"Your Majesty is unexpected, but all the more welcome for that," said the Queen as Henri touched her fingers with his lips. The King made some answer I did not hear, and led the Queen to a seat; then, patting the Dauphin's head much in the manner of one patting a spaniel's back, he looked around.

"Birge!" he said. "You are gay here. It was dull this evening at supper; she had the megrims."

A slight flush came into Catherine de Medicis' cheeks at this mention of the mistress, and her voice trembled a little.

"I trust madame will soon be better; but you, sire, will always find us gay here."

"It seems so. What was the particular jest? It might bring a smile to Diane's face when I tell her of it."

I moved back, so that I did not hear the Queen's answer, but Henri laughed loudly.

"A Court of Love! Bigre! 'Tis a new idea, and a good one. But where is our little ward? Present her."

Mademoiselle had to come forward, and when she had kissed hands the King said:

"I hear sad tales of you, mademoiselle; but there, never mind! You must not, however, break all our hearts. Faith!" and his feeble intellect wandered off to the one subject it could think of, "we will have a tourney in a fortnight, and the defenders shall wear your colours."

Mademoiselle blushed red, and began to stammer out something, whilst a few looks were exchanged between the courtiers that made my blood run hot. The Queen, however, interposed, and suddenly called for me.

"Monsieur d'Orrain!"

I stepped up, catching the look of astonishment in mademoiselle's eyes as she heard the name by which I was addressed.

"Permit me, your Majesty, to present to you the Chevalier d'Orrain. It is he who arranged the small matter you entrusted me with, and has, besides, shown himself a valiant gentleman. With your Majesty's permission I propose appointing him to my guards; M. de Lorgnac has a vacancy."

There was a little murmur, and as I knelt, the King extended his hand to me carelessly. As I rose to my feet, and was about to withdraw, he said, with a sudden recollection:

"Monsieur d'Orrain—the brother of the Vidame?"

I bowed, and Henri turned to the Queen, his face assuming a severe expression; but Catherine de Medicis anticipated his speech.

"It is so small a favour that I thought your Majesty would have no objection in view of M. d'Orrain's services. I do not, however, press it."

Henri hummed and hawed, and a curious, cunning expression came into his eyes.

"Bigre! It seems to me I have to grant favours from the moment I rise to the moment I lie down to sleep. But to tell the truth, madame, it was I who came here to ask a favour from you." And then he stopped, and his face flushed darker than ever as he went on, with a short laugh: "Come! let it be a bargain! If I grant you your request will you grant me mine?"

"Assuredly, sire!—even if you did not grant me mine."

"Oh! we will make it a bargain. Well, then, let it be as you wish with monsieur there." And turning to me: "And harkee, Chevalier! Keep your sword in your scabbard, and put your Geneva books in the fire, now that you have a new start."

"I thank you, sire!" said the Queen. "And your command——?"

She stopped, awaiting the King's answer; but Henri hesitated, and at last, bending forward, whispered a few words in the Queen's ear. The effect was instant. She became white and red in turns, and began to nervously clasp and unclasp her hands.

"Come!" said the King, with an affectation of gaiety; "it was a bargain, madame."

There was a pause, and then, with a voice as hard as steel, Catherine de Medicis said to her favourite maid-of-honour:

"Mademoiselle La Beauce—my jewel-casket—quick, please."

La Beauce bowed, and slipped away, and we all looked on in wonder at the strange scene. Presently she returned with a small but heavy casket in her hands. Catherine opened it with a key she detached from a chain she wore at her neck, and as the lid fell back the glittering splendour of the Crown diamonds of France was disclosed to view.

"They have been worn by a line of queens, sire," said Catherine as she placed the box in Henri's hands; "they ought well to become Madame Diane de Poitiers, and cure her megrims."

With this she made a profound bow, and withdrew. When she had gone there was an absolute silence; and then the King laughed, an uneasy, foolish laugh.

"And all this because I want to borrow a few stones for the masque!" he exclaimed as he thrust the box into the hands of one of his gentleman. "Take this, Carnavalet!" And swinging round on his heel he went as he had come, his suite clattering behind him.

As he went we heard through the open doors the cries of "Vive le Roi!" from those in the gallery outside, and then all was still once more.

The salon, but a short time before so bright and gay, emptied like magic. I stood where I was, leaning against a pillar, wondering at the scene through which I had passed, and hardly realising that I was alone. No, not alone, for mademoiselle stood before me, her hand outstretched.

"Oh, monsieur, this is a horrible place! Why did I ever come?"

I could say nothing, for she too had seen and heard all that had passed.

"But it is not this I came to talk about. I waited so as to be able to congratulate M. Bertrand Broussel, the worthy citizen of Paris." And she laughed as she added: "I was sure of it from the first; I knew it could never be."

"May I also say that I was sure that Cujus the furrier never had a niece?"

She made a little impatient gesture with her hand. "I do not believe you will ever forget that, monsieur."

"Never."

"And you are not leaving Paris, then?" she asked after a moment's pause.

"I cannot now," I answered.

"Then," she laughed, "the furrier's niece and Monsieur Broussel will meet again. Au revoir, Chevalier!"

And she was gone.



CHAPTER XXI

THE HOUSE IN THE PASSAGE OF PITY

The next day, about the time appointed by La Marmotte, I presented myself at Maitre Barou, the armourer's, store. There was no one there except the old proprietor himself, and it was hard to say if he were Jew or Gentile as he stood behind the counter in the midst of his wares. I had sufficient excuse for my visit, and that was to purchase a breastplate of the pattern worn by the Queen's guards, in which I had been formally enrolled early in the day.

"Bien!" he said when I inquired for one, "I have one that will fit you, I think. It was bespoke by M. de Montorgueil——"

"But, perhaps, monsieur may have a voice in the matter."

"Probably; but as monsieur has not paid for it, and is at present lodged in the Chatelet on account of his escapade with Mademoiselle d'Estanay, we may let that objection pass." And Maitre Barou chuckled.

"In that case, let me see the corselet."

"Here it is, monsieur."

I tried it on, and finding it would suit, and that the workmanship was of rare excellency, demanded the price.

Barou hummed as he tapped the shining steel with his finger and glanced at me from under his bushy brows.

"Monsieur must have but lately joined the guards?" he asked, ignoring my question.

"A matter of a few hours."

"Ah! I thought so. I know them all, monsieur. First there is Messire Blaise de Lorgnac, the lieutenant——"

"Maitre Barou, it will take till to-morrow to go over the names. What is your price?"

"Ho! ho! messire, you grow impatient. 'Tis Aranguez plate this, as you may see—the best work of Spain, down to the buckles. Ho! ho! messire, only two good things ever came from Spain: one is good armour, and the other pretty women——"

"And I presume, Maitre Barou, they are both expensive things; but the price of your corselet, for my time is short."

"Fifty pistoles, then."

"'Tis a long sum, and I am not sure of the proof."

Maitre Barou looked at me reproachfully. Seizing a poniard he glanced at the blade for a moment, touched the point with the tip of his finger, and then raising the weapon brought it down with his full force on the corselet. The dagger glanced off from the mirror-like surface and buried itself deep in the hard wood of the counter.

"There, monsieur!" And Barou looked at me triumphantly. It was a shrewd enough test, and I closed the bargain, paying him his money then and there, and bidding him send the mail to De Lorgnac's house.

"And the name, monsieur?"

"The Chevalier d'Orrain."

As Barou was making an entry on a slate I heard a step behind me, and turning saw it was La Marmotte. She made no sign of recognition, however, but went straight up to Barou, to whom she handed a small package, giving him some instructions in a low tone. Taking the hint I gave a casual glance or so at the things around me, and then strolled out of the shop. I walked very slowly up the street in the direction opposite De Lorgnac's house, and I had scarce gone a hundred paces when La Marmotte caught me up, and asked me somewhat abruptly if I knew of a place called the Passage of Pity. I replied that I did, and she then told me to meet her there in an hour's time, and to be sure I was well armed. For answer I touched the hilt of my sword; and, with a nod to me, she crossed the street and disappeared up a narrow, winding alley. I kept on at the leisurely pace I was going at, wondering to myself if I were walking into a snare or not. But, although caution is a very good thing, still there are times when one should be prepared to take risks, and I held this was such an occasion. Having now reached the head of the Rue Tiquetonne I quickened my pace, and was soon in the Vallee de Misere. I avoided the bridge, and, crossing the river by a ferry boat, was soon in the purlieus of the Sorbonne. Every inch of this locality was familiar to me, and at last I reached the cloisters of the Mathurins, a few yards from which lay the narrow by-street which the quaint wit of the Parisian badaud had christened the Passage of Pity. It was dark and short—so short, indeed, that an active boy, standing at one end of it, might easily have thrown a stone against the high wall of a house built athwart the other end of the road, apparently barring all progress beyond. This was not the case, however, for the narrow arch, that was to all appearance the entrance to the house, gave access to a small flight of steps, worn with age, that led towards a gallery opening upon the Rue de la Harpe.

In the wall towards the right of this arch, about a man's height from the ground, was a small niche containing a figure of the Virgin, and beneath was that which, perhaps, had given its name to the street, for someone had traced in shaky characters upon the wall the words: "Avez pitie!"

Beneath these words, written in blood long since browned with age, could still be seen the impress of a hand that had been red too, as if the unfortunate writer had supported himself thus whilst tracing his miserable words.

The steps leading to the gallery beyond the archway were known as "The Little Steps of Mercy," and to get at the entrance door of the house itself, which was in part built over the passage, it was necessary to go along the gallery, in the side of which it was placed, in an almost invisible gloom, that added not a little to the mystery surrounding the place. Another curious thing about this little by-street was that every house, and there were not many, appeared deserted. Hardly a soul ever passed by day along its dim length, which was always in shadow, except at high noon, when the sunlight forced its way in a line of white light along the forbidding passage. By night no one was ever seen, and, indeed, there were few who would have ventured along the Passage of Pity when the sun went down.

Here, then, I stood at the appointed time, staring at the surly row of houses on either side of me and at the dead wall in my face. Twice I paced up and down the length of the street; but there was no sign of La Marmotte. On the second occasion, however, as I came back, the door of the house on the right-hand side nearest the arch opened slightly, and I heard her voice.

"Enter, monsieur."

For one little moment I hesitated, and then boldly slipped in. As I did so the door was immediately shut, and I found myself in almost total darkness.

"A moment." Then I heard the striking of a tinderbox. There was a small, bright glow, then the flame of some burning paper, that threw out the figure of La Marmotte as she lit a candle, and holding it out motioned me up a rickety staircase that faced us.

I had drawn my poniard as I stepped in, so evil-looking was the place, and she caught the gleam of the steel.

"It is needless," she said coldly; "we are alone."

"Perhaps, madame," I replied, taking no notice of her remark, "you had better lead the way; the place is known to you."

She did as I desired, and we soon found ourselves in a small room, in which there was some broken-down furniture. There was one window, which was closed, and being made entirely of wood all light was shut out except that which the candle gave.

"A strange place," I said, looking around me.

"When one is as I am, monsieur," was the bitter answer, "one gets friends with strange places."

I looked at her more closely than I had done before. Even by the dim light I could see how pale and sunken were her cheeks, and her raven hair was streaked with grey. Her eyes had lost the brazen fire that had shone in them once. Wretched and miserable indeed she looked. But this was not the La Marmotte of the past but another woman.

She put the candle down and turned to me.

"Monsieur, I have asked you to come here because we can be alone here and uninterrupted, and that which I have to say to you concerns the life, perhaps, of Mademoiselle de Paradis. Monsieur, you may not believe me, but from that dreadful night at Le Jaquemart I have become a changed woman. I have learned, monsieur, how to pray, and, my God! the past—the past!" And she put her hands to her face and shuddered.

"Madame, there is always a future."

"But never for a woman! Oh, Monsieur d'Orrain—for I know your name now—you know this as well as I."

I made no answer. What could I say? And she went on:

"Listen! After that night I brought him—Trotto—back to Paris as soon as he was able to move. He was badly hurt, but not so badly as we thought; and he lives for revenge. Your brother the Vidame is in a house in the Rue des Lavandieres, into which he has recently moved. There I brought Trotto. Here I found Malsain and some others; and, believing me to be what I was before, they spoke freely before me. For you, monsieur, I warn you to fear the bravo's knife; they will not face you openly."

"I will try and take care of myself. But what is it that concerns mademoiselle?"

"This much I know, monsieur: the Vidame wants her for himself, or rather her wealth. The plan he has conceived is as follows:—the edict against the heretics is to be revived suddenly, and mademoiselle is to be accused. And you know what this means, with Dom Antoine de Mouchy as judge."

"But how will this gain the Vidame his wish?"

"To explain that, monsieur, is one of the reasons I have brought you here." And moving towards the window she opened it cautiously. As she did so there appeared, about three feet or more away, the grey and mottled surface of a blank wall.

"Look!" she said.

I looked out of the window. The walls of the two houses stood about three feet apart. Below me was a deep, narrow space, shut in on all sides except from the top. In the opposite wall was a window partly open, below which ran a narrow ledge. This window faced the one I was standing at, but was placed about a yard or so higher, so that anyone standing there could look into the room in which we were. All this I took in, and then turned to La Marmotte.

"Monsieur," she said, "that house is where Antoine de Mouchy lives, and where, within an hour's time, he is to meet the Vidame and some others to discuss their plan. If you would learn it you must learn it from there." And she pointed to the window above me.

I was about to speak, but she stopped me.

"Listen! I know that house from garret to cellar, for I lived there once. That window leads to an empty room. A door to the right leads into De Mouchy's study, which looks over the Rue de la Harpe, and standing at that door you can hear every word that passes within. Will you risk it?"

"The getting there is possible, but it is the retreat that I am doubtful of."

"I have provided for that." And opening a box that lay near her she pulled out a short coil of stout rope with an iron hook fixed at each end.

"Fasten one hook to the window there, and throw me the rope. I will fasten the other here, and you will have a passage back. I will wait here for you."

I glanced out of the window again. On the left was the Passage of Pity with its dreary, deserted houses, on the right, above me, was a glimpse of sky. Now and again we heard the cooing of pigeons and the flutter of their wings amongst the eaves, but except for this there was no sound, and we were perfectly unobserved.

Removing my boots and discarding my sword I climbed out of the window, resting my feet on the ledge beneath it. Cautiously rising to a standing position I found I could see clearly into the room opposite. It was unoccupied, but, so far from being empty, was filled with books and piles of documents. It looked, indeed, as if M. de Mouchy's study had overrun itself into this room. I had, however, made up my mind to take the risk of being present at this meeting whatever the cost might be, and so after another and careful look began the attempt. Between the opposite window and myself was a gap of a little over three feet, so that it was impossible to reach there. Thanks, however, to the forethought of La Marmotte I was enabled to overcome this difficulty, and after a couple of tries, during which the noise made was such as would have certainly aroused attention had anyone been at hand, I succeeded in fixing one of the iron hooks attached to the rope to the ledge of the window. Then, after a strain to test the rope, I let myself swing across the chasm, and found foothold on the opposite ledge. Once there matters were easy, and in a trice I had passed through the window.



CHAPTER XXII

THE TABLETS OF DOM ANTOINE DE MOUCHY

A quick glance around showed me I was alone. Turning back to the window I swung the free end of the rope to La Marmotte. She caught it, drew it in, and closed the window over it as far as it would go. Through the slight opening I saw for an instant the glow of the candle. Then the rope tightened, and the light went out. I crept softly to a door on my right, and standing there listened intently. All was silence. I tried the door; it opened, and I saw before me De Mouchy's study. His table, littered with papers, was almost in the centre of the room. Near the window was a large carved chest. The walls were lined with books, and three or four bookcases, filled with dust-laden volumes, projected at right angles from them. In truth, it seemed as if Dom Antoine owned a library that might rival that of the Abbey of St. Victor.

I made up my mind to go a step farther than La Marmotte's suggestion, and as the chances of discovery were equal whether I remained in the outer room or here I decided to stay where I was. Between the wall and one of the projecting bookshelves there was space sufficient for a man to stand perfectly concealed, unless anyone chose to come round the bookcase. Here, then, I took up my position, trusting much to luck, as one has to do in a desperate enterprise, and relying on the chance that De Mouchy would never suspect that anyone would dare to act as I was doing in broad daylight, for it was not much beyond five o'clock in the afternoon.

I had not long to wait. Presently I heard a scratching at a door opposite to that by which I had entered the room. There was a murmured word or so, then the door opened, and Dom Antoine de Mouchy stepped in, bearing in his arms an immense black cat. Where the afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the carved chest he placed the beast, stroking its back once or twice, and then turned, and stood for a moment facing his table.

As he stood there, in the black robes and skull-cap of a doctor of the Sorbonne, I took careful stock of him, for it was he who, years past, had doomed me to a frightful death, and who had shared with Simon and Diane de Poitiers the remains of my property. He was past middle life, with a frame yet strong and vigorous. Cruelty and avarice had set their seals on his broad face. His cheek-bones were high as those of a Tartar, and the small and sunken eyes had a restless, savage look in them—the look of a tiger; and no tiger ever thirsted for blood more ferociously than Dom Antoine de Mouchy, Doctor of the Sorbonne, and President of the Chambre Ardente, thirsted for the blood of his fellow-creatures.

Twice he glanced around him, and then sitting at his table was soon busily employed in jotting down something on his tablets. After a while he stopped, and some thought moved him to silent laughter. Leaning back he let his glance travel round the room, and then arrested it once more on his tablets.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed out loudly this time, "this is a rare dish of fried fish! Prick up your ears, Titi!" And reaching out a long arm he stroked the fur of the huge cat that sat crouched on the coffer, an occasional shiver running through its body. It was old, very old, as I could see.

At De Mouchy's voice and the touch of his hand the creature rose slowly, turned upon Dom Antoine a pair of green eyes from which the sight had long since fled, and hissed like an angry snake. De Mouchy laughed again as he went on:

"You agree—eh? Well, listen to the names—Huguenots—Christaudins—Spawn of Geneva—whose bodies shall perish as their souls, and whose goods shall come to the righteous—that is, to me, Titi."

For a moment light seemed to come back to those sightless eyes, and with a purr, as if it understood, the great cat leaped lightly on to the table and sat before De Mouchy, whilst the latter put one finger on the tablets, and spoke again:

"Mon vieux! the poor fisherman has netted some fine gold-fish this time. No little sprats of tailors of the Rue St. Antoine or out-at-heel scholars—but fine, fat, golden carp. The pity of it, Titi, that the great ones of the land will take toll of this haul—tithe and fee; but there will be something left for you and for me—you understand?"

The cat snarled, as though it had followed every word, and De Mouchy went on, carrying out his terrible humour:

"Good! You cannot speak nor see but you can hear, and so listen! First—the Church first always, Titi—comes Odet de Coligny, Cardinal de Chatillon, Bishop of Beauvais—a traitor—a wolf who has stolen into the fold of Christ—with a hundred thousand livres a year of income!" He paused, and looked at the cat, with a snarl on his lips as evil as that on those of his familiar.

"Secondly, the High Nobility—Gaspard de Coligny, High Admiral of France, the tallest poppy in the garden of heresy, Titi.

"Thirdly, the Law—in the person of Maitre Anne du Bourg, an unjust judge; but you and I will change his judgment seat for a felon's dock, and give him a garment of red flames for his red robes of office."

The cat mewed as De Mouchy went on: "There are many more, my friend, and one in special, against whom we dare not move as yet, for he bears the lilies of France on his shield. But let us on to the sweets, for we have dined well, and need a toothsome morsel. If you could see, mon vieux, and had set eyes on her, I should have my doubts of you also, for she is as the fairy light that draws the unwary into the Pit of Death. Can you guess? No! Then I will tell you. What think you of the Demoiselle de Paradis? Yes! Hiss, hiss! Sus, sus! On to the heretics, mon brave!"

And as the cat rose on its tottering limbs, arched its back, and snarled, the man leaned back snarling also, for the blood madness was on him, and he was alone, and had let himself go utterly.

At this moment this strange scene was interrupted by a sharp, imperious knock at the door, and as De Mouchy, with a start, swung round his chair and rose to his feet the door was pushed open without further ceremony, and he saw before him the beautiful but pitiless face of Diane de Poitiers, and behind her stood Simon of Orrain.

As De Mouchy stepped forward to meet his visitors with a cringing air, the cat, less of a hypocrite than its master, retreated to the far end of the table, and began to hiss like a boiling kettle.

"I did not expect you yet, madame," began De Mouchy; but Diane de Poitiers broke in upon his speech:

"It does not matter; let us to business. But away with that hideous cat first!" And she pointed with her fan at Titi, who stood glaring at her with his sightless eyes.

"He is a good adviser, madame," grinned De Mouchy; but she stamped her foot.

"It looks like a devil. Away with it! else I shall ask Orrain to fling it through the window."

Simon smiled grimly, and stretched out a long, thin arm; but with a sullen look on his face De Mouchy lifted his pet in his arms, and, opening the door of the adjoining room, thrust it therein, shutting the door upon it. It was, indeed, a lucky change of plan I had made. Had I been behind that door discovery was certain.

The Duchess had seated herself in De Mouchy's chair, and coolly lifting up the tablets ran her eyes over them. Simon flung himself upon the coffer, his sword between his knees, and began gnawing at his long moustache, whilst De Mouchy stood between the two, his deep-set eyes shifting from one to the other.

Suddenly Diane's red lips curved into a smile.

"Eh bien, De Mouchy! But you are building fine castles in Spain here! See this, Orrain; he thinks to net Chatillon, the Admiral, and the First Prince of the Blood!" And she broke into merry laughter.

"And why not, madame?" scowled De Mouchy.

Diane de Poitiers checked her laugh. "For the simple reason that the house of Chatillon has become wise over D'Andelot's affair, and will not set foot in Paris. As for Vendome, he must be dealt with differently." And her dark eyes flashed ominously.

"Put the tablets aside for the present," Simon cut in, "and let us not argue. We each form an angle of a triangle, and the triangle will be nothing at all if one of the angles is taken away. Let us discuss measures; we will take the names after. How did my proposal go at the council to-day?"

"Approved," said De Mouchy. "And the Chambre Ardente can act whenever the said court thinks fit."

"That is, when you, as president, think fit?"

"Precisely, Monsieur le Vidame."

"This, however, is not enough," Simon went on. "Another little suggestion of mine, the suspension of the edicts, made, possibly, by madame's merciful intercession with the King, has borne good fruit, and Paris is full of heretics. But I presume that it is neither their bodies nor their souls that we desire." And he looked at his two companions.

De Mouchy preserved a scowling silence, but with a flush on her face the Duchess said:

"I do not follow you, monsieur. We are good Christians, and we work for Holy Church."

Simon leaned back, his knee between his clasped hands, and laughed a bitter, mocking laugh.

"Eternal Blue! For Holy Church! Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! Madame, those sweet lips of yours drop pearls of wisdom." And he rocked to and fro.

Deeper grew the crimson on the Duchess' cheek, and she opened and shut her fan with an angry snap. She tried to say something; but her words died away in a stammer, and her eyes drooped before Simon's cold and mocking look.

"Come," said he, the master-vampire, "let us leave this talk of Holy Church for the salons and the council. We three know what we want, and to get it we need a grant from the King, giving in equal shares all the properties and goods of condemned heretics in Paris, which by law are escheat to the Crown, to madame here, the crescent moon of France; to you, most righteous judge; and to me, Simon, Vidame d'Orrain. This done, we can begin to play."

"Excellent!" And De Mouchy rubbed his hands together. "I will light a fire on every square and on the parvis of every church in Paris, and the smell of the burning will be as incense to the holy saints."

Diane, however, remained silent, her face still flushed, and a rebellious light in her sullen eyes, which refused to meet Simon's look; and after a moment he went on:

"To obtain this, madame, we look to you. After last night I feel sure his Majesty can refuse you nothing."

His words stung her into speech. "It is absurd," she burst out, "equal shares! Monsieur, am I to be sucked dry by your exactions? Never! If I get the grant it will be for myself, and you and De Mouchy will be paid as heretofore. So much and no more; and if you like it not there are others who will do my bidding." She rose from her seat in magnificent anger, an evil, beautiful thing, and De Mouchy shrank from her look. Not so Simon. With an angry growl he reached forward and caught her wrist.

"Have you forgotten what there is between us?" he asked. She made no answer, and strove to free herself silently; but Simon's grip was firm, and there was a terrible meaning in his glance as he forced her back into her seat. "Have you forgotten?" he asked again, "or shall I call it from the house-tops to remind you? Fool! Do you not know there are a hundred as fair as you ready to supplant you? One whisper of the past, one whisper of the present—ay, the present—I have but to breathe De Ganache's name."

"Enough!" she gasped, and Simon loosed his hold, and she sat for a moment, her face buried in her hands.

"Come, Diane," and Simon changed his tone, "you have too many enemies at your gate to quarrel with old friends. We need you and you need us."

She put her hands down, her face now as white as marble, all the cruel lines of her features accentuated, and her eyes were those of a cowed tigress. Never will I forget the scene. In this wicked woman's heart there was not a regret, not a thought of the innocent blood she was planning to shed. It was defeated avarice, pride wounded to the quick, that struggled in her look, and made her, all beautiful as she was, for the moment hideous.

"Get her some wine," said Simon shortly to De Mouchy—"and get it yourself."

De Mouchy rose and left the room, and the two were alone together.

"Listen, Diane!" said Simon. "You stand on the edge of a precipice. It is said that the King has spoken of nothing this morning but the beauty of Mademoiselle de Paradis."

She gasped; and he went on:

"I see you understand. Well, unless you agree to my terms mademoiselle is secure from harm; and I think you will find Anet a dull retreat."

There was a little snapping sound, and she had broken her fan, and flung it from her on to the table. At this moment De Mouchy returned, bringing with him some wine and glasses. One he filled and handed to Diane, who drank it without a word, and then sat staring in front of her.

"I think," said Simon, "that madame now agrees to our proposal. Is it not so?'

"Yes," she said in a low voice, "I agree," but her eyes were kept down to hide their expression.

"That, then, is settled. And remember, madame, that we cannot take action until we have the King's grant in writing. De Mouchy here will see that it is properly registered in the Chambre—and remember it must be within a week, or——" And he bent forward and whispered something in her ear.

"It shall be as you desire, Monsieur le Vidame."

"In that case," said Simon, filling himself a glass, "I drink to the health of the Great Enterprise. To the unending radiance of the crescent moon, to your new estate of Chateaux Vieux de Mouchy, and to Simon, Duc d'Orrain!"

With this he drank, and set the glass back on the table with a little click.

There was a silence, and then Diane rose.

"There is nothing further to discuss, I think?" she said.

"No," replied Simon; "except that Dom Antoine here would like to register a certain grant within a week."

She made no answer; but, preceded by De Mouchy and followed by Simon, moved to the door, and all three left the room together. The stars had been with me, and two minutes later I stood beside La Marmotte.

"Well?" she asked.

"There is no time to talk. If we could but get back that rope it would remove all suspicion."

She hesitated, and then: "Perhaps with your sword."

"Excellent!" And, drawing my sword, which I had slung on once more, I leaned forth from the window, and found that the point easily reached the hook. It needed but a turn of the wrist to free the rope, which, a moment after, was drawn in safely.

"And now," I said, "let us be off. If you are wise you will never set foot here again."

She laughed sadly, and we went out together into the lonely Passage of Pity. It was growing dark now, and threading our way through the labyrinth of streets we reached the river face. Here La Marmotte stopped, and abruptly wished me farewell; but I stayed her, thanking her from my heart for her good deed, and ventured, with the utmost diffidence, to say that if she were in need of a friend she could count on me. She understood.

"Nay, monsieur," she said, "for me there is but one way, and that is to follow the light that has come to me. We will never meet again; and, perhaps, what I have done to-day may be some recompense for the past. Farewell!"

Thus we parted; and from that day I never saw or heard of her again. I may mention that when things changed with me I made every effort to discover her, but without avail; and, when, some time after, Torquato Trotto paid the penalty of his crimes, he asserted, even under the rack, that he knew nothing of her, and that she had fled from him. This I believe to be truth, and can only hope that the poor, storm-tossed life found a haven of refuge at last.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE MASQUERADE

That night it was my duty to take the guard outside the Queen's apartments. Circumstances had made it impossible for me to have speech with De Lorgnac, and Le Brusquet was nowhere to be seen, so that I was unable to inform them of what I knew.

Full of the discovery I had made, and with my thoughts running on the danger that threatened mademoiselle, I paced backward and forward before the door leading into the ante-room, my long shadow keeping me ghostly company. It was the night of the great masque given by the King in honour of his Diane's birthday—the masque in which she was to flaunt in the Crown diamonds—and, as may be imagined, there was not a soul to be seen in the gallery that curved before me into dim, mysterious gloom.

Now and again I thought I heard a laugh and the sound of subdued voices from within the ante-room; but, guessing that the mice were probably playing within, I paid no heed, and, being a little tired, seated myself on the coffer that lay in the shadow near the door, and stared moodily into the silence, absorbed in my own sombre reflections.

On a sudden I heard the patter of footsteps—hasty, rapid footsteps coming towards me along the gallery. I challenged, and got the password on the instant in Le Brusquet's voice, and in a half-minute the little man emerged from the gloom and stood beside me.

"I was ready to give my last pistole to see you," I began; but he put up his hand, saying in a low tone, as he pointed to the door:

"Hush! Is there anyone within?"

"Mice, I think," I answered softly.

"Perhaps a cat." And he dropped his voice to the lowest whisper. "Whoever they are I must empty that room ere we speak, for I have, I think, as much for you as you for me."

With this he knocked twice sharply at the door. After a moment it was opened, and putting the curtains aside Le Brusquet slipped into the room. In doing so, whether by accident or design, he left the door open and the curtains drawn back, so that from where I stood in the shadow outside I could see and hear all that passed within. There were only two persons there, and I smiled a little to myself at Le Brusquet's caution, for one was pretty Mademoiselle Davila, seated demurely on a tabouret, and the other was a fair-haired boy of sixteen or so, who stood with a red face and an uncomfortable air some distance away from her.

"Mice, as I thought," I chuckled to myself, whilst Le Brusquet, with a profound bow, said:

"Mademoiselle, I had thought to have found M. de Lorgnac in waiting here."

"Here! M. de Lorgnac!" replied the maid-of-honour, with a little laugh. "No; M. de Lorgnac never ventures here, unless compelled to."

"I suppose neither of you can tell me where he has gone? Can you, De Lorges?" And he turned to the page; but the boy only grew redder, and began to make a fumbling reply.

Mademoiselle Davila, however, cut in. "He has gone to the masque." And with a burst of confidence as she rose to her feet: "The Queen has gone too, monsieur."

"To the masque! The masque she said she would never attend!"

"Oh, the Queen is a woman, monsieur! And so she has gone, and gone masked, too, with Monsieur de Lorgnac in attendance—not a soul else—and I have been left here—ah!" And she stamped her little foot. "One cannot even hear the music. Oh! it is a grave, this place—a grave!"

"Faith! I know those who would think this little waiting-room a heaven."

"Who?" She was a good girl, but a coquette to her finger-tips, and the bait took.

Ere he answered Le Brusquet slipped his arm through that of the page, who seemed to be meditating flight.

"That, mademoiselle," he said slyly, "is a secret between De Lorges and myself."

Mademoiselle coloured very prettily, and half turning from her tormentor, said:

"I shall never speak to you again, monsieur—never."

"Mademoiselle, if you keep that vow I shall die in a week; but see, I will make amends. Why not slip on a hood and go to the masque? De Lorges will be proud to escort you."

She looked around her, half delighted, half frightened at the thought, and then, with a nervous laugh:

"I dare not risk it."

"Why not? Not a soul will know; and if there is any trouble say that Le Brusquet played an evil turn on you, and told you you were summoned by the Queen. I will not deny it; and it will still Madame de Montal's tongue. Come, De Lorges, persuade her."

"It would be a rare jest, mademoiselle!" And, trembling with eagerness, De Lorges made a step forward.

She stood wavering. There was another word of encouragement from Le Brusquet, and she took the plunge.

"A moment," she said, and vanished into the inner room.

"Eh bien, monsieur," and Le Brusquet turned towards De Lorges, "you have a great trust to-night; guard it carefully."

"Monsieur," replied the boy, "with my life," and he touched the hilt of his little sword. He was a gallant lad this son of Montgomery de Lorges.

Le Brusquet bowed to hide the twinkle in his eyes; and now Mademoiselle Davila reappeared, disguised in a red hood and mask.

"No one will guess." And Le Brusquet surveyed her with a critical air, whilst De Lorges, who longed to be off, burst out: "Come, mademoiselle! I shall steal a mask and hood from somewhere later on."

But a new obstacle had arisen. "I forgot," she said, "the guard at the door."

"Reassure yourself, mademoiselle. It is a friend—Orrain."

"The hero!" And she clapped her hands. "Come, De Lorges." And, with a little nod to Le Brusquet, she ran to the door, followed by the page. As the two came forth she stopped.

"Monsieur d'Orrain, you will not betray us?"

"Not I, mademoiselle."

"Then as a reward I tell you there is someone you would like to see reading Marot's verses in the Queen's cabinet."

Without waiting for an answer, she tripped off down the gallery, De Lorges by her side. There was a flash of the red hood, and the two were gone.

"Enfin!" And Le Brusquet sat himself down on the coffer. "We are rid of that chattering feather-brain; but, before everything, tell me when you will be relieved."

"Within the hour."

"That will do excellently. Now for your news. Mine can keep for ten minutes."

I told him what I had learned, and he listened without a word until the end, listened seated on the coffer, with his chin resting on his knees, his long nose drooping over his mouth, and his keen little eyes shining like beads.

"A good day's work," he said when I had finished; "never better. Two things are in my favour; one is that they have not got that grant yet; the other, that the three seem to be dissatisfied with their angles of the triangle. Each wants what the other has, like cats over their bowls of milk; and there is an old proverb, too, about thieves falling out, which you, no doubt, remember."

"I shall put the whole matter before the Queen, and beg her to place Mademoiselle de Paradis in safety until this is ended."

"There is much water to flow under the bridges before this will end; but it will be a good move. The Admiral too will know of the triangle in three days; and, if I mistake not, that means that the Peace of Vaucelles is waste-paper. It will stop the Spanish pensions, at any rate for a time, and hit our vampires hard." And he chuckled as he slipped down from the coffer on to his feet. "Mon ami," he went on in his strange way, "to-night and to-morrow I shall be stirring this porridge, and by noon to-morrow you will have certain news, and then we can act. And now for your task."

"My task?"

"Yes. I knew the Queen was at the masque; she has gone there to see Diane wearing her jewels. That she will never forgive; and there will be a bitter vengeance some day—mark my words! The Queen requires the attendance of Mademoiselle de Paradis. She knows of this. It was arranged before, and she is merely awaiting the summons in the cabinet yonder, and you are to take her to the masque."

"But I have neither mask nor hood!"

"That is arranged also, and I have them ready for you. I will take mademoiselle out now, and you will meet us after your relief on the battlements outside the Philippine. You know the spot where the stairway leads from the gallery?"

"Perfectly."

"Then au revoir!" With this he slipped back into the ante-room, and five minutes after came forth, accompanied by a masked and hooded figure that would have been unrecognisable except that I knew it was Mademoiselle de Paradis.

As they came out we heard, far away in the distance, the challenge of a sentry.

"It is the relief," I said. "Quick!"

They waved their hands to me and sped like sprites along the gallery; and I waited, wondering what more the night would bring forth.

In about ten minutes the relief came up; and M. de Tolendal, who was in charge, was so eager to get back to the masquerade that he made no inquiries, and got off as soon as possible, dismissing me at the same time. I let monsieur hurry back along the gallery, following at a slow pace behind him, until I came to the steps that led down to the battlements, and passing through the archway reached the place appointed by Le Brusquet. Here I found the two awaiting me in the shadow of the donjon, and Le Brusquet said: "Here is your hood and mask. I kept them here to save trouble in carrying them. Remember that mademoiselle is the double of the Queen and you of De Lorgnac. And now away with you; I have other fish to fry." With this he ran up the stairway, and entered the Philippine.

"Mademoiselle," I asked, "can you guess what this means?"

"No, monsieur. All that I know is that it is the Queen's command, and that we are to be there by midnight."

"It will be that soon, so come."

She put her arm in mine, and we hastened along the edge of the battlements. We could hear music now; and as we went on the strains grew louder and louder, and at last we stood on the parapet overlooking the Ladies' Terrace. Beneath us stretched the gardens of the palace, and thousands of lights glowed, in many-coloured radiance, from within the foliage of the trees wherein they were set; or, raised high in the air, burned in rainbow-hued arches and fantastic loops and curves.

Beneath these lights, in and out of the shrubberies, amongst the parterres, in the shadows and in the light, was an ever-moving crowd and the continuous hum of voices, and now and again merry ripples of laughter came to us as we watched from above. A little beyond, to the right, the facade of the audience hall was ablaze with light, and on the broad flight of steps leading to the main entrance were gay groups, the rich colouring of their dresses—orange, red, gold, and purple—making them appear in the distance like masses of gorgeous flowers.

We were soon in the crowd below, making our way towards the audience hall; but our progress was not rapid, for time after time a mask or a group of hooded revellers stopped us; but with light words and merry jests we put them aside, and descending the steps entered the great hall. Here the crowd was so great that we were barely able to move; but at last we reached a pillar, on the base of which I placed my charge, and, standing beside her, we looked here, there, and everywhere for the Queen and De Lorgnac.

"I do not see them," whispered mademoiselle.

"'Tis like searching for a needle in sand; but, if I mistake not, Madame de Poitiers will prove a magnet. Let us keep our eyes there."

With this I pointed before me towards the upper end of the hall, where a large empty space was reserved for dancing, though for the present the music had ceased, and the musicians were seated idle in the galleries above. Beyond this space was a dais, surmounted by a canopy of pale blue silk, spangled with the silver crescents of Diane de Poitiers. Behind the dais ran a huge buffet, many stages in height, rich with matchless plate, and in the centre was a sword, an enormous cross-hilted sword, said to be the Joyeuse of Charlemagne.

On each side of the dais stood the two hundred gentlemen of the King's house in violet and gold, the bright steel blades of the battle-axes they bore on their shoulders reflecting back the light in dazzling rays, and immediately in front stood the herald Montjoy with his trumpeters.

Although every soul in the crowd wore a mask and hood there were many on the dais who wore no disguise, and amongst these was the King. Henri was clad in white, with a white plume in his cap, in memory of the day years ago when, arrayed in white armour, he had ridden the lists at Fontainebleau in honour of Diane, and borne her arms to victory. Near him was Laval, the gallant Bois-Dauphin, who ran the King hard in that gentle day, and, but for the short splintering of a lance, might have been declared the victor. He too was clad in memory of the day, all in scarlet, with a phoenix for his crest—the arms of Claude de Foix. For the moment he was engaged in talk with a brilliant cavalier, the Bayard of his age, Francis, Marquis de Vieilleville.

But though here and there a great name, or a striking figure on the dais, might attract attention, almost all interest was centred on a woman, who stood with the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the King's arm. It was Diane de Poitiers herself. Tall, with black, curling hair and perfect features, with dark, melting eyes, she bore herself as a queen. The royal jewels of France sparkled on her head, at her throat, and on her arms, and glittered amidst the robes of black and white she wore. Her voice when she spoke was low and sweet, yet I had heard it as hard as steel, and I had seen those red lips curve wickedly, and those dark eyes had looked with sullen and pitiless indifference on scenes of hideous torture and death. There were two masks in front of us, arm-in-arm, watching the scene as intently as we were.

"That woman was born to be queen over men. Look at those eyes, Montaigne!"

The answer came in a dry, precise voice: "Eyes are the windows of the soul; but Quid tibi praecipiam molles vitare fenestras?—and you are courtier enough, De Brantome, to appreciate Fontanus' warning."

"I am courtier enough, my philosopher, to know that the crescent moon, for instance, is out of my reach, not like that orange mask there."

"I do not know to whom you refer."

"There, at the edge of the dais. 'Tis De Ganache, who, from the day he set foot in Court, has followed Diane about like a spaniel; and though I care not to gossip——"

Mademoiselle shivered, and half turned towards me; but the talk came to an abrupt ending, for the herald Montjoy made a sign, and the trumpeters, advancing each a step, sounded a flourish. It was the signal for the galliard. As the flourish ended the music broke forth, and in a moment the empty space before us was gay with moving colours, like a wind-stirred flower bed. Those on the dais seemed to melt away, and mademoiselle, leaning forwards, whispered: "Take me out of this! Anywhere but here!"

She took my arm again, and we edged our way back to the entrance. Here, however, we found the throng so great that it was impossible to pass, and seeing a little passage to our right I turned down it. Here, amidst some foliage, was a secluded seat, and seating her there I took my stand beside her, at a narrow window that opened out upon the Ladies' Terrace. The night was warm, and throwing back her hood and removing her mask mademoiselle leaned forward and looked out upon the fairy scene in the gardens. The music came to us in fitful strains of melody, and outside was a glittering enchantment.

"Have you changed your opinion of the Court, mademoiselle?" I asked.

"No!—a hundred times no! Monsieur, I would rather be the poorest peasant girl on my lands than Diane de Paradis."

I was about to reply when we heard a laugh and the sound of low voices near us. Where we sat it was almost dark; but there was a dim light in the passage, and through the foliage we saw two figures standing side by side not three feet from us. In the orange hood of one I recognised De Ganache, and the other—yes, that laugh and voice, once heard, were never to be forgotten.

De Ganache held her hand in his. He raised it to his lips, and covering it with kisses broke into mad, foolish words—the speech of a man who has cast aside all self-respect, all honour. Ere he had spoken ten words, however, mademoiselle had sprung from her seat and stepped out into the passage, I following on her heels. At sight of her De Ganache went back as if he had been struck; but with superb insolence the Duchess stood in her way.

"So," she said in hard tones, "this is the second time to-night!" And then, with a shameless laugh, she turned to De Ganache. "You are unfortunate, Monsieur le Vicomte; you see, I have a rival even here. I congratulate mademoiselle on the quickness with which she has learned the lessons of the Court." And with a mocking bow she took De Ganache by the arm and swept down the passage.

Mademoiselle was shivering from head to foot, and even by the uncertain light I could see her eyes were swimming with tears. For a moment all her courage, all her high spirit, seemed to have left her.

"Oh, what does this mean?" she moaned. "What does she mean by the second time? I——"

"She meant, mademoiselle, that she had met the Queen, who is masked as you are; but, Queen or no Queen," I went on grimly, "you have had enough of this, and I will take you back at once. There! Put on your mask, and draw your hood up—and come!"

I led her back towards the main entrance, which we managed to gain this time without much difficulty, and thence into the gardens. Mademoiselle spoke no word, nor did I intrude upon her thoughts. We crossed the Ladies' Terrace, the little groups of people scattered here and there being much too absorbed in their own business to take any note of us, and finally stood once more upon the battlements. Along these we hurried until we reached the stairway leading to the Philippine, and as we came up two figures stepped out of the shadow into our path. My charge shrank back with a little gasp of alarm, so sudden and unexpected was their appearance, and I half drew my poniard, but put it back again on the moment, for I recognised De Lorgnac and Le Brusquet.

"I thought we would meet you here," said the latter; "but your task ends now, Chevalier. De Lorgnac will now escort mademoiselle back."

"If I am permitted the honour," put in De Lorgnac.

"It seems that to-night I must play the marionette to your pulling, Le Brusquet," I laughed as I made way for De Lorgnac; and for once the little man made no reply, but addressing Diane said: "The Queen has already returned, and you will find the salon full, mademoiselle; but before you go give me that hood; it might tell tales. I will see it safely returned."

Diane removed the hood, and handed the soft silken folds to Le Brusquet.

"Messieurs," she said, her eyes shining brightly behind the mask she still wore, "it seems that you are hiding something from me. What is it?"

"You will know in a few minutes, mademoiselle," said De Lorgnac, "for the Queen herself will tell you."

She made no answer, but, gravely wishing us good-night, followed De Lorgnac up the stone steps, and, passing through the archway, the two were lost to our view. When they had gone I turned to Le Brusquet.

"I too am in the dark. What did De Lorgnac mean?"

"He meant that his Majesty, by some means or other, discovered that the Queen was at the masque and who remained behind in the cabinet. The result was that, an hour after you took mademoiselle away, the King, attended only by the Vidame d'Orrain—both wearing masks and hoods—visited the Queen's apartments, and——" He stopped and chuckled.

"And what?" I said.

"And found the Queen alone in her cabinet reading Ronsard."



CHAPTER XXIV

THE KING AND THE FAVOURITE

Where the gardens of the Louvre touch upon the river is a lonely and secluded walk. There upon the afternoon of the fourth day following the masquerade I found myself in the shadow of a high, ivy-covered wall, slowly pacing towards the round-tower that forms the western outwork of the palace. I had taken an opportunity the chance afforded to inform the Queen of the bargain struck between the favourite, Simon and De Mouchy, and she heard me in a downcast silence. She seemed for the time to be utterly overcome by the victorious progress of Diane. Finally she thanked me listlessly, and I withdrew, determined, however, if even at the cost of my life, to checkmate the plotters.

Whilst tossing the matter over in my mind the sudden rustling of leaves and a croaking sound arrested my attention. Glancing up I saw a small brown ape clinging to the ivy at the top of the wall and mowing at a couple of peacocks preening themselves on the level turf beneath him. Half amused, despite my sombre thoughts, I stopped and watched, until at last, after a stare at their tormentor, the great birds stalked away like offended beauties.

"Pompon!" I called out.

In answer, the little ape turned his ribald wit upon me; but now a head appeared above the parapet, a hand seized Pompon and drew him back, and Le Brusquet's voice hailed me, bidding me come up to him. This I did with the aid of a friendly tree, and found him on the top of the wall, stretched out like a lizard in the sun. As I reached his side he rose to a sitting posture, and made room for me beside him.

"I have got the 'can't-help-its,'" he said, "and came here to let them work off. I have much to say to you."

"You have news, then?"

"Yes; and grave news. Listen! This morning, as usual, I attended the petit couvert, and found myself alone in the breakfast-room, where covers were laid for two. The soup was warming at a little stove, for the King takes this, the first meal of the day, without attendance. I said I was alone; but that is not exactly the case, as Pompon was, of course, with me, and the ape had one of his evil fits. He hopped in front of me, mopping and mowing, and I cannot tell why—perhaps it was because some of Crequy's red Joue—I supped with him over-night—was still ringing a chime in my head, but a sudden feeling of irritation came upon me at his antics. I seized the little beast by the scruff of his neck and dropped him out of the window on to the balcony beneath, where he remained, content enough with a plum that I took the liberty of lifting from the table and flinging after him. Then, leaning out of the window, I watched the morning, wondering to myself what new jest I could devise for the King's amusement. But I was in a morose humour, and could think of nothing. All at once I heard the hissing rustle of silken robes. I turned, and faced Madame Diane. I tell you, Orrain, never was woman born so beautiful. The rose of the morning was on her cheeks. Her eyes—they are blue-black, not black—met mine, with a laugh in them, as she said:

"'Well, Le Brusquet, have you lost your ape, or has some jest failed you?—you look so sad."

"'Neither, madame,' I answered; 'but I have lost my heart.'

"'Tell me,' she said, 'who is it? Is it La Beauce?—or, perhaps, Madame de Montal?'

"'Neither, madame; it has strayed much higher.'

"She laughed at my speech, and was about to reply, but stopped, for at that moment the curtain lifted, and the King entered the room. He seemed in the best of spirits; nothing affects him for long.

"'Bon jour, Le Brusquet!' He gave me his hand to kiss. 'What news have you brought me this morning?'

"'A bagful, sire, for I supped with Crequy over-night.'

"'Then you shall open the bag whilst I breakfast, for I am famished.' And, slipping his arm through Diane's he led her to the table. I settled myself on a stool near the window, whilst Diane gave his soup to the King, contenting herself with some fruit, which she picked at like a bird. Through the heavy curtains and the closed door we could hear the hum of voices from the anterooms coming to us like the distant murmurs of the sea. For some little time the King ate in silence, whilst Diane and I exchanged a few laughing words. Finally he finished his last sippet of bread steeped in soup, pushed aside his plate, helped himself to a plum, and looked around him.

"'How!' he exclaimed. 'No roses in the room this morning!'

"'You are in error, sire,' I said. 'I have never seen finer roses than I do now.'

"'Where?' he asked, looking around.

"But I only looked at La Valentinois, and this time she was red enough. She can blush at will, I believe. Strange that behind so fair a face lies so twisted a soul! And as the King followed my glance the blush on her cheek became deeper and deeper.

"'Ma petite,' and he pinched her ear, 'I find I have a rival. I shall have to send him to the Chatelet.' Whereat every one laughed, and Pompon, hearing the sounds, hopped in through the window, and helped himself to another plum.

"'Ah, bandit!' And the King flung a sippet of toast after him as he added: 'I am hedged in with robbers.'

"'That is true, sire,' I said gravely.

"'You heard that at Crequy's last night.' And there was a sharp note in Diane's voice.

"'Oh yes; and much worse.'

"'Come, tell us!' said the King.

"'Sire, you will remember that Monsieur Joue and Monsieur d'Arbois are inveterate gossips.'

"'I will not forget. Well, what did these gentlemen say?'

"'Amongst other things, that your Majesty would totally cancel the edicts you have suspended, and freely pardon all the Christaudins.'

"I had risked my shot, and now awaited the result. It had hit its mark, I knew, for the King began to hum and haw, and Diane gave me a look from those blue-black eyes of hers. It is wonderful how their expression can change. They seemed to grow small, with a hard, pitiless look in them, and little cobwebs of wrinkles gathered near her temples.

"'It would be madness!—folly!' And her foot kept tapping the carpet.

"'Caraffa and Lorraine are right; it would be a sin.' And the King crossed himself. 'No, no! I will purge the land of its heresy. You have proved their disloyalty to me, Diane. Scarce three weeks have passed since the edicts were suspended, and see what head these Huguenots make! But I will let them see that I am King!'

"And Diane bent forward and kissed his cheek.

"As for me, I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, and so, for the present, went warily, and kept silence. And then La Valentinois knelt by the side of the King, holding his hand in hers, and looking into his eyes.

"'Sire,' she said, 'I have a boon to ask.'

"'Ask, then.' And Henri pushed aside the curls from her forehead.

"'It is that you reward the faithful whilst you punish the guilty.'

"'Let it be as you wish, ma petite.'

"'Then sign this, sire.' And, rising to her feet, she took a paper from her dress and held it before the King, standing beside him, with one white arm round his neck.

"Henri read, and his face fell a little. 'So,' he said, 'you want the goods of all heretics condemned in Paris granted to our most faithful subjects—Diane, Duchess de Valentinois; Simon, Vidame d'Orrain; and Antoine, Sire de Mouchy, Inquisitor of Faith! Madame, this is a matter for the council.' And, in his weak way, the King tried to put off the matter.

"Diane removed her arm from his neck. 'As you please, sire,' she said coldly; and then: 'But remember the Chatillons are making head in the north, and tomorrow they may break the peace with Spain. Remember how full Paris is of these traitors to their King and Holy Church! Never mind my request; but, sire,' and her voice sank to the tenderest note, 'think of those who love you and fear for you—and—let the council to-day be firm.'

"'Oh, it will be that. I will see to that.'

"'Thank Heaven! And now, my King, my King! for the last time!' And she knelt and kissed his hand, and there were tears—tears, Orrain!—in her eyes.

"Henri was much moved. 'What does this mean, Diane?' And he raised her gently to her feet.

"'It means, sire'—her eyes refused to meet his, and her voice shook—'that the time has come for me to go. To-morrow I leave Paris; but, wherever I go, my sorrow will be with me, and my memory of——' And once more she kissed his hand.

"'Diane!'

"She made no answer except to sob, and he put his arm round her, and tried to comfort her, but she gently withdrew herself.

"'Sire, let me go! I had forgotten that with a woman love lasts for ever, but beauty fades. I have to-day learned my lesson.' And, sitting herself down, she buried her face in her hands.

"Henri looked helplessly around, and then, rising hurriedly, paced the room. Once he came up to me, where I stood near the window, and stared at me, or rather stared across me, as though he did not see me. He was yielding, I knew, and another sob from Diane broke him.

"He took up the paper, and it rustled in his trembling hand. One more glance at the bowed figure beside him, and he called out:

"'Le Brusquet, give me a pen.'

"I made no answer, but stood as if I had not heard. I swear to you, Orrain, that I would rather have let my right hand wither than do his bidding. Twice he repeated his order; but I stood like a stone. Diane made no movement. His face flushed, and with a sudden effort he walked towards a cabinet, and the next moment the accursed paper was signed. He brought it back with him, and stood humbly beside Diane, but she did not appear to see. At last he took her hands from her face and placed the deed within them.

"'There, little one! Speak no more of broken hearts.' And he kissed her. She rose, and let her head fall on his shoulder, standing there with closed eyes, but with fingers that held the paper with a clutch like the talons of a hawk. After a little she drew back; there was a lovely smile on her lips, and the blue-black eyes were sparkling.

"'Sire,' she said, 'I thank you.' Then, with a glance behind her at the curtains that covered the door leading to the ante-rooms: 'It grows late, and messieurs there are waiting.' So saying, she bowed low to the King, and ran from the room into the inner apartments, carrying her paper with her.

"The King stood gazing after her, and I stood leaning out of the open window. After a little he came up behind me, and with studied unconcern in his voice said:

"'An obol for your thoughts, King of Folly.'

"'I was but watching those birds, sire.' And I pointed at a shoal of swallows that darted hither and thither in the sunlight snapping up the flies.

"'Ah! The swallows! What of them?'

"'They are lovely birds, sire; but, you see, they spare nothing.' And even as I spoke there was the flash of a bronze-green wing, and a wretched moth that was fluttering in the air was borne away.

"The King took my meaning, and laughed uneasily.

"'You mean I have done wrong.'

"'The Duchess is a lovely woman, sire.' And I saw him flush with shame and anger—the anger of a weak man. He controlled himself with an effort, however, and said coldly:

"'Monsieur de Besme, have the goodness to strike that gong.'

"I did so, and in a moment the doors were flung open, showing the glittering throng without. The King kept his back turned towards me, and, taking the hint, I picked up the ape and withdrew. So, you see, my news is of the gravest, and Diane has won the rubber."

"You think so?"

"It is all over. The council to-day will revoke the suspension of the edicts, and once more the hell-fires will be lit on the parvis of every church in Paris. I am off to grow pears at Besme. My office is for sale; but I will give it to you, with my cap and bells and baton, as a free gift if within two days you do not place a certain fair lady on a pillion behind you and ride for the Swiss cantons."

For a little there was a silence, and then I rose to my feet.

"I am going," I said. "What has to be done must be done quickly."

He nodded assent. "I shall come with you part of the way," he said, and called to his ape.

With this we descended from the wall, and walked back together to the Ladies' Terrace.

The gardens were full, for the perfect day had tempted all within the palace who could do so to come forth. Scattered here and there in the walks, or resting on the seats, were knots of people, the bright colours of their dresses all the brighter in the mellow sunshine. As we were passing the fountain called the Three Graces we were stopped by a little man with a round face and bulging eyes. He was quite young, not more than four or five and twenty, but, young as he was, Monsieur de Brantome had already acquired the reputation of being an inveterate gossip, and was feared more than the plague. I had but a passing acquaintance, two days' old, with him, but he seized Le Brusquet.

"Eh bien, Le Brusquet! I hear that you were with the King and madame early this morning, and that high words passed. Is it true that you leave the Court?"

"I promise to leave it, monsieur, if you will but take my office."

"Your office!" said Brantome in surprise.

"Yes; I have always felt myself unworthy of it since I had the honour to meet you."

"Not at all, my friend," grinned Brantome; "you do yourself injustice. The man who quarrels with madame has unequalled claims. You have no rival. Au revoir!"

And, chuckling to himself, the little abbe went on, leaving Le Brusquet biting his lip. Brantome stopped the next person he met to tell him of the passage-at-arms, and turning the walk we found ourselves in front of the Ladies' Terrace.

Somewhat apart from the gay groups that crowded together in the centre of the Terrace was a solitary figure standing near the pedestal of a bronze satyr, cast for the late King by Messer Benvenuto the Florentine. It was mademoiselle herself, and with a word to Le Brusquet I left him and walked straight up to her.

"I was wondering to myself if I should see you here," she said as she greeted me.

"And I came specially to see you, so that Fate has been kind for once."

She smiled, and was about to make some answer, when there was a burst of laughter and the sound of many voices, and turning we saw Diane de Poitiers on the stairway leading down to the Terrace, surrounded, as usual, by a heedless and ever-laughing crowd. She stood for a moment, her Court around her, whilst the people on the other parts of the Terrace broke up their talk and came towards us. Then La Valentinois, who was robed in crimson, began to descend the marble steps slowly, and as she reached the Terrace all those assembled there bowed to her as though she were the Queen. All except myself and mademoiselle, who stood plucking at the ivy leaves on the pedestal of the statue beside her, apparently unconscious of La Valentinois' presence. Whether the Duchess noticed me or not I do not know, but I saw her eyes fixed on mademoiselle, and she stopped full, about two paces from her. Mademoiselle, however, maintained her attitude of total unconcern; but after a moment she looked up and the glances of the two crossed each other. Mademoiselle stared past the favourite as though she did not see her, and Diane's face became like ivory, and her dark eyes frosted with an icy hate—a hate cold and pitiless as everlasting snow. All eyes were fixed on them now, and there was a dead silence as the two—the woman and the girl—faced each other. But it was mademoiselle who was winning. Far away as her look was there was that in it that brought the colour back to Diane's cheeks, to make it go again. Her bosom rose and fell, she played nervously with her fan, and at last she spoke, with a voice that shook in spite of her efforts to restrain it:

"I hear, mademoiselle, that you do not find the Court to your liking." And the reply was a simple bow.

The Duchess was all red and white now. The insult was open and patent; but worse was to follow, for she made a mistake, and went on, with a sneer:

"It is a pity they do not care more for the education of girls in Poitou; but I think you are right, mademoiselle. The Court is not suited to you. You should take the veil and the black robe."

"I should prefer the black robe to a crimson one, madame. The latter reminds one too much, amongst other things, of the blood of the martyrs."

It was a crushing retort, and one to which there was no answer, for the affair of the tailor of St. Antoine's was fresh in all minds. Something like a murmur went up from those around. The Duchess gave a little gasp; but, preserving her composure with an effort, turned and walked away, her head in the air, but wounded to the quick. The crowd followed her, but one figure remained—a man with a white, drawn face and dark circles under his eyes. Thrice he made a movement as if to step up to us and say something, but each time his courage failed him; and then, turning, he too hastily followed the others. And from my soul I pitied De Ganache.



CHAPTER XXV

THE PACKET OF LETTERS

We were left alone together, the bronze satyr leering down upon us as if in mockery. La Valentinois stood at the other end of the Terrace surrounded by her Court, and ever and again there were whisperings amongst them, and strange glances bent towards us. We might have been plague-stricken, in such manner did all shrink from us.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have been too rash. Look!" And I glanced at the group around Diane de Poitiers. She followed my eyes, and a little smile played upon her lips.

"I care not, nor do I fear her."

"But, mademoiselle, there are others who fear for you, and that has happened which you must hear. Not here! Come away from this, where we will be secure from prying eyes."

For a little she seemed to hesitate, and then: "Very well, monsieur; the air will, perhaps, be purer away from here."

So, side by side, we went down the steps together, and I felt, rather than heard or saw, the mutterings and the glances that followed us.

On the other side of the lawn, facing the Ladies' Terrace and leading towards the riding-school, is a walk hedged in with high shrubbery on either hand. We followed this about half way up its length, and then passing through a narrow wicket found ourselves in a part of the gardens to which few, if any, of the Court ever went. Here, amidst a bewildering maze of rose bushes running almost wild, stood an old oak. There was a little clearing at its base, around which a rough seat was placed; and here, sitting by her side, I told mademoiselle what I knew, and of the crisis that had arrived.

Invisible ourselves, we could from where we were see the Gallery of Apollo and the council hall; and as I ended a figure appeared at one of the windows and waved a 'kerchief in the direction of the Ladies' Terrace. It was the King.

"See!" and I pointed to the window, "there is the King, and you can guess to whom he signals. Whilst we talk here the council is over, and the peril is at hand."

She did not flinch nor change colour, for she was brave, but she rose and looked steadily at the council room, where we could now see other figures moving in the shadow behind the King. Then she turned to me. I had risen too, and was standing beside her.

"Do you think they will begin at once?" she asked.

"I cannot say. They will undoubtedly begin as soon as they can."

"It is horrible! Can nothing be done? Oh! why am I so helpless? Why was I not born a man?"

"Mademoiselle, the game is not lost yet. There is still safety before you. I have told the Queen, and she knows of this plot, but is powerless to stay the course of these vampires. She can and will, I know, help you to fly. Leave this place, to-night if possible, and I will see you to the Palatinate, or the Swiss cantons. They cannot touch you there. Mademoiselle, you trusted me once before, trust me again; I will not fail you."

Without a word she held out her hand, and I took it in mine. So we stood for a little, neither speaking, and then she said:

"But I know not how to leave this place; it has a thousand eyes, a thousand ears——"

"We must blind those eyes and make those ears deaf. This evening at dusk come to this spot. I will arrange that either Le Brusquet or De Lorgnac will meet you here and take you to the gate behind the riding-school. I shall be in waiting there with horses, and we will be free of the gates before even they know we are gone. We have more than four hours yet before it grows dark. Think of it! Four hours to prepare! We will beat them."

I spoke cheerily, though I well knew that all was hanging by a hair. My words had their effect, and I saw the light of hope in her eyes; but all at once she shrank from me and, covering her face with her hands, sank back upon the seat.

I confess that I knew not what to do, or which way to turn, for if mademoiselle's courage failed now it was fatal.

"Come," I said, "be brave. In a few hours you will be safe." And I placed my hand on her shoulder. At my touch she collected herself, and rose once again, her face pale, her eyes wet.

"Monsieur," she said, "I cannot take your offer. It is impossible."

"But why?" And I looked at her in blank astonishment.

"Listen!" And she spoke in low but quick accents. "Were I to avail myself of this chance I know I should be safe, for the bravest heart in France would be protecting me. But, monsieur, I should be saving myself and leaving the others—my people, those of my own faith—to die. I am a woman, and a woman may be forgiven weakness in this—for death, and such a death, is horrible—but could I forgive myself? I who knew, and fled, and left my people to die! Do you know who all are in Paris? There are scores of them. There is kind old De Mouy, there is Rochambeau, there is D'Albain, there are fifty more. Are they to die? Besides these there are the poorer brethren, rich in nothing but their faith. Are they to die? Can I leave them, without a word of warning, to the torture, to the rack, to the slow death of the estrapade?"

She stopped, her eyes all alight, her breath coming fast; but I made no answer, and stood before her in silence.

"You have nothing to say," she went on—"nothing! Orrain, were you in my place what would you do?"

"I am a man."

"And is honour less dear to a woman than to a man?"

I knew she was brave, but never before had I realised how brave and strong; and, yielding to an impulse I could not resist, I bent down and touched her hand with my lips.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have taught me what is right. You cannot go thus. Your friends must be warned."

"I knew you would say that," she burst in; "I knew that nothing else would come from you. Yes; they must be warned! A word here and there would be enough if there were time; but there is not, and there is only one way left."

"And that is?"

"I will tell you. Close to the Sorbonne, in a little street called the Rue des Mathurins, which leads into the Rue St. Jacques, is a house where my people meet to pray, and to-night all, if not, most of them, will be there. This much I know. But where the house is exactly I do not know, for I have never been to it. If we could get there we would be in time to warn them."

"From whom did you hear this? It is necessary for me to know."

"From Montgomery de Lorges."

"The captain of the Archer Guard?"

"Yes; he is of us, and always has been."

"Then, mademoiselle, there is light in the black sky. I will warn your friends; more we cannot do. And, since there are so many, I feel confident that the plotters will not strike for a day or so. Our warning will give those who can time to escape, and you and I will have done all that can be done. In the meantime our original plan must be carried out; but it is to a friend that I must trust you for a few hours until I have given the warning and can join you——"

She stayed me with a gesture of her hands.

"Monsieur, why should I not go with you?"

For a moment I hesitated, and then it flashed upon me that it was the best possible thing. After giving the warning there was nothing to prevent our escaping at once.

"Very well, mademoiselle. Then meet me here at dusk. And now perhaps it is time to go back."

We did not return as we came, but making for the Lime Walk, went along it slowly, talking and planning many things. In the shade, on a seat under one of the lime-trees, was a merry party of five or six people, and as we came opposite them young De Lorges the page, who was of their number, called out to us to join them; but, pointing at the Louvre, I shook my head, and as we passed on I heard Mademoiselle Davila's voice singing:

"J'aime mieux m'amie O gai! J'aime mieux m'aime O gai!"

and a girlish voice, I know not whose it was, broke into a merry peal of laughter. In spite of what was in my mind I could not help glancing at my companion; but she was walking by my side as though she had not seen or heard, and, perhaps, this was the case.

At the Ladies' Terrace we parted, and I hastened at once to seek Le Brusquet. As luck would have it, I met both him and De Lorgnac face to face as I was crossing the inner courtyard, and drawing them aside explained matters to them in a few brief words. My chagrin may be imagined when I heard that Montgomery de Lorges, from whom I hoped to get further particulars of the house in the Mathurins, had left the Louvre that afternoon for Fontainebleau to help in the arrangements for a hunt there for the King. But Le Brusquet put heart into me.

"Eh bien," said he, "you cannot miss finding the house, as the Mathurins is not a bowshot in length; but, in any case, whilst you go and prepare for your departure I will try and find the secret of the house out, and warn some who, I know, are of the new faith. To think of a preche in the very shadow of the Sorbonne!" And he laughed to himself.

"Le Brusquet is right," said De Lorgnac. "I too have some friends whom I must warn. Have no fear that Mademoiselle de Paradis will have any difficulty in keeping her tryst; I will see to that. Go now at once to the Rue Tire Boudin and make you ready; we will stand by you to the end."

I thanked these brave friends, and was about to turn away, when Le Brusquet called out:

"Stay! I have one thing to ask you, Orrain."

"And that is?"

"You have still with you, I hope, a certain ring?"

"Vendome's ring, or rather the ring of the King of Navarre, as we must call him now. Yes; it is beneath this glove." And I held out my left hand.

"May I see it for a moment?"

"Certainly!" And removing the glove I slipped off the ring and handed it to him. He looked at it curiously, and said:

"I think its time has come."

"Is there anything you are holding back from me?"

"No; but I have a warning in my heart that you will need it. I am superstitious enough never to neglect such a warning. Lend it to me for to-day."

"With pleasure! But is the ring of any avail? Vendome has forgotten me. He hardly ever returns my salute when we meet——"

"The King of Navarre will at any rate pay this debt of the Duc de Vendome—I swear it," said Le Brusquet solemnly as he slipped the ring on to his finger, and with that I left them.

On arrival at the Rue Tire Boudin I summoned Pierrebon, and informing him of the state of affairs told him to have all in readiness for our departure that night. This being over, and finding that I had still over two hours before me, I retraced my steps to the Louvre. I went to the tennis courts, where the King was playing a match against Monsieur d'Aumale, and mingling amongst the onlookers sought to pick up as much information as I could glean about the proceedings of the council held that day. M. de Tolendal, who had been on guard in the council room, said that there were only four there, and that amongst the four were De Mouchy and Caraffa the Legate.

"It is not war they talked about, I am sure," he went on, "as neither the Constable nor Vieilleville was present. I dare swear it was all about those cursed Huguenots; but we will hear soon—ha! good stroke!" And he turned from me towards the game.

Seeing that there was nothing to be picked up here I took myself off, and after a little found myself upon the Ladies' Terrace. The afternoon was hot, and the Terrace was deserted, but in the shade of the hedgerow on the opposite side of the lawn a solitary figure was seated looking over a small packet of letters. I looked, and saw it was De Ganache himself. He had changed much from the day we first met. His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him, and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet. So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight up to him.

"Monsieur, a word with you."

He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he passed his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an effort, he turned from me. But I called out:

"M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn——"

He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt of his poniard.

"Begone!" he said, "begone! else I may slay you where you stand! I——" And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a boar at bay.

"Monsieur," I said calmly, "fifty windows look down upon us, and there may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your fastest horse and leave Paris at once."

"In what tavern have you heard this?" he sneered.

"Monsieur," I answered gravely, "this is no jest. If you care not to take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you have had yours."

What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp voice cut in upon us.

"Eh bien, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder."

There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out, his ape perched upon his shoulder.

"Behold!" he said, "the crescent moon is already out." And he pointed to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood watching us.

"It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals," Le Brusquet went on. "Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves me no better than my ape."

With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the lawn, leaving us staring after him.

"He had his warning," said Le Brusquet. "I heard every word, and thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is mad! But what is this?" And stepping towards the seat he picked up the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.

"They belong to De Ganache," I said; "he was reading them as I came up."

"In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands." And Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and laughing loudly, until we had passed out of sight of the windows. Then he stopped.

"Do not forget this," he said: "the fifth house on the right-hand side of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques."