answeringglance should not speak to his heart. Below them, as on that day a monthearlier, when they had crossed the bridges going northward, the broadshallow river ran its course in the sunshine, its turbid currentsgleaming and flashing about the sandbanks and osier-beds. To the eye, the landscape, save that the vintage was farther advanced and the harvestin part gathered in, was the same. But how changed were their relations, their prospects, their hopes, who had then crossed the riverhand-in-hand, planning a life to be passed together. 

The young man's rage boiled up at the thought. Too vividly, too sharplyit showed him the wrongs which he had suffered at the hands of the manwho rode behind him, the man who even now drove him on and ordered himand insulted him. He forgot that he might have perished in the generalmassacre if Count Hannibal had not intervened. He forgot that CountHannibal had spared him once and twice. He laid on his enemy's shouldersthe guilt of all, the blood of all: and, as quick on the thought of hiswrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection that with everyleague they rode southwards the chance of requital grew, he cried again, and this time joyously--

"We are crossing! A little, and we shall be in our own land!"

The tears filled the Countess's eyes as she looked westwards andsouthwards. 

"Vrillac is there!" she cried; and she pointed. "I smell the sea!"

"Ay!" he answered, almost under his breath. "It lies there! And no morethan thirty leagues from us! With fresh horses we might see it in twodays!"

Badelon's voice broke in on them. "Forward!" he cried, as the partyreached the southern bank. "_En avant_!" And, obedient to the word, thelittle company, refreshed by the short respite, took the road out ofPonts de Ce at a steady trot. Nor was the Countess the only one whoseface glowed, being set southwards, or whose heart pulsed to the rhythm ofthe horses' hoofs that beat out "Home!" Carlat's and Madame Carlat'salso. Javette even, hearing from her neighbour that they were over theLoire, plucked up courage; while La Tribe, gazing before him withmoistened eyes, cried "Comfort" to the scared and weeping girl who clungto his belt. It was singular to see how all sniffed the air as ifalready it smacked of the sea and of the south; and how they of Poitousat their horses as if they asked nothing better than to ride on and onand on until the scenes of home arose about them. For them the sky hadalready a deeper blue, the air a softer fragrance, the sunshine a puritylong unknown. 

Was it wonderful, when they had suffered so much on that northern bank?When their experience during the month had been comparable only with thedirest nightmare? Yet one among them, after the first impulse of reliefand satisfaction, felt differently. Tignonville's gorge rose against thesense of compulsion, of inferiority. To be driven forward after thisfashion, whether he would or no, to be placed at the back of every base-born man-at-arms, to have no clearer knowledge of what had happened or ofwhat was passing, or of the peril from which they fled, than the womenamong whom he rode--these things kindled anew the sullen fire of hate. North of the Loire there had been some excuse for his inaction underinsult; he had been in the man's country and power. But south of theLoire, within forty leagues of Huguenot Niort, must he still suffer, still be supine?

His rage was inflamed by a disappointment he presently underwent. Lookingback as they rode clear of the wooden houses of Ponts de Ce, he missedTavannes and several of his men; and he wondered if Count Hannibal hadremained on his own side of the river. It seemed possible; and in thatevent La Tribe and he and Carlat might deal with Badelon and the four whostill escorted them. But when he looked back a minute later, Tavanneswas within sight, following the party with a stern face; and not Tavannesonly. Bigot, with two of the ten men who hitherto had been missing, waswith him. 

It was clear, however, that they brought no good news, for they hadscarcely ridden up before Count Hannibal cried, "Faster! faster!" in hisharshest voice, and Bigot urged the horses to a quicker trot. Theircourse lay almost parallel with the Loire in the direction of Beaupreau;and Tignonville began to fear that Count Hannibal intended to recross theriver at Nantes, where the only bridge below Angers spanned the stream. With this in view it was easy to comprehend his wish to distance hispursuers before he recrossed. 

The Countess had no such thought. "They must be close upon us!" shemurmured, as she urged her horse in obedience to the order. 

"Whoever they are!" Tignonville muttered bitterly. "If we knew what hadhappened, or who followed, we should know more about it, Madame. Forthat matter, I know what I wish he would do. And our heads are set forit. "

"What?"

"Make for Vrillac!" he answered, a savage gleam in his eyes. 

"For Vrillac?"

"Yes. "

"Ah, if he would!" she cried, her face turning pale. "If he would. Hewould be safe there!"

"Ay, quite safe!" he answered with a peculiar intonation. And he lookedat her askance. 

He fancied that his thought, the thought which had just flashed into hisbrain, was her thought; that she had the same notion in reserve, and thatthey were in sympathy. And Tavannes, seeing them talking together, andnoting her look and the fervour of her gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more darkly into himself. The downfall of his plan fordazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and beyond compare, a plandependent on the submission of Angers--his disappointment in this mighthave roused the worst passions of a better man. But there was in thisman a pride on a level at least with his other passions: and to bearhimself in this hour of defeat and flight so that if she could not lovehim she must admire him, checked in a strange degree the current of hisrage. 

When Tignonville presently looked back he found that Count Hannibal andsix of his riders had pulled up and were walking their horses far in therear. On which he would have done the same himself; but Badelon calledover his shoulder the eternal "Forward, Monsieur, _en avant_!" andsullenly, hating the man and his master more deeply every hour, Tignonville was forced to push on, with thoughts of vengeance in hisheart. 

Trot, trot! Trot, trot! Through a country which had lost its smilingwooded character and grew more sombre and less fertile the farther theyleft the Loire behind them. Trot, trot! Trot, trot!--for ever, itseemed to some. Javette wept with fatigue, and the other women werelittle better. The Countess herself spoke seldom except to cheer theProvost's daughter; who, poor girl, flung suddenly out of the round ofher life and cast among strangers, showed a better spirit than might havebeen expected. At length, on the slopes of some low hills, which theyhad long seen before them, a cluster of houses and a church appeared; andBadelon, drawing rein, cried--

"Beaupreau, Madame! We stay an hour!"

It was six o'clock. They had ridden some hours without a break. Withsighs and cries of pain the women dropped from their clumsy saddles, while the men laid out such food--it was little--as had been brought, andhobbled the horses that they might feed. The hour passed rapidly, andwhen it had passed Badelon was inexorable. There was wailing when hegave the word to mount again; and Tignonville, fiercely resenting thisdumb, reasonless flight, was at heart one of the mutineers. But Badelonsaid grimly that they might go on and live, or stay and die, as itpleased them; and once more they climbed painfully to their saddles, andjogged steadily on through the sunset, through the gloaming, through thedarkness, across a weird, mysterious country of low hills and narrowplains which grew more wild and less cultivated as they advanced. Fortunately the horses had been well saved during the long leisurelyjourney to Angers, and now went well and strongly. When they at lastunsaddled for the night in a little dismal wood within a mile of Clisson, they had placed some forty miles between themselves and Angers. 

CHAPTER XXXII. THE ORDEAL BY STEEL. 

The women for the most part fell like sacks and slept where theyalighted, dead weary. The men, when they had cared for the horses, followed the example; for Badelon would suffer no fire. In less thanhalf an hour, a sentry who stood on guard at the edge of the wood, andTignonville and La Tribe, who talked in low voices with their backsagainst a tree, were the only persons who remained awake, with theexception of the Countess. Carlat had made a couch for her, and screenedit with cloaks from the wind and the eye; for the moon had risen andwhere the trees stood sparsest its light flooded the soil with pools ofwhite. But Madame had not yet retired to her bed. The two men, whosevoices reached her, saw her from time to time moving restlessly to andfro between the road and the little encampment. Presently she came andstood over them. 

"He led His people out of the wilderness, " La Tribe was saying; "out ofthe trouble of Paris, out of the trouble of Angers, and always, alwayssouthward. If you do not in this, Monsieur, see His finger--"

"And Angers?" Tignonville struck in, with a faint sneer. "Has He ledthat out of trouble? A day or two ago you would risk all to save it, myfriend. Now, with your back safely turned on it, you think all for thebest. "

"We did our best, " the minister answered humbly. "From the day we met inParis we have been but instruments. "

"To save Angers?"

"To save a remnant. "

On a sudden the Countess raised her hand. "Do you not hear horses, Monsieur?" she cried. She had been listening to the noises of the night, and had paid little heed to what the two were saying. 

"One of ours moved, " Tignonville answered listlessly. "Why do you notlie down, Madame?"

Instead of answering, "Whither is he going?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"I wish I did know, " the young man answered peevishly. "To Niort, it maybe. Or presently he will double back and recross the Loire. "

"He would have gone by Cholet to Niort, " La Tribe said. "The directionis rather that of Rochelle. God grant we be bound thither!"

"Or to Vrillac, " the Countess cried, clasping her hands in the darkness. "Can it be to Vrillac he is going?"

The minister shook his head. 

"Ah, let it be to Vrillac!" she cried, a thrill in her voice. "We shouldbe safe there. And he would be safe. "

"Safe?" echoed a fourth and deeper voice. And out of the darkness besidethem loomed a tall figure. 

The minister looked and leapt to his feet. Tignonville rose more slowly. 

The voice was Tavannes'. "And where am I to be safe?" he repeatedslowly, a faint ring of saturnine amusement in his tone. 

"At Vrillac!" she cried. "In my house, Monsieur!"

He was silent a moment. Then, "Your house, Madame? In which directionis it, from here?"

"Westwards, " she answered impulsively, her voice quivering with eagernessand emotion and hope. "Westwards, Monsieur--on the sea. The causewayfrom the land is long, and ten can hold it against ten hundred. "

"Westwards? And how far westwards?"

Tignonville answered for her; in his tone throbbed the same eagerness, the same anxiety, which spoke in hers. Nor was Count Hannibal's ear deafto it. 

"Through Challans, " he said, "thirteen leagues. "

"From Clisson?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Comte. "

"And by Commequiers less, " the Countess cried. 

"No, it is a worse road, " Tignonville answered quickly; "and longer intime. "

"But we came--"

"At our leisure, Madame. The road is by Challans, if we wish to be therequickly. "

"Ah!" Count Hannibal said. In the darkness it was impossible to see hisface or mark how he took it. "But being there, I have few men. "

"I have forty will come at call, " she cried with pride. "A word to them, and in four hours or a little more--"

"They would outnumber mine by four to one, " Count Hannibal answeredcoldly, dryly, in a voice like ice-water flung in their faces. "Thankyou, Madame; I understand. To Vrillac is no long ride; but we will notride it at present. " And he turned sharply on his heel and strode fromthem. 

He had not covered thirty paces before she overtook him in the middle ofa broad patch of moonlight, and touched his arm. He wheeled swiftly, hishand halfway to his hilt. Then he saw who it was. 

"Ah, " he said, "I had forgotten, Madame. You have come--"

"No!" she cried passionately; and standing before him she shook back thehood of her cloak that he might look into her eyes. "You owe me no blowto-day. You have paid me, Monsieur. You have struck me already, andfoully, like a coward. Do you remember, " she continued rapidly, "thehour after our marriage, and what you said to me? Do you remember whatyou told me? And whom to trust and whom to suspect, where lay ourinterest and where our foes'? You trusted me then! What have I donethat you now dare--ay, dare, Monsieur, " she repeated fearlessly, her facepale and her eyes glittering with excitement, "to insult me? That youtreat me as--Javette? That you deem me capable of _that_? Of luring youinto a trap, and in my own house, or the house that was mine, of--"

"Treating me as I have treated others. "

"You have said it!" she cried. She could not herself understand why hisdistrust had wounded her so sharply, so home, that all fear of him wasgone. "You have said it, and put that between us which will not beremoved. I could have forgiven blows, " she continued, breathless in herexcitement, "so you had thought me what I am. But now you will do wellto watch me! You will do well to leave Vrillac on one side. For wereyou there, and raised your hand against me--not that that touches me, butit will do--and there are those, I tell you, would fling you from thetower at my word. "

"Indeed?"

"Ay, indeed! And indeed, Monsieur!"

Her face was in moonlight, his was in shadow. 

"And this is your new tone, Madame, is it?" he said, slowly and after apregnant pause. "The crossing of a river has wrought so great a changein you?"

"No!" she cried. 

"Yes, " he said. And, despite herself, she flinched before the grimnessof his tone. "You have yet to learn one thing, however: that I do notchange. That, north or south, I am the same to those who are the same tome. That what I have won on the one bank I will hold on the other, inthe teeth of all, and though God's Church be thundering on my heels! Igo to Vrillac--"

"You--go?" she cried. "You go?"

"I go, " he repeated, "to-morrow. And among your own people I will seewhat language you will hold. While you were in my power I spared you. Now that you are in your own land, now that you lift your hand againstme, I will show you of what make I am. If blows will not tame you, Iwill try that will suit you less. Ay, you wince, Madame! You had donewell had you thought twice before you threatened, and thrice before youtook in hand to scare Tavannes with a parcel of clowns and fisherfolk. To-morrow, to Vrillac and your duty! And one word more, Madame, " hecontinued, turning back to her truculently when he had gone some pacesfrom her. "If I find you plotting with your lover by the way I will hangnot you, but him. I have spared him a score of times; but I know him, and I do not trust him. "

"Nor me, " she said, and with a white, set face she looked at him in themoonlight. "Had you not better hang me now?"

"Why?"

"Lest I do you an injury!" she cried with passion; and she raised herhand and pointed northward. "Lest I kill you some night, Monsieur! Itell you, a thousand men on your heels are less dangerous than the womanat your side--if she hate you. "

"Is it so?" he cried. His hand flew to his hilt; his dagger flashed out. But she did not move, did not flinch, only she set her teeth; and hereyes, fascinated by the steel, grew wider. 

His hand sank slowly. He held the weapon to her, hilt foremost; she tookit mechanically. 

"You think yourself brave enough to kill me, do you?" he sneered. "Thentake this, and strike, if you dare. Take it--strike, Madame! It issharp, and my arms are open. " And he flung them wide, standing within apace of her. "Here, above the collar-bone, is the surest for a weakhand. What, afraid?" he continued, as, stiffly clutching the weaponwhich he had put into her hand, she glared at him, trembling andastonished. "Afraid, and a Vrillac! Afraid, and 'tis but one blow! See, my arms are open. One blow home, and you will never lie in them. Thinkof that. One blow home, and you may lie in his. Think of that! Strike, then, Madame, " he went on, piling taunt on taunt, "if you dare, and ifyou hate me. What, still afraid! How shall I give you heart? Shall Istrike you? It will not be the first time by ten. I keep count, yousee, " he continued mockingly. "Or shall I kiss you? Ay, that may do. And it will not be against your will, either, for you have that in yourhand will save you in an instant. Even"--he drew a foot nearer--"now!Even--" And he stooped until his lips almost touched hers. 

She sprang back. "Oh, do not!" she cried. "Oh, do not!" And, droppingthe dagger, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into weeping. 

He stooped coolly, and, after groping some time for the poniard, drew itfrom the leaves among which it had fallen. He put it into the sheath, and not until he had done that did he speak. Then it was with a sneer. 

"I have no need to fear overmuch, " he said. "You are a poor hater, Madame. And poor haters make poor lovers. 'Tis his loss! If you willnot strike a blow for him, there is but one thing left. Go, dream ofhim!"

And, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he turned on his heel. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE AMBUSH. 

The start they made at daybreak was gloomy and ill-omened, through one ofthose white mists which are blown from the Atlantic over the flat landsof Western Poitou. The horses, looming gigantic through the fog, wincedas the cold harness was girded on them. The men hurried to and fro withsaddles on their heads, and stumbled over other saddles, and sworesavagely. The women turned mutinous and would not rise; or, beingdragged up by force, shrieked wild, unfitting words, as they were drivento the horses. The Countess looked on and listened, and shuddered, waiting for Carlat to set her on her horse. She had gone during the lastthree weeks through much that was dreary, much that was hopeless; but thechill discomfort of this forced start, with tired horses and wailingwomen, would have darkened the prospect of home had there been no fear orthreat to cloud it. 

He whose will compelled all stood a little apart and watched all, silentand gloomy. When Badelon, after taking his orders and distributing someslices of black bread to be eaten in the saddle, moved off at the head ofhis troop, Count Hannibal remained behind, attended by Bigot and theeight riders who had formed the rearguard so far. He had not approachedthe Countess since rising, and she had been thankful for it. But now, asshe moved away, she looked back and saw him still standing; she markedthat he wore his corselet, and in one of those revulsions offeeling--which outrun man's reason--she who had tossed on her couchthrough half the night, in passionate revolt against the fate before her, took fire at his neglect and his silence; she resented on a sudden thedistance he kept, and his scorn of her. Her breast heaved, her colourcame, involuntarily she checked her horse, as if she would return to him, and speak to him. Then the Carlats and the others closed up behind her, Badelon's monotonous "Forward, Madame, _en avant_!" proclaimed the day'sjourney begun, and she saw him no more. 

Nevertheless, the motionless figure, looming Homeric through the fog, with gleams of wet light reflected from the steel about it, dwelt long inher mind. The road which Badelon followed, slowly at first, and withgreater speed as the horses warmed to their work, and the women, sore andbattered resigned themselves to suffering, wound across a flat expansebroken by a few hills. These were little more than mounds, and for themost part were veiled from sight by the low-lying sea-mist, through whichgnarled and stunted oaks rose mysterious, to fade as strangely. Weirdtrees they were, with branches unlike those of this world's trees, risingin a grey land without horizon or limit, through which our travellersmoved, weary phantoms in a clinging nightmare. At a walk, at a trot, more often at a jaded amble, they pushed on behind Badelon's humpedshoulders. Sometimes the fog hung so thick about them that they saw onlythose who rose and fell in the saddles immediately before them; sometimesthe air cleared a little, the curtain rolled up a space, and for a minuteor two they discerned stretches of unfertile fields, half-tilled andstony, or long tracts of gorse and broom, with here and there a thicketof dwarf shrubs or a wood of wind-swept pines. Some looked and saw thesethings; more rode on sulky and unseeing, supporting impatiently the toilsof a flight from they knew not what. 

To do Tignonville justice, he was not of these. On the contrary, heseemed to be in a better temper on this day and, where so many tookthings unheroically, he showed to advantage. Avoiding the Countess andriding with Carlat, he talked and laughed with marked cheerfulness; nordid he ever fail, when the mist rose, to note this or that landmark, andconfirm Badelon in the way he was going. 

"We shall be at Lege by noon!" he cried more than once, "and if M. LeComte persists in his plan, may reach Vrillac by late sunset. By way ofChallans!"

And always Carlat answered, "Ay, by Challans, Monsieur, so be it!"

He proved, too, so far right in his prediction that noon saw them drag, aweary train, into the hamlet of Lege, where the road from Nantes toOlonne runs southward over the level of Poitou. An hour later CountHannibal rode in with six of his eight men, and, after a few minutes'parley with Badelon, who was scanning the horses, he called Carlat tohim. The old man came. 

"Can we reach Vrillac to-night?" Count Hannibal asked curtly. 

"By Challans, my lord, " the steward answered, "I think we can. We callit seven hours' riding from here. "

"And that route is the shortest?"

"In time, M. Le Comte, the road being better. "

Count Hannibal bent his brows. "And the other way?" he said. 

"Is by Commequiers, my lord. It is shorter in distance. "

"By how much?"

"Two leagues. But there are fordings and a salt marsh; and with Madameand the women--"

"It would be longer?"

The steward hesitated. "I think so, " he said slowly, his eyes wanderingto the grey misty landscape, against which the poor hovels of the villagestood out naked and comfortless. A low thicket of oaks sheltered theplace from south-westerly gales. On the other three sides it lay open. 

"Very good, " Tavannes said curtly. "Be ready to start in ten minutes. You will guide us. "

But when the ten minutes had elapsed and the party were ready to start, to the astonishment of all the steward was not to be found. Toperemptory calls for him no answer came; and a hurried search through thehamlet proved equally fruitless. The only person who had seen him sincehis interview with Tavannes turned out to be M. De Tignonville; and hehad seen him mount his horse five minutes before, and move off--as hebelieved--by the Challans road. 

"Ahead of us?"

"Yes, M. Le Comte, " Tignonville answered, shading his eyes and gazing inthe direction of the fringe of trees. "I did not see him take the road, but he was beside the north end of the wood when I saw him last. Thereabouts!" and he pointed to a place where the Challans road woundround the flank of the wood. "When we are beyond that point, I think weshall see him. "

Count Hannibal growled a word in his beard, and, turning in his saddle, looked back the way he had come. Half a mile away, two or three dotscould be seen approaching across the plain. He turned again. 

"You know the road?" he said, curtly addressing the young man. 

"Perfectly. As well as Carlat. "

"Then lead the way, Monsieur, with Badelon. And spare neither whip norspur. There will be need of both, if we would lie warm to-night. "

Tignonville nodded assent and, wheeling his horse, rode to the head ofthe party, a faint smile playing about his mouth. A moment, and the mainbody moved off behind him, leaving Count Hannibal and six men to coverthe rear. The mist, which at noon had risen for an hour or two, wasclosing down again, and they had no sooner passed clear of the wood thanthe trees faded out of sight behind them. It was not wonderful that theycould not see Carlat. Objects a hundred paces from them were completelyhidden. 

Trot, trot! Trot, trot! through a grey world so featureless, so unrealthat the riders, now dozing in the saddle, and now awaking, seemed tothemselves to stand still, as in a nightmare. A trot and then a walk, and then a trot again; and all a dozen times repeated, while the womenbumped along in their wretched saddles, and the horses stumbled, and themen swore at them. 

Ha! La Garnache at last, and a sharp turn southward to Challans. TheCountess raised her head, and began to look about her. There, should bea church, she knew; and there, the old ruined tower built by wizards, orthe Carthaginians, so old tradition ran; and there, to the westward, thegreat salt marshes towards Noirmoutier. The mist hid all, but theknowledge that they were there set her heart beating, brought tears toher eyes, and lightened the long road to Challans. 

At Challans they halted half an hour, and washed out the horses' mouthswith water and a little _guignolet_--the spirit of the country. A doseof the cordial was administered to the women; and a little after seventhey began the last stage of the journey, through a landscape which eventhe mist could not veil from the eyes of love. There rose the windmillof Soullans! There the old dolmen, beneath which the grey wolf that atethe two children of Tornic had its lair. For a mile back they had beentreading my lady's land; they had only two more leagues to ride, and oneof those was crumbling under each dogged footfall. The salt flavour, which is new life to the shore-born, was in the fleecy reek which floatedby them, now thinner, now more opaque; and almost they could hear thedull thunder of the Biscay waves falling on the rocks. 

Tignonville looked back at her and smiled. She caught the look; shefancied that she understood it and his thoughts. But her own eyes weremoist at the moment with tears, and what his said, and what there was ofstrangeness in his glance, half-warning, half-exultant, escaped her. Forthere, not a mile before them, where the low hills about the fishingvillage began to rise from the dull inland level--hills green on the landside, bare and scarped towards the sea and the island--she espied thewayside chapel at which the nurse of her early childhood had told herbeads. Where it stood, the road from Commequiers and the road shetravelled became one: a short mile thence, after winding among thehillocks, it ran down to the beach and the causeway--and to her home. 

At the sight she bethought herself of Carlat, and calling to M. DeTignonville, she asked him what he thought of the steward's continuedabsence. 

"He must have outpaced us!" he answered, with an odd laugh. 

"But he must have ridden hard to do that. "

He reined back to her. "Say nothing!" he muttered under his breath. "Butlook ahead, Madame, and see if we are expected!"

"Expected? How can we be expected?" she cried. The colour rushed intoher face. 

He put his finger to his lip, and looked warningly at Badelon's humpedshoulders, jogging up and down in front of them. Then, stooping towardsher, in a lower tone, "If Carlat has arrived before us, he will have toldthem, " he said. 

"Have told them?"

"He came by the other road, and it is quicker. "

She gazed at him in astonishment, her lips parted; and slowly sheunderstood, and her eyes grew hard. 

"Then why, " she said, "did you say it was longer. Had we been overtaken, Monsieur, we had had you to thank for it, it seems!"

He bit his lip. "But we have not been overtaken, " he rejoined. "On thecontrary, you have me to thank for something quite different. "

"As unwelcome, perhaps!" she retorted. "For what?"

"Softly, Madame. "

"For what?" she repeated, refusing to lower her voice. "Speak, Monsieur, if you please. " He had never seen her look at him in that way. 

"For the fact, " he answered, stung by her look and tone, "that when youarrive you will find yourself mistress in your own house! Is thatnothing?"

"You have called in my people?"

"Carlat has done so, or should have, " he answered. "Henceforth, " hecontinued, a ring of exultation in his voice, "it will go hard with M. LeComte, if he does not treat you better than he has treated you hitherto. That is all!"

"You mean that it will go hard with him in any case?" she cried, herbosom rising and falling. 

"I mean, Madame--But there they are! Good Carlat! Brave Carlat! He hasdone well!"

"Carlat?"

"Ay, there they are! And you are mistress in your own land! At last youare mistress, and you have me to thank for it! See!" And heedless inhis exultation whether Badelon understood or not, he pointed to a placebefore them where the road wound between two low hills. Over the greenshoulder of one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflected thelast evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on thehillside above, and began to make signs to persons below. A pennon, too, showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone. 

Badelon looked as they looked. The next instant he uttered a low oath, and dragged his horse across the front of the party. 

"Pierre!" he cried to the man on his left, "ride for your life! To mylord, and tell him we are ambushed!" And as the trained soldier wheeledabout and spurred away, the sacker of Rome turned a dark scowling face onTignonville. "If this be your work, " he hissed, "we shall thank you forit in hell! For it is where most of us will lie to-night! They areMontsoreau's spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal withthan themselves!" Then in a different tone, and throwing off alldisguise, "Men to the front!" he shouted. "And you, Madame, to the rearquickly, and the women with you! Now, men, forward, and draw! Steady!Steady! They are coming!"

There was an instant of confusion, disorder, panic; horses jostling oneanother, women screaming and clutching at men, men shaking them off andforcing their way to the van. Fortunately the enemy did not fall on atonce, as Badelon expected, but after showing themselves in the mouth ofthe valley, at a distance of three hundred paces, hung for some reasonirresolute. This gave Badelon time to array his seven swords in front;but real resistance was out of the question, as he knew. And to noneseemed less in question than to Tignonville. 

When the truth, and what he had done, broke on the young man, he sat amoment motionless with horror. It was only when Badelon had twicesummoned him with opprobrious words that he awoke to the relief ofaction. Even after that he hung an instant trying to meet the Countess'seyes, despair in his own; but it was not to be. She had turned her head, and was looking back, as if thence only and not from him could help come. It was not to him she turned; and he saw it, and the justice of it. Andsilent, grim, more formidable even than old Badelon, the veteran fighter, who knew all the tricks and shifts of the _melee_, he spurred to theflank of the line. 

"Now, steady!" Badelon cried again, seeing that the enemy were beginningto move. "Steady! Ha! Thank God, my lord! My lord is coming! Stand!Stand!" The distant sound of galloping hoofs had reached his ear in thenick of time. He stood in his stirrups and looked back. Yes, CountHannibal was coming, riding a dozen paces in front of his men. The oddswere still desperate--for he brought but six--the enemy were still threeto one. But the thunder of his hoofs as he came up checked for a momentthe enemy's onset; and before Montsoreau's people got started again CountHannibal had ridden up abreast of the women, and the Countess, looking athim, knew that, desperate as was their strait, she had not looked behindin vain. The glow of battle, the stress of the moment, had displaced thecloud from his face; the joy of the born fighter lightened in his eye. His voice rang clear and loud above the press. 

"Badelon! wait you and two with Madame!" he cried. "Follow at fiftypaces' distance, and, when we have broken them, ride through! The otherswith me! Now forward, men, and show your teeth! A Tavannes! ATavannes! A Tavannes! We carry it yet!"

And he dashed forward, leading them on, leaving the women behind; anddown the sward to meet him, thundering in double line, came Montsoreau'smen-at-arms, and with the men-at-arms, a dozen pale, fierce-eyed men inthe Church's black, yelling the Church's curses. Madame's heart grewsick as she heard, as she waited, as she judged him by the fast-failinglight a horse's length before his men--with only Tignonville beside him. 

She held her breath--would the shock never come? If Badelon had notseized her rein and forced her forward, she would not have moved. Andthen, even as she moved, they met! With yells and wild cries and amare's savage scream, the two bands crashed together in a huddle offallen or rearing horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, ofgrapples hand-to-hand. What happened, what was happening to any one, whoit was fell, stabbed through and through by four, or who were those whostill fought single combats, twisting round one another's horses, thoseon her right and on her left, she could not tell. For Badelon draggedher on with whip and spur, and two horsemen--who obscured herview--galloped in front of her, and rode down bodily the only man whoundertook to bar her passage. She had a glimpse of that man's face, ashis horse, struck in the act of turning, fell sideways on him; and sheknew it, in its agony of terror, though she had seen it but once. It wasthe face of the man whose eyes had sought hers from the steps of thechurch in Angers; the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of theChurch--to his misfortune. 

Through? Yes, through, the way was clear before them! The fight withits screams and curses died away behind them. The horses swayed and allbut sank under them. But Badelon knew it no time for mercy; iron-shodhoofs rang on the road behind, and at any moment the pursuers might be ontheir heels. He flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared oneither side of the way; on, until the road forked and the Countess withstrange readiness cried "The left!"--on, until the beach appeared belowthem at the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the slow heavinggrey of the ocean. 

The tide was high. The causeway ran through it, a mere thread lipped bythe darkling waves, and at the sight a grunt of relief broke fromBadelon. For at the end of the causeway, black against the western sky, rose the gateway and towers of Vrillac; and he saw that, as the Countesshad said, it was a place ten men could hold against ten hundred!

They stumbled down the beach, reached the causeway and trotted along it;more slowly now, and looking back. The other women had followed by hookor by crook, some crying hysterically, yet clinging to their horses andeven urging them; and in a medley, the causeway clear behind them and noone following, they reached the drawbridge, and passed under the arch ofthe gate beyond. 

There friendly hands, Carlat's foremost, welcomed them and aided them toalight, and the Countess saw, as in a dream, the familiar scene, allunfamiliar: the gate, where she had played, a child, aglow with lantern-light and arms. Men, whose rugged faces she had known in infancy, stoodat the drawbridge chains and at the winches. Others blew matches andhandled primers, while old servants crowded round her, and women lookedat her, scared and weeping. She saw it all at a glance--the lights, theblack shadows, the sudden glow of a match on the groining of the archabove. She saw it, and turning swiftly, looked back the way she hadcome; along the dusky causeway to the low, dark shore, which night wasstealing quickly from their eyes. She clasped her hands. 

"Where is Badelon?" she cried. "Where is he? Where is he?"

One of the men who had ridden before her answered that he had turnedback. 

"Turned back!" she repeated. And then, shading her eyes, "Who iscoming?" she asked, her voice insistent. "There is some one coming. Whois it? Who is it?"

Two were coming out of the gloom, travelling slowly and painfully alongthe causeway. One was La Tribe, limping; the other a rider, slashedacross the forehead, and sobbing curses. 

"No more!" she muttered. "Are there no more?"

The minister shook his head. The rider wiped the blood from his eyes, and turned up his face that he might see the better. But he seemed to bedazed, and only babbled strange words in a strange _patois_. 

She stamped her foot in passion. "More lights!" she cried. "Lights! Howcan they find their way? And let six men go down the _digue_, and meetthem. Will you let them be butchered between the shore and this?"

But Carlat, who had not been able to collect more than a dozen men, shookhis head; and before she could repeat the order, sounds of battle, shrill, faint, like cries of hungry seagulls, pierced the darkness whichshrouded the farther end of the causeway. The women shrank inward overthe threshold, while Carlat cried to the men at the chains to be ready, and to some who stood at loopholes above, to blow up their matches andlet fly at his word. And then they all waited, the Countess foremost, peering eagerly into the growing darkness. They could see nothing. 

A distant scuffle, an oath, a cry, silence! The same, a little nearer, alittle louder, followed this time, not by silence, but by the slow treadof a limping horse. Again a rush of feet, the clash of steel, a scream, a laugh, all weird and unreal, issuing from the night; then out of thedarkness into the light, stepping slowly with hanging head, moved ahorse, bearing on its back a man--or was it a man?--bending low in thesaddle, his feet swinging loose. For an instant the horse and the manseemed to be alone, a ghostly pair; then at their heels came into viewtwo figures, skirmishing this way and that; and now coming nearer, andnow darting back into the gloom. One, a squat figure, stooping low, wielded a sword with two hands; the other covered him with a half-pike. And then beyond these--abruptly as it seemed--the night gave up to sighta swarm of dark figures pressing on them and after them, driving thembefore them. 

Carlat had an inspiration. "Fire!" he cried; and four arquebuses poureda score of slugs into the knot of pursuers. A man fell, another shriekedand stumbled, the rest gave back. Only the horse came on spectrally, with hanging head and shining eyeballs, until a man ran out and seizedits head, and dragged it, more by his strength than its own, over thedrawbridge. After it Badelon, with a gaping wound in his knee, andBigot, bleeding from a dozen hurts, walked over the bridge, and stood oneither side of the saddle, smiling foolishly at the man on the horse. 

"Leave me!" he muttered. "Leave me!" He made a feeble movement with hishand, as if it held a weapon; then his head sank lower. It was CountHannibal. His thigh was broken, and there was a lance-head in his arm. The Countess looked at him, then beyond him, past him into the darkness. 

"Are there no more?" she whispered tremulously. "No more?Tignonville--my--"

Badelon shook his head. The Countess covered her face and wept. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. WHICH WILL YOU, MADAME?

It was in the grey dawning of the next day, at the hour before the sunrose, that word of M. De Tignonville's fate came to them in the castle. The fog which had masked the van and coming of night hung thick on itsretreating skirts, and only reluctantly and little by little gave up tosight and daylight a certain thing which night had left at the end of thecauseway. The first man to see it was Carlat, from the roof of thegateway; and he rubbed eyes weary with watching, and peered anew at itthrough the mist, fancying himself back in the Place Ste. -Croix atAngers, supposing for a wild moment the journey a dream, and the return anightmare. But rub as he might, and stare as he might, the ugly outlinesof the thing he had seen persisted--nay, grew sharper as the haze beganto lift from the grey, slow-heaving floor of sea. He called another manand bade him look. 

"What is it?" he said. "D'you see, there? Below the village?"

"'Tis a gibbet, " the man answered, with a foolish laugh; they had watchedall night. "God keep us from it. "

"A gibbet?"

"Ay!"

"But what is it for? What is it doing there?"

"It is there to hang those they have taken, very like, " the man answered, stupidly practical. And then other men came up, and stared at it andgrowled in their beards. Presently there were eight or ten on the roofof the gateway looking towards the land and discussing the thing; and by-and-by a man was descried approaching along the causeway with a whiteflag in his hand. 

At that Carlat bade one fetch the minister. "He understands things, " hemuttered, "and I misdoubt this. And see, " he cried after the messenger, "that no word of it come to Mademoiselle!" Instinctively in the maidenhome he reverted to the maiden title. 

The messenger went, and came again bringing La Tribe, whose head roseabove the staircase at the moment the envoy below came to a halt beforethe gate. Carlat signed to the minister to come forward; and La Tribe, after sniffing the salt air, and glancing at the long, low, misty shoreand the stiff ugly shape which stood at the end of the causeway, lookeddown and met the envoy's eyes. For a moment no one spoke. Only the menwho had remained on the gateway, and had watched the stranger's coming, breathed hard. 

At last, "I bear a message, " the man announced loudly and clearly, "forthe lady of Vrillac. Is she present?"

"Give your message!" La Tribe replied. 

"It is for her ears only. "

"Do you want to enter?"

"No!" The man answered so hurriedly that more than one smiled. He hadthe bearing of a lay clerk of some precinct, a verger or sacristan; andafter a fashion the dress of one also, for he was in dusty black and woreno sword, though he was girded with a belt. "No!" he repeated, "but ifMadame will come to the gate, and speak to me--"

"Madame has other fish to fry, " Carlat blurted out. "Do you think thatshe has naught to do but listen to messages from a gang of bandits?"

"If she does not listen she will repent it all her life!" the fellowanswered hardily. "That is part of my message. "

There was a pause while La Tribe considered the matter. In the end, "From whom do you come?" he asked. 

"From His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, " the envoyanswered glibly, "and from my Lord Bishop of Angers, him assisting by hisVicar; and from others gathered lawfully, who will as lawfully depart iftheir terms are accepted. Also from M. De Tignonville, a gentleman, I amtold, of these parts, now in their hands and adjudged to die at sunsetthis day if the terms I bring be not accepted. "

There was a long silence on the gate. The men looked down fixedly; not afeature of one of them moved, for no one was surprised. "Wherefore is heto die?" La Tribe asked at last. 

"For good cause shown. "

"Wherefore?"

"He is a Huguenot. "

The minister nodded. "And the terms?" Carlat muttered. 

"Ay, the terms!" La Tribe repeated, nodding afresh. "What are they?"

"They are for Madame's ear only, " the messenger made answer. 

"Then they will not reach it!" Carlat broke forth in wrath. "So much forthat! And for yourself, see you go quickly before we make a target ofyou!"

"Very well, I go, " the envoy answered sullenly. "But--"

"But what?" La Tribe cried, gripping Carlat's shoulder to quiet him. "Butwhat? Say what you have to say, man! Speak out, and have done with it!'

"I will say it to her and to no other. "

"Then you will not say it!" Carlat cried again. "For you will not seeher. So you may go. And the black fever in your vitals. "

"Ay, go!" La Tribe added more quietly. 

The man turned away with a shrug of the shoulders, and moved off a dozenpaces, watched by all on the gate with the same fixed attention. Butpresently he paused; he returned. 

"Very well, " he said, looking up with an ill grace. "I will do my officehere, if I cannot come to her. But I hold also a letter from M. DeTignonville, and that I can deliver to no other hands than hers!" Heheld it up as he spoke, a thin scrap of greyish paper, the fly-leaf of amissal perhaps. "See!" he continued, "and take notice! If she does notget this, and learns when it is too late that it was offered--"

"The terms, " Carlat growled impatiently. "The terms! Come to them!"

"You will have them?" the man answered, nervously passing his tongue overhis lips. "You will not let me see her, or speak to her privately?"

"No. "

"Then hear them. His Excellency is informed that one Hannibal deTavannes, guilty of the detestable crime of sacrilege and of other grosscrimes, has taken refuge here. He requires that the said Hannibal deTavannes be handed to him for punishment, and, this being done beforesunset this evening, he will yield to you free and uninjured the said M. De Tignonville, and will retire from the lands of Vrillac. But if yourefuse"--the man passed his eye along the line of attentive faces whichfringed the battlement--"he will at sunset hang the said Tignonville onthe gallows raised for Tavannes, and will harry the demesne of Vrillac toits farthest border!"

There was a long silence on the gate. Some, their gaze still fixed onhim, moved their lips as if they chewed. Others looked aside, met theirfellows' eyes in a pregnant glance, and slowly returned to him. But noone spoke. At his back the flush of dawn was flooding the east, andspreading and waxing brighter. The air was growing warm; the shorebelow, from grey, was turning green. 

In a minute or two the sun, whose glowing marge already peeped above thelow hills of France, would top the horizon. 

The man, getting no answer, shifted his feet uneasily. "Well, " he cried, "what answer am I to take?"

Still no one moved. 

"I've done my part. Will no one give her the letter?" he cried. And heheld it up. "Give me my answer, for I am going. "

"Take the letter!" The words came from the rear of the group in a voicethat startled all. They turned, as though some one had struck them, andsaw the Countess standing beside the hood which covered the stairs. Theyguessed that she had heard all or nearly all; but the glory of thesunrise, shining full on her at that moment, lent a false warmth to herface, and life to eyes woefully and tragically set. It was not easy tosay whether she had heard or not. "Take the letter, " she repeated. 

Carlat looked helplessly over the parapet. 

"Go down!"

He cast a glance at La Tribe, but he got none in return, and he waspreparing to do her bidding when a cry of dismay broke from those whostill had their eyes bent downwards. The messenger, waving the letter ina last appeal, had held it too loosely; a light air, as treacherous, asunexpected, had snatched it from his hand, and bore it--even as theCountess, drawn by the cry, sprang to the parapet--fifty paces from him. A moment it floated in the air, eddying, rising, falling; then, light asthistledown, it touched the water and began to sink. 

The messenger uttered frantic lamentations, and stamped the causeway inhis rage. The Countess only looked, and looked, until the rippling crestof a baby wave broke over the tiny venture, and with its freight oftidings it sank from sight. 

The man, silent now, stared a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. 

"Well, 'tis fortunate it was his, " he cried brutally, "and not HisExcellency's, or my back had suffered! And now, " he added impatiently, "by your leave, what answer?"

What answer? Ah, God, what answer? The men who leant on the parapet, rude and coarse as they were, felt the tragedy of the question and thedilemma, guessed what they meant to her, and looked everywhere save ather. 

What answer? Which of the two was to live? Which die--shamefully?Which? Which?

"Tell him--to come back--an hour before sunset, " she muttered. 

They told him and he went; and one by one the men began to go too, andstole from the roof, leaving her standing alone, her face to the shore, her hands resting on the parapet. The light breeze which blew off theland stirred loose ringlets of her hair, and flattened the thin robeagainst her sunlit figure. So had she stood a thousand times in olddays, in her youth, in her maidenhood. So in her father's time had shestood to see her lover come riding along the sands to woo her! So hadshe stood to welcome him on the eve of that fatal journey to Paris!Thence had others watched her go with him. The men remembered--rememberedall; and one by one they stole shamefacedly away, fearing lest she shouldspeak or turn tragic eyes on them. 

True, in their pity for her was no doubt of the end, or thought of thevictim who must suffer--of Tavannes. They, of Poitou, who had not beenwith him, knew nothing of him; they cared as little. He was a northernman, a stranger, a man of the sword, who had seized her--so they heard--bythe sword. But they saw that the burden of choice was laid on her;there, in her sight and in theirs, rose the gibbet; and, clowns as theywere, they discerned the tragedy of her _role_, play it as she might, andthough her act gave life to her lover. 

When all had retired save three or four, she turned and saw thesegathered at the head of the stairs in a ring about Carlat, who wasaddressing them in a low eager voice. She could not catch a syllable, but a look hard and almost cruel flashed into her eyes as she gazed; andraising her voice she called the steward to her. 

"The bridge is up, " she said, her tone hard, "but the gates? Are theylocked?"

"Yes, Madame. "

"The wicket?"

"No, not the wicket. " And Carlat looked another way. 

"Then go, lock it, and bring the keys to me!" she replied. "Or stay!"Her voice grew harder, her eyes spiteful as a cat's. "Stay, and bewarned that you play me no tricks! Do you hear? Do you understand? Orold as you are, and long as you have served us, I will have you thrownfrom this tower, with as little pity as Isabeau flung her gallants to thefishes. I am still mistress here, never more mistress than this day. Woeto you if you forget it. "

He blenched and cringed before her, muttering incoherently. 

"I know, " she said, "I read you! And now the keys. Go, bring them tome! And if by chance I find the wicket unlocked when I come down, pray, Carlat, pray! For you will have need of prayers. "

He slunk away, the men with him; and she fell to pacing the rooffeverishly. Now and then she extended her arms, and low cries broke fromher, as from a dumb creature in pain. Wherever she looked, old memoriesrose up to torment her and redouble her misery. A thing she could haveborne in the outer world, a thing which might have seemed tolerable inthe reeking air of Paris or in the gloomy streets of Angers wore here itsmost appalling aspect. Henceforth, whatever choice she made, this home, where even in those troublous times she had known naught but peace, mustbear a damning stain! Henceforth this day and this hour must comebetween her and happiness, must brand her brow, and fix her with a deedof which men and women would tell while she lived! Oh, God--pray? Whosaid, pray?

"I!" And La Tribe with tears in his eyes held out the keys to her. "I, Madame, " he continued solemnly, his voice broken with emotion. "For inman is no help. The strongest man, he who rode yesterday a master ofmen, a very man of war in his pride and his valour--see him, now, and--"

"Don't!" she cried, sharp pain in her voice. "Don't!" And she stoppedhim with her hand, her face averted. After an interval, "You come fromhim?" she muttered faintly. 

"Yes. "

"Is he--hurt to death, think you?" She spoke low, and kept her facehidden from him. 

"Alas, no!" he answered, speaking the thought in his heart. "The men whoare with him seem confident of his recovery. "

"Do they know?"

"Badelon has had experience. "

"No, no. Do they know of this?" she cried. "Of this!" And she pointedwith a gesture of loathing to the black gibbet on the farther strand. 

He shook his head. "I think not, " he muttered. And after a moment, "Godhelp you!" he added fervently. "God help and guide you, Madame!"

She turned on him suddenly, fiercely. "Is that all you can do?" shecried. "Is that all the help you can give? You are a man. Go down, lead them out; drive off these cowards who drain our life's blood, whotrade on a woman's heart! On them! Do something, anything, rather thanlie in safety here--here!"

The minister shook his head sadly. "Alas, Madame!" he said, "to sallywere to waste life. They outnumber us three to one. If Count Hannibalcould do no more than break through last night, with scarce a manunwounded--"

"He had the women!"

"And we have not him!"

"He would not have left us!" she cried hysterically. 

"I believe it. "

"Had they taken me, do you think he would have lain behind walls? Orskulked in safety here, while--while--" Her voice failed her. 

He shook his head despondently. 

"And that is all you can do?" she cried, and turned from him, and to himagain, extending her arms, in bitter scorn. "All you will do? Do youforget that twice he spared your life? That in Paris once, and once inAngers, he held his hand? That always, whether he stood or whether hefled, he held himself between us and harm? Ay, always? And who will nowraise a hand for him? Who?"

"Madame!"

"Who? Who? Had he died in the field, " she continued, her voice shakingwith grief, her hands beating the parapet--for she had turned fromhim--"had he fallen where he rode last night, in the front, with his faceto the foe, I had viewed him tearless, I had deemed him happy! I hadprayed dry-eyed for him who--who spared me all these days and weeks! WhomI robbed and he forgave me! Whom I tempted, and he forbore me! Ay, andwho spared not once or twice him for whom he must now--he must now--" Andunable to finish the sentence she beat her hands again and passionatelyon the stones. 

"Heaven knows, Madame, " the minister cried vehemently, "Heaven knows, Iwould advise you if I could. "

"Why did he wear his corselet?" she wailed, as if she had not heard him. "Was there no spear could reach his breast, that he must come to this? Nofoe so gentle he would spare him this? Or why did _he_ not die with mein Paris when we waited? In another minute death might have come andsaved us this. "

With the tears running down his face he tried to comfort her. 

"Man that is a shadow, " he said, "passeth away--what matter how? Alittle while, a very little while, and we shall pass!"

"With his curse upon us!" she cried. And, shuddering, she pressed herhands to her eyes to shut out the sight her fancy pictured. 

He left her for a while, hoping that in solitude she might regain controlof herself. When he returned he found her seated, and outwardly morecomposed; her arms resting on the parapet-wall, her eyes bent steadily onthe long stretch of hard sand which ran northward from the village. Bythat route her lover had many a time come to her; there she had riddenwith him in the early days; and that way they had started for Paris onsuch a morning and at such an hour as this, with sunshine about them, andlarks singing hope above the sand-dunes, and with wavelets creaming tothe horses' hoofs!

Of all which La Tribe, a stranger, knew nothing. The rapt gaze, theunchanging attitude only confirmed his opinion of the course she wouldadopt. He was thankful to find her more composed; and in fear of such ascene as had already passed between them, he stole away again. Hereturned by-and-by, but with the greatest reluctance, and only becauseCarlat's urgency would take no refusal. 

He came this time to crave the key of the wicket, explaining that--ratherto satisfy his own conscience and the men than with any hope ofsuccess--he proposed to go halfway along the causeway, and thence bysigns invite a conference. 

"It is just possible, " he added, hesitating--he feared nothing so much asto raise hopes in her--"that by the offer of a money ransom, Madame--"

"Go, " she said, without turning her head. "Offer what you please. But"--bitterly--"have a care of them! Montsoreau is very like Montereau!Beware of the bridge!"

He went and came again in half an hour. Then, indeed, though she hadspoken as if hope was dead in her, she was on her feet at the first soundof his tread on the stairs; her parted lips and her white face questionedhim. He shook his head. 

"There is a priest, " he said in broken tones, "with them, whom God willjudge. It is his plan, and he is without mercy or pity. "

"You bring nothing from--him?"

"They will not suffer him to write again. "

"You did not see him?"

"No. "

CHAPTER XXXV. AGAINST THE WALL. 

In a room beside the gateway, into which, as the nearest and mostconvenient place, Count Hannibal had been carried from his saddle, a mansat sideways in the narrow embrasure of a loophole, to which his eyesseemed glued. The room, which formed part of the oldest block of thechateau, and was ordinarily the quarters of the Carlats, possessed twoother windows, deep-set indeed, yet superior to that through whichBigot--for he it was--peered so persistently. But the larger windowslooked southwards, across the bay--at this moment the noon-high sun waspouring his radiance through them; while the object which held Bigot'sgaze and fixed him to his irksome seat, lay elsewhere. The loopholecommanded the causeway leading shorewards; through it the Norman couldsee who came and went, and even the cross-beam of the ugly object whichrose where the causeway touched the land. 

On a flat truckle-bed behind the door lay Count Hannibal, his injured legprotected from the coverlid by a kind of cage. His eyes were bright withfever, and his untended beard and straggling hair heightened the wildnessof his aspect. But he was in possession of his senses; and as his gazepassed from Bigot at the window to the old Free Companion, who sat on astool beside him, engaged in shaping a piece of wood into a splint, anexpression almost soft crept into his harsh face. 

"Old fool!" he said. And his voice, though changed, had not lost all itsstrength and harshness. "Did the Constable need a splint when you laidhim under the tower at Gaeta?"

The old man lifted his eyes from his task, and glanced through thenearest window. 

"It is long from noon to night, " he said quietly, "and far from cup tolip, my lord!"

"It would be if I had two legs, " Tavannes answered, with a grimace, half-snarl, half-smile. "As it is--where is that dagger? It leaves me everyminute. "

It had slipped from the coverlid to the ground. Badelon took it up, andset it on the bed within reach of his master's hand. 

Bigot swore fiercely. "It would be farther still, " he growled, "if youwould be guided by me, my lord. Give me leave to bar the door, and'twill be long before these fisher clowns force it. Badelon and I--"

"Being in your full strength, " Count Hannibal murmured cynically. 

"Could hold it. We have strength enough for that, " the Norman boasted, though his livid face and his bandages gave the lie to his words. Hecould not move without pain; and for Badelon, his knee was as big as twowith plaisters of his own placing. 

Count Hannibal stared at the ceiling. "You could not strike two blows!"he said. "Don't lie to me! And Badelon cannot walk two yards! Finefighters!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. "Fine bars'twixt a man and death! No, it is time to turn the face to the wall. And, since go I must, it shall not be said Count Hannibal dared not goalone! Besides--"

Bigot stopped him with an oath that was in part a cry of pain. 

"D---n her!" he exclaimed in fury, "'tis she is that _besides_! I knowit. 'Tis she has been our ruin from the day we saw her first, ay, tothis day! 'Tis she has bewitched you until your blood, my lord, hasturned to water. Or you would never, to save the hand that betrayed us, never to save a man--"

"Silence!" Count Hannibal cried, in a terrible voice. And rising on hiselbow, he poised the dagger as if he would hurl it. "Silence, or I willspit you like the vermin you are! Silence, and listen! And you, old ban-dog, listen too, for I know you obstinate! It is not to save him. It isbecause I will die as I have lived, fearing nothing and asking nothing!It were easy to bar the door as you would have me, and die in the cornerhere like a wolf at bay, biting to the last. That were easy, old wolf-hound! Pleasant and good sport!"

"Ay! That were a death!" the veteran cried, his eyes brightening. "So Iwould fain die!"

"And I!" Count Hannibal returned, showing his teeth in a grim smile. "Itoo! Yet I will not! I will not! Because so to die were to dieunwillingly, and give them triumph. Be dragged to death? No, old dog, if die we must, we will go to death! We will die grandly, highly, asbecomes Tavannes! That when we are gone they may say, 'There died aman!'"

"_She_ may say!" Bigot muttered, scowling. 

Count Hannibal heard and glared at him, but presently thought better ofit, and after a pause--

"Ay, she too!" he said. "Why not? As we have played the game--forher--so, though we lose, we will play it to the end; nor because we losethrow down the cards! Besides, man, die in the corner, die biting, andhe dies too!"

"And why not?" Bigot asked, rising in a fury. "Why not? Whose work isit we lie here, snared by these clowns of fisherfolk? Who led us wrongand betrayed us? He die? Would the devil had taken him a year ago!Would he were within my reach now! I would kill him with my barefingers! He die? And why not?"

"Why, because, fool, his death would not save me!" Count Hannibalanswered coolly. "If it would, he would die! But it will not; and wemust even do again as we have done. I have spared him--he's awhite-livered hound!--both once and twice, and we must go to the end withit since no better can be! I have thought it out, and it must be. Onlysee you, old dog, that I have the dagger hid in the splint where I canreach it. And then, when the exchange has been made, and my lady has hersilk glove again--to put in her bosom!"--with a grimace and a suddenreddening of his harsh features--"if master priest come within reach ofmy arm, I'll send him before me, where I go. "

"Ay, ay!" said Badelon. "And if you fail of your stroke I will not failof mine! I shall be there, and I will see to it he goes! I shall bethere!"

"You?"

"Ay, why not?" the old man answered quietly. "I may halt on this leg foraught I know, and come to starve on crutches like old Claude Boiteux whowas at the taking of Milan and now begs in the passage under theChatelet. "

"Bah, man, you will get a new lord!"

Badelon nodded. "Ay, a new lord with new ways!" he answered slowly andthoughtfully. "And I am tired. They are of another sort, lords now, than they were when I was young. It was a word and a blow then. Now Iam old, with most it is--'Old hog, your distance! You scent my lady!'Then they rode, and hunted, and tilted year in and year out, and summeror winter heard the lark sing. Now they are curled, and paintthemselves, and lie in silk and toy with ladies--who shamed to be seen atCourt or board when I was a boy--and love better to hear the mouse squeakthan the lark sing. "

"Still, if I give you my gold chain, " Count Hannibal answered quietly, "'twill keep you from that. "

"Give it to Bigot, " the old man answered. The splint he was fashioninghad fallen on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the distance of hisyouth. "For me, my lord, I am tired, and I go with you. I go with you. It is a good death to die biting before the strength be quite gone. Havethe dagger too, if you please, and I'll fit it within the splint rightneatly. But I shall be there--"

"And you'll strike home?" Tavannes cried eagerly. He raised himself onhis elbow, a gleam of joy in his gloomy eyes. 

"Have no fear, my lord. See, does it tremble?" He held out his hand. "And when you are sped, I will try the Spanish stroke--upwards with aturn ere you withdraw, that I learned from Ruiz--on the shaven pate. Isee them about me now!" the old man continued, his face flushing, hisform dilating. "It will be odd if I cannot snatch a sword and hew downthree to go with Tavannes! And Bigot, he will see my lord the Marshal by-and-by; and as I do to the priest, the Marshal will do to Montsoreau. Ho!ho! He will teach him the _coup de Jarnac_, never fear!" And the oldman's moustaches curled up ferociously. 

Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled with joy. "Old dog!" he cried--and heheld his hand to the veteran, who brushed it reverently with his lips--"wewill go together then! Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes!"

"Touches Tavannes!" Badelon cried, the glow of battle lighting hisbloodshot eyes. He rose to his feet. "Touches Tavannes! You mind atJarnac--"

"Ah! At Jarnac!"

"When we charged their horse, was my boot a foot from yours, my lord?"

"Not a foot!"

"And at Dreux, " the old man continued with a proud, elated gesture, "whenwe rode down the German pikemen--they were grass before us, leaves on thewind, thistledown--was it not I who covered your bridle hand, and swervednot in the _melee_?"

"It was! It was!"

"And at St. Quentin, when we fled before the Spaniard--it was his day, you remember, and cost us dear--"

"Ay, I was young then, " Tavannes cried in turn, his eyes glistening. "St. Quentin! It was the tenth of August. And you were new with me, andseized my rein--"

"And we rode off together, my lord--of the last, of the last, as God seesme! And striking as we went, so that they left us for easier game. "

"It was so, good sword! I remember it as if it had been yesterday!"

"And at Cerisoles, the Battle of the Plain, in the old Spanish wars, thatwas most like a joust of all the pitched fields I ever saw--at Cerisoles, where I caught your horse? You mind me? It was in the shock when webroke Guasto's line--"

"At Cerisoles?" Count Hannibal muttered slowly. "Why, man, I--"

"I caught your horse, and mounted you afresh? You remember, my lord? Andat Landriano, where Leyva turned the tables on us again. "

Count Hannibal stared. "Landriano?" he muttered bluntly. "'Twas in '29, forty years ago and more! My father, indeed--"

"And at Rome--at Rome, my lord? _Mon Dieu_! in the old days at Rome!When the Spanish company scaled the wall--Ruiz was first, I next--was itnot my foot you held? And was it not I who dragged you up, while thedevils of Swiss pressed us hard? Ah, those were days, my lord! I wasyoung then, and you, my lord, young too, and handsome as the morning--"

"You rave!" Tavannes cried, finding his tongue at last. "Rome? Yourave, old man! Why, I was not born in those days. My father even was aboy! It was in '27 you sacked it--five-and-forty years ago!"

The old man passed his hands over his heated face, and, as a man rousedsuddenly from sleep looks, he looked round the room. The light died outof his eyes--as a light blown out in a room; his form seemed to shrink, even while the others gazed at him, and he sat down. 

"No, I remember, " he muttered slowly. "It was Prince Philibert ofChalons, my lord of Orange. "

"Dead these forty years!"

"Ay, dead these forty years! All dead!" the old man whispered, gazing athis gnarled hand, and opening and shutting it by turns. "And I growchildish! 'Tis time, high time, I followed them! It trembles now; buthave no fear, my lord, this hand will not tremble then. All dead! Ay, all dead!"

He sank into a mournful silence; and Tavannes, after gazing at him awhilein rough pity, fell to his own meditations, which were gloomy enough. Theday was beginning to wane, and with the downward turn, though the sunstill shone brightly through the southern windows, a shadow seemed tofall across his thoughts. They no longer rioted in a turmoil of defianceas in the forenoon. In its turn, sober reflection marshalled the pastbefore his eyes. The hopes of a life, the ambitions of a life, moved insombre procession, and things done and things left undone, thesovereignty which Nostradamus had promised, the faces of men he hadspared and of men he had not spared--and the face of one woman. 

She would not now be his. He had played highly, and he would losehighly, playing the game to the end, that to-morrow she might think ofhim highly. Had she begun to think of him at all? In the chamber of theinn at Angers he had fancied a change in her, an awakening to life andwarmth, a shadow of turning to him. It had pleased him to think so, atany rate. It pleased him still to imagine--of this he was moreconfident--that in the time to come, when she was Tignonville's, shewould think of him secretly and kindly. She would remember him, and inher thoughts and in her memory he would grow to the heroic, even as theman she had chosen would shrink as she learned to know him. 

It pleased him, that. It was almost all that was left to pleasehim--that, and to die proudly as he had lived. But as the day wore on, and the room grew hot and close, and the pain in his thigh became moregrievous, the frame of his mind altered. A sombre rage was born and grewin him, and a passion fierce and ill-suppressed. To end thus, withnothing done, nothing accomplished of all his hopes and ambitions! Todie thus, crushed in a corner by a mean priest and a rabble of spearmen, he who had seen Dreux and Jarnac, had defied the King, and dared to turnthe St. Bartholomew to his ends! To die thus, and leave her to thatpuppet! Strong man as he was, of a strength of will surpassed by few, ittaxed him to the utmost to lie and make no sign. Once, indeed, he raisedhimself on his elbow with something between an oath and a snarl, and heseemed about to speak. So that Bigot came hurriedly to him. 

"My lord?"

"Water!" he said. "Water, fool!" And, having drunk, he turned his faceto the wall, lest he should name her or ask for her. 

For the desire to see her before he died, to look into her eyes, to touchher hand once, only once, assailed his mind and all but whelmed his will. She had been with him, he knew it, in the night; she had left him only atdaybreak. But then, in his state of collapse, he had been hardlyconscious of her presence. Now to ask for her or to see her would stamphim coward, say what he might to her. The proverb, that the King's facegives grace, applied to her; and an overture on his side could mean butone thing, that he sought her grace. And that he would not do though thecold waters of death covered him more and more, and the coming of theend--in that quiet chamber, while the September sun sank to the appointedplace--awoke wild longings and a wild rebellion in his breast. Histhoughts were very bitter, as he lay, his loneliness of the uttermost. Heturned his face to the wall. 

In that posture he slept after a time, watched over by Bigot with looksof rage and pity. And on the room fell a long silence. The sun hadlacked three hours of setting when he fell asleep. When he re-opened hiseyes, and, after lying for a few minutes between sleep and waking, becameconscious of his position, of the day, of the things which had happened, and his helplessness--an awakening which wrung from him an involuntarygroan--the light in the room was still strong, and even bright. Hefancied for a moment that he had merely dozed off and awaked again; andhe continued to lie with his face to the wall, courting a return ofslumber. 

But sleep did not come, and little by little, as he lay listening andthinking and growing more restless, he got the fancy that he was alone. The light fell brightly on the wall to which his face was turned; howcould that be if Bigot's broad shoulders still blocked the loophole?Presently, to assure himself, he called the man by name. 

He got no answer. 

"Badelon!" he muttered. "Badelon!"

Had he gone, too, the old and faithful? It seemed so, for again noanswer came. 

He had been accustomed all his life to instant service; to see the actfollow the word ere the word ceased to sound. And nothing which had gonebefore, nothing which he had suffered since his defeat at Angers, hadbrought him to feel his impotence and his position--and that the end ofhis power was indeed come--as sharply as this. The blood rushed to hishead; almost the tears to eyes which had not shed them since boyhood, andwould not shed them now, weak as he was! He rose on his elbow and lookedwith a full heart; it was as he had fancied. Badelon's stool was empty;the embrasure--that was empty too. Through its narrow outlet he had atiny view of the shore and the low rocky hill, of which the summit shonewarm in the last rays of the setting sun. 

The setting sun! Ay, for the lower part of the hill was growing cold;the shore at its foot was grey. Then he had slept long, and the time wascome. He drew a deep breath and listened. But on all within and withoutlay silence, a silence marked, rather than broken, by the dull fall of awave on the causeway. The day had been calm, but with the sunset a lightbreeze was rising. 

He set his teeth hard, and continued to listen. An hour before sunsetwas the time they had named for the exchange. What did it mean? In fiveminutes the sun would be below the horizon; already the zone of warmth onthe hillside was moving and retreating upwards. And Bigot and oldBadelon? Why had they left him while he slept? An hour before sunset!Why, the room was growing grey, grey and dark in the corners, and--whatwas that?

He started, so violently that he jarred his leg, and the pain wrung agroan from him. At the foot of the bed, overlooked until then, a womanlay prone on the floor, her face resting on her outstretched arms. Shelay without motion, her head and her clasped hands towards the loophole, her thick, clubbed hair hiding her neck. A woman! Count Hannibalstared, and, fancying he dreamed, closed his eyes, then looked again. Itwas no phantasm. It was the Countess; it was his wife!

He drew a deep breath, but he did not speak, though the colour roseslowly to his cheek. And slowly his eyes devoured her from head to foot, from the hands lying white in the light below the window to the shodfeet; unchecked he took his fill of that which he had so much desired--theseeing her! A woman prone, with all of her hidden but her hands: ahundred acquainted with her would not have known her. But he knew her, and would have known her from a hundred, nay from a thousand, by herhands alone. 

What was she doing here, and in this guise? He pondered; then he lookedfrom her for an instant, and saw that while he had gazed at her the sunhad set, the light had passed from the top of the hill; the world withoutand the room within were growing cold. Was that the cause she no longerlay quiet? He saw a shudder run through her, and a second; then itseemed to him--or was he going mad?--that she moaned, and prayed in half-heard words, and, wrestling with herself, beat her forehead on her arms, and then was still again, as still as death. By the time the paroxysmhad passed, the last flush of sunset had faded from the sky, and thehills were growing dark. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. HIS KINGDOM. 

Count Hannibal could not have said why he did not speak to her at once. Warned by an instinct vague and ill-understood, he remained silent, hiseyes riveted on her, until she rose from the floor. A moment later shemet his gaze, and he looked to see her start. Instead, she stood quietand thoughtful, regarding him with a kind of sad solemnity, as if she sawnot him only, but the dead; while first one tremor and then a secondshook her frame. 

At length "It is over!" she whispered. "Patience, Monsieur; have nofear, I will be brave. But I must give a little to him. "

"To him!" Count Hannibal muttered, his face extraordinarily, pale. 

She smiled with an odd passionateness. "Who was my lover!" she cried, her voice a-thrill. "Who will ever be my lover, though I have deniedhim, though I have left him to die! It was just. He who has so tried meknows it was just! He whom I have sacrificed--he knows it too, now! Butit is hard to be--just, " with a quavering smile. "You who take all maygive him a little, may pardon me a little, may have--patience!"

Count Hannibal uttered a strangled cry, between a moan and a roar. Amoment he beat the coverlid with his hands in impotence. Then he sankback on the bed. 

"Water!" he muttered. "Water!"

She fetched it hurriedly, and, raising his head on her arm, held it tohis lips. He drank, and lay back again with closed eyes. He lay sostill and so long that she thought that he had fainted; but after a pausehe spoke. 

"You have done that?" he whispered; "you have done that?"

"Yes, " she answered, shuddering. "God forgive me! I have done that! Ihad to do that, or--"

"And is it too late--to undo it?"

"It is too late. " A sob choked her voice. 

Tears--tears incredible, unnatural--welled from under Count Hannibal'sclosed eyelids, and rolled sluggishly down his harsh cheek to the edge ofhis beard. 

"I would have gone, " he muttered. "If you had spoken, I would havespared you this. "

"I know, " she answered unsteadily; "the men told me. "

"And yet--"

"It was just. And you are my husband, " she replied. "More, I am thecaptive of your sword, and as you spared me in your strength, my lord, Ispared you in your weakness. "

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu, Madame!" he cried, "at what a cost!"

And that arrested, that touched her in the depths of her grief and herhorror; even while the gibbet on the causeway, which had burned itselfinto her eyeballs, hung before her. For she knew that it was the cost to_her_ he was counting. She knew that for himself he had ever held lifecheap, that he could have seen Tignonville suffer without a qualm. Andthe thoughtfulness for her, the value he placed on a thing--even on arival's life--because its was dear to her, touched her home, moved her asfew things could have moved her at that moment. She saw it of a piecewith all that had gone before, with all that had passed between them, since that fatal Sunday in Paris. But she made no sign. More than shehad said she would not say; words of love, even of reconciliation, had noplace on her lips while he whom she had sacrificed awaited his burial. 

And meantime the man beside her lay and found it incredible. "It wasjust, " she had said. And he knew it; Tignonville's folly--that and thatonly had led them into the snare and caused his own capture. But whathad justice to do with the things of this world? In his experience, thestrong hand--that was justice, in France; and possession--that was law. By the strong hand he had taken her, and by the strong hand she mighthave freed herself. 

And she had not. There was the incredible thing. She had chosen insteadto do justice! It passed belief. Opening his eyes on a silence whichhad lasted some minutes, a silence rendered more solemn by the lappingwater without, Tavannes saw her kneeling in the dusk of the chamber, herhead bowed over his couch, her face hidden in her hands. He knew thatshe prayed, and feebly he deemed the whole a dream. No scene akin to ithad had place in his life; and, weakened and in pain, he prayed that thevision might last for ever, that he might never awake. 

But by-and-by, wrestling with the dread thought of what she had done, andthe horror which would return upon her by fits and spasms, she flung outa hand, and it fell on him. He started, and the movement, jarring thebroken limb, wrung from him a cry of pain. She looked up and was goingto speak, when a scuffling of feet under the gateway arch, and a confusedsound of several voices raised at once, arrested the words on her lips. She rose to her feet and listened. Dimly he could see her face throughthe dusk. Her eyes were on the door, and she breathed quickly. 

A moment or two passed in this way, and then from the hurly-burly in thegateway the footsteps of two men--one limped--detached themselves andcame nearer and nearer. They stopped without. A gleam of light shoneunder the door, and some one knocked. 

She went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, stepped quickly back tothe bedside, where for an instant the light borne by those who enteredblinded her. Then, above the lanthorn, the faces of La Tribe and Bigotbroke upon her, and their shining eyes told her that they bore good news. It was well, for the men seemed tongue-tied. The minister's fluency wasgone; he was very pale, and it was Bigot who in the end spoke for both. He stepped forward, and, kneeling, kissed her cold hand. 

"My lady, " he said, "you have gained all, and lost nothing. Blessed beGod!"

"Blessed be God!" the minister wept. And from the passage without camethe sound of laughter and weeping and many voices, with a flutter oflights and flying skirts, and women's feet. 

She stared at him wildly, doubtfully, her hand at her throat. 

"What?" she said, "he is not dead--M. De Tignonville?"

"No, he is alive, " La Tribe answered, "he is alive. " And he lifted uphis hands as if he gave thanks. 

"Alive?" she cried. "Alive! Oh, Heaven is merciful. You are sure? Youare sure?"

"Sure, Madame, sure. He was not in their hands. He was dismounted inthe first shock, it seems, and, coming to himself after a time, creptaway and reached St. Gilles, and came hither in a boat. But the enemylearned that he had not entered with us, and of this the priest wove hissnare. Blessed be God, who put it into your heart to escape it!"

The Countess stood motionless, and with closed eyes pressed her hands toher temples. Once she swayed as if she would fall her length, and Bigotsprang forward to support and save her. But she opened her eyes at that, sighed very deeply, and seemed to recover herself. 

"You are sure?" she said faintly. "It is no trick?"

"No, Madame, it is no trick, " La Tribe answered. "M. De Tignonville isalive, and here. "

"Here!" She started at the word. The colour fluttered in her cheek. "But the keys, " she murmured. And she passed her hand across her brow. "I thought--that I had them. "

"He has not entered, " the minister answered, "for that reason. He iswaiting at the postern, where he landed. He came, hoping to be of use toyou. "

She paused a moment, and when she spoke again her aspect had undergone asubtle change. Her head was high, a flush had risen to her cheeks, hereyes were bright. 

"Then, " she said, addressing La Tribe, "do you, Monsieur, go to him, andpray him in my name to retire to St. Gilles, if he can do so withoutperil. He has no place here--now; and if he can go safely to his home itwill be well that he do so. Add, if you please, that Madame de Tavannesthanks him for his offer of aid, but in her husband's house she needs noother protection. "

Bigot's eyes sparkled with joy. 

The minister hesitated. "No more, Madame?" he faltered. He was tender-hearted, and Tignonville was of his people. 

"No more, " she said gravely, bowing her head. "It is not M. DeTignonville I have to thank, but Heaven's mercy, that I do not stand hereat this moment unhappy as I entered--a woman accursed, to be pointed atwhile I live. And the dead"--she pointed solemnly through the darkcasement to the shore--"the dead lie there. "

La Tribe went. 

She stood a moment in thought, and then took the keys from the roughstone window-ledge on which she had laid them when she entered. As thecold iron touched her fingers she shuddered. The contact awoke again thehorror and misery in which she had groped, a lost thing, when she lastfelt that chill. 

"Take them, " she said; and she gave them to Bigot. "Until my lord canleave his couch they will remain in your charge, and you will answer forall to him. Go, now, take the light; and in half an hour send MadameCarlat to me. "

A wave broke heavily on the causeway and ran down seething to the sea;and another and another, filling the room with rhythmical thunders. Butthe voice of the sea was no longer the same in the darkness, where theCountess knelt in silence beside the bed--knelt, her head bowed on herclasped hands, as she had knelt before, but with a mind how different, with what different thoughts! Count Hannibal could see her head butdimly, for the light shed upwards by the spume of the sea fell only onthe rafters. But he knew she was there, and he would fain, for his heartwas full, have laid his hand on her hair. 

And yet he would not. He would not, out of pride. Instead he bit on hisharsh beard, and lay looking upward to the rafters, waiting what wouldcome. He who had held her at his will now lay at hers, and waited. Hewho had spared her life at a price now took his own a gift at her hands, and bore it. 

"_Afterwards, Madame de Tavannes_--"

His mind went back by some chance to those words--the words he hadneither meant nor fulfilled. It passed from them to the marriage and theblow; to the scene in the meadow beside the river; to the last ridebetween La Fleche and Angers--the ride during which he had played withher fears and hugged himself on the figure he would make on the morrow. The figure? Alas! of all his plans for dazzling her had come--_this_!Angers had defeated him, a priest had worsted him. In place of releasingTignonville after the fashion of Bayard and the Paladins, and in theteeth of snarling thousands, he had come near to releasing him afteranother fashion and at his own expense. Instead of dazzling her by hismastery and winning her by his magnanimity, he lay here, owing her hislife, and so weak, so broken, that the tears of childhood welled up inhis eyes. 

Out of the darkness a hand, cool and firm, slid into his, clasped ittightly, drew it to warm lips, carried it to a woman's bosom. 

"My lord, " she murmured, "I was the captive of your sword, and you sparedme. Him I loved you took and spared him too--not once or twice. Angers, also, and my people you would have saved for my sake. And you thought Icould do this! Oh! shame, shame!" But her hand held his always. 

"You loved him, " he muttered. 

"Yes, I loved him, " she answered slowly and thoughtfully. "I loved him. "And she fell silent a minute. Then, "And I feared you, " she added, hervoice low. "Oh, how I feared you--and hated you!"

"And now?"

"I do not fear him, " she answered, smiling in the darkness. "Nor hatehim. And for you, my lord, I am your wife and must do your bidding, whether I will or no. I have no choice. "

He was silent. 

"Is that not so?" she asked. 

He tried weakly to withdraw his hand. 

But she clung to it. "I must bear your blows or your kisses. I must beas you will and do as you will, and go happy or sad, lonely or with you, as you will! As you will, my lord! For I am your chattel, yourproperty, your own. Have you not told me so?"

"But your heart, " he cried fiercely, "is his! Your heart, which you toldme in the meadow could never be mine!"

"I lied, " she murmured, laughing tearfully, and her hands hovered overhim. "It has come back! And it is on my lips. "

And she leant over and kissed him. And Count Hannibal knew that he hadentered into his kingdom, the sovereignty of a woman's heart. 

* * * * *

An hour later there was a stir in the village on the mainland. Lanthornsbegan to flit to and fro. Sulkily men were saddling and preparing forthe road. It was far to Challans, farther to Lege--more than one day, and many a weary league to Ponts de Ce and the Loire. The men who hadridden gaily southwards on the scent of spoil and revenge turned theirbacks on the castle with many a sullen oath and word. They burned ahovel or two, and stripped such as they spared, after the fashion of theday; and it had gone ill with the peasant woman who fell into theirhands. Fortunately, under cover of the previous night every soul hadescaped from the village, some to sea, and the rest to take shelter amongthe sand-dunes; and as the troopers rode up the path from the beach, andthrough the green valley, where their horses shied from the bodies of themen they had slain, there was not an eye to see them go. 

Or to mark the man who rode last, the man of the white face--scarred onthe temple--and the burning eyes, who paused on the brow of the hill, and, before he passed beyond, cursed with quivering lips the foe who hadescaped him. The words were lost, as soon as spoken, in the murmur ofthe sea on the causeway; the sea, fit emblem of the Eternal, which rolledits tide regardless of blessing or cursing, good or ill will, nor sparedone jot of ebb or flow because a puny creature had spoken to the night.