CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM THE BOOKS OF 
 
 GEORGE MORGAN WELCH '03 
 
 COLONEL 
 
 Judge Advocate General's Department 
 Army of the United States 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5782.C8 1901 
 
 Count Hannibal, a romance of the court o 
 
 3 1924 013 569 458 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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COUNT HANNIBAL 
 
By STANLEY J. WEYMAN 
 
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 New York : Longmans, Green, and Co. 
 
IN A PAROXYSM OF SHaME HE SHOOK HIS FIST, . . 
 
 Page Si 
 
COUNT HANNIBAL 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 OF THE COURT OP FRANCE 
 
 STANLEY jfyEYMAN 
 
 ADTHOK OF " BOPHli," "THE OASTLB INK," "A OBNTLEMAN OF FBANOK,' 
 " nNDEB THE BED ROBE," ETC. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YOEK 
 1901 
 
COPTKIGHT, igqO AND 1901, by 
 
 STANLEY J. WEYMAN 
 
 COPTEIGHT, 1901, by 
 STANLEY J. WEYMAN 
 
 All righU reserve * 
 
 Hist Edition, November, 1901 
 Reprinted, December, 1901 
 
SORORI 
 
 SuA CAUSSX CARAE 
 
 PIO ERGA MATREM AMORE 
 
 ETIAM CARIORI 
 
 HOC FRATER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Crimson Favoues ... ... ... ... 1 
 
 II. HanNIBAI, DE SaULX, CoMTE DB TAVAliTNBS 14 
 
 III. The House next the Golden Maid ... 38 
 
 IV. The Eve op the Feast ... ... 36 
 
 V. A Rough Wooin& ... ... ... ... 47 
 
 VI. " Who touches Tavannes ? " ... ... 58 
 
 VII. In the Amphitheatre ... ... ... 6» 
 
 VIII. Two Hens and an Egg ... ... 81 
 
 IX. Unstable ... ... ... ... ... 93 
 
 X. Madame St. Lo ... ... ... 101 
 
 XI. A Bargain ... ... ... ... 113 
 
 XII. In the Hall of the Louvee ... ... 134 
 
 Xm. Diplomacy ... ... ... ... 138 
 
 XIV. Too Short a Spoon ... ... ... 153 
 
 XV. The Bkothbb of St. Magloirb ... ... 163 
 
 XVI. At Close Quarters ... ... ... 173 
 
 XVII. The Duel 180 
 
 XVIII. Andromeda, Perseus being absent ... 194 
 
 XIX. In the Orleannais ... ... ... 305 
 
 XX. On the Castle Hill ... ... ... 316 
 
 XXI. She would and would not ... ... 236 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXII. Playing with Fire ... ... ... 286 
 
 XXIII. A Mind aj<H) not a Mind ... ... 347 
 
 XXIV. At the King's Inn 259 
 
 XXV. The Company of the Bleeding Heart 271 
 
 XXVI. Temper 280 
 
 XXVII. The Black Town 288 
 
 XXVIII. In the Little Chapter House ... 304 
 
 XXIX. The Escape 315 
 
 XXX. Sacrilege! ... ... ... ... 330 
 
 XXXI. The Flight prom Angers ... ... ... 338 
 
 XXXII. Ordeal by Steel ... ... ... 350 
 
 XXXIII. The Ambush 857 
 
 XXXIV. "Which WILL YOU, Madame?" 372 
 
 XXXV. Against the Wall ... ... ... 384 
 
 XXXVI. His Kingdom 396 
 
COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 CRIMSON EAVOUES. 
 
 M. DE Tavannes smiled. Mademoiselle averted her 
 eyes, and shivered ; as if the air, even of that close 
 summer night, entering by the door at her elbow, 
 chilled her. And then came a welcome interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 "Tavannes!" 
 
 "Sire!" 
 
 Cotiilt Hannibal rose slowly. The King had called; 
 and he had no choice but to obey and go. Yet he 
 hung a last moment over his companion, his hateful 
 breath stirring her hair. " Our pleasure is cut short 
 too soon, Madteinoiselle, " he said, in the tone and 
 with the look she loathed. "But for a few hours 
 only. We shall meet to-morrow. Or, it may be — 
 earlier." 
 
 She did not answer, and "Tavannes!" the King 
 repeElted with Violence. "Tavannes! Mordieu!"his 
 Majesty Continued, lobkilig round furiously. "Will 
 no one fetch himl Sacre hom, am I King, or a dog 
 bf ar^ — -" 
 
 "I come, Sirfe!" Count Hannibal cried in haste. 
 1 
 
2 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 For Charles, King of France, Ninth of the name, was 
 none of the most patient ; and scarce another in the 
 Court would have ventured to keep him waiting so 
 long. " I come, sire ; I come ! " Tavannes repeated, 
 as he moved from her side. 
 
 He shouldered his way through the circle of cour- 
 tiers, who barred the road to the presence, and in 
 part hid Mademoiselle from observation. He pushed 
 past the table at which Charles and the Comte de 
 Eochefoucauld had been playing primero, and at 
 which the latter still sat, trifling idly with the cards. 
 Three more paces, and he reached the King, who 
 stood in the ruelle with Eambouillet and the Italian 
 Marshal. It was the latter who, a moment before, 
 had summoned his Majesty from his game. 
 
 Mademoiselle, watching him go, saw so much ; so 
 much, and the King's roving eyes and haggard face, 
 and the four figures, posed apart in the fuller light of 
 the upper half of the Chamber. Then the circle of 
 courtiers came together before her, and she sat back 
 on her stool. A fluttering, long-drawn sigh escaped 
 her. Now, if she could slip out and make her escape ! 
 Now — she looked round. She was not far from the 
 door ; to withdraw seemed easy. But a staring, whis- 
 pering knot of gentlemen and pages blocked the way ; 
 and the girl, ignorant of the etiquette of the Court 
 and with no more than a week's experience of Paris, 
 had not the courage to rise and pass alone through 
 the group. 
 
 She had come to the Louvre this Saturday evening 
 under the wing of Madame d'Yverne, her flanci's 
 cousin. By ill hap Madame had been summoned to 
 the Princess Dowager's closet, and perforce had left 
 her. Still, Mademoiselle had her betrothed, and in 
 
CEIMSON FAVOUES. 3 
 
 his charge had sat herself down to wait, nothing loth, 
 in the great gallery, where all was bustle and gaiety 
 and entertainment. For this, the seventh day of the 
 f^tes, held to celebrate the marriage of the King of 
 Navarre and Charles's sister — a marriage which was 
 to reconcile the two factions of the Huguenots and the 
 Catholics, so long at war — saw the Louvre as gay, as 
 fuU, and as lively as the first of the f 6te days had 
 found it ; and in the humours of the throng, in the 
 ceaseless passage of masks and maids of honour, 
 guards and bishops, Swiss in the black, white and 
 green of Anjou, and Huguenot nobles in more som- 
 bre habits, the country -bred girl had found recreation 
 and to spare. Until gradually the evening had worn 
 away and she had begun to feel nervous ; and M. de 
 Tignonville, her betrothed, placing her in the embra- 
 sure of a window, had gone to seek Madame. 
 
 She had waited for a time without much misgiving ; 
 expecting each moment to see him return. He would 
 be back before she could count a hundred ; he would 
 be back before she could number the leagues that 
 separated her from her beloved province, and the 
 home by the Biscay Sea, to which even in that bril- 
 liant scene her thoughts turned fondly. But the min- 
 utes had passed, and passed, and he had not returned. 
 Worse, in his place Tavannes — ^not the Marshal, but 
 his brother Count Hannibal — had found her; he, 
 whose odious court, at once a menace and an insult, 
 had subtly enveloped her for a week past. He had 
 sat down beside her, he had taken possession of her, 
 and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on her 
 fears and smiled at her dislike. Finally, whether she 
 would or no, he had swept her with him into the 
 Chamber. The rest had been an obsession, a night- 
 
4 COtWT HAlOriBAL. 
 
 mare, from vMch only thfe King's voibe summoning 
 Tavannes to Ms side had relieved her. 
 
 Her aim now was to escapfe before he returned, 
 and before another, seeing her Alone, adopted his rSle 
 and was rude to her. Already the courtiers about 
 her were beginning to stare, the pages tb turn and 
 titter and whispier. Direct her gaze as she might, 
 she met some eye watching her, some couple enjoying 
 her confusioh. To make matters worse, she presently 
 discovered that she was the only woman in the Cham- 
 ber; and she coiiceived the notion that she had no 
 right to be there at that hour. At the thought her 
 cheeks burned, her eyes dropped ; the room seemed 
 to buzz with her namej with gross words and jestsy 
 and gibes at her expeiise. 
 
 At last, when the situation had grown nearly un- 
 bearable, the group before the door parted, and Tig- 
 nonville appeared. The girl rose With a cry of relief, 
 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 as conscious of the attention 
 they attracted as she Was, AaA as uncertain on the 
 point of her right to be there. "I left you in the gal- 
 lery. I came back, missed you, and -" 
 
 She stopped him by a gesture. " Wot here ! " she 
 muttered, with suppressed impatience; "I wUl tell 
 you outside. Take me — ^take me out, if you please. 
 Monsieur, at once ! " 
 
 He was as glad to be gone as shfe was to go. The 
 group by the doorway parted ; shie passted through it, 
 he followed. In a moment the twd stood in the great 
 gallery, above the Salle des Caryatides. The terowd 
 
CBIMSOK FAVOUES. 5 
 
 ■which had paraded 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 rare 
 intervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess 
 of a door, a couple talked softly. At the farther end, 
 near the head of the staircase which led to the hall 
 below, and the courtyard, a group of armed Swiss 
 lounged on guard. Mademoiselle shot a keen glance 
 up and down, then she turned to her lover, her face 
 hot with indignation, 
 
 "Why did you leave me? " she asked. "Why did 
 you leave me, if you could not come back at once? 
 Do you understand, sir," she continued, "that it was 
 at your instance I came to Paris, that I came to this 
 Court, and that I look to you for protection? " 
 
 " Surely, " he said. "And " 
 
 "And do you think Carlat and his wife fit guar- 
 dians for me? Should I have come or thought of 
 coming to this wedding, but for your promise, and 
 Madame your cousin's? If I had not deemed myself 
 almost your Tpife," she continued warmly, "and se- 
 cure pf your protection, should I have come within 
 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 an- 
 swered, smiling, and striving to give the dispute a 
 playful turn. "You have seen more in a week than 
 you would have seen at Vrillac in a lifetime. Made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 "And I choke!" she retorted; "I choke! Do you 
 not see how they look at us, at us Huguenots, in the 
 street? How they, who live here, point at us and 
 curse us? How the very dogs scent us out and snarl 
 at our heels, and the babes cross themselves when we 
 
6 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 go by? Can you see the Place des Gastines and not 
 think what stood there? Can you pass the Gr^ve at 
 night and not fill the air above the river with screams 
 and wailings and horrible cries — the cries of our peo- 
 ple murdered on that spot? " She paused for breath, 
 recovered herself a little, and in a lower tone, "For 
 me," she said, "I think of Philippine de Luns by day 
 and by night ! The eaves 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 a tone 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 iti " 
 
 "You should have thought of that — ^before you 
 brought me to Paris, Monsieur. In these troublous 
 times." 
 
 He coloured warmly. "You are unjust, Mademoi- 
 selle," he said. "There are things you forget; in a 
 Court one is not always master of oneself." 
 
 "I know it," she answered drily, thinking of that 
 through which she had gone. 
 
 "But you do not know what happened!" he re- 
 turned with impatience. "You do not understand 
 that I am not to blame. Madame d'Yverne, when I 
 reached the Princess Dowager's closet, had left to go 
 to the Queen of Navarre. I hurried after her, and 
 found a score of gentlemen in the King of 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? " 
 
CEIMSON PAVOUES. 7 
 
 "To be sure, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "And nol^Madame St. Lo« " 
 
 M. de Tignonville's face turned scarlet. -The thrust 
 in tierce was unexpected. This then was the key to 
 Mademoiselle's spirt of temper. "I do not under- 
 stand you," he stammered. 
 
 "How long were you in the King of Navarre's 
 chamber, and how long with Madame St. Lo ? " she 
 asked with fine irony. "Or no, I will not tempt 
 you," she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "I 
 heard you talking to Madame St. Lo in the gallery 
 while I sat within. And I know how long you were 
 with her." 
 
 "I met Madame as I returned," he stammered, his 
 face still hot, "and I asked her where you were. I 
 did not know, Mademoiselle, that I was not to 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 piti- 
 lessly. "Was it likely? With whom was I to go? 
 And yet it is true, I might have gone home had I 
 pleased — ^with M. de Tavannes! Yes," she continued, 
 in a tone of keen reproach and with the blood mount- 
 ing to her forehead, "it is to that. Monsieur, you ex- 
 pose me ! To be pursued, molested, harassed by a 
 man whose look terrifies me, and whose touch I — I 
 detest! To be addressed wherever I go by a man 
 whose every word proves that he thinks me game for 
 the hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. You 
 are a man and you do not know, you cannot know 
 
8 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 what I suffer! What I have suffered this week past 
 whenever you have left my side ! " 
 
 Tignonville looked gloomy. "What has he said to 
 you? " he asked, between his teeth. 
 
 "Nothing I can tell you," she answered with a 
 shudder. "It was he who took me into the Cham- 
 ber." 
 
 "Why did you go?" 
 
 "Wait until he bids you do something," she an- 
 swered. "His manner, his smile, his tone, all fright- 
 en me. And to-night, in all these there was a some- 
 thing worse, a hundred times worse than when I saw 
 him last — on Thursday ! He seemed to — to gloat on 
 me," the girl stammered, with a flush of shame, "as 
 if I were his ! Oh, Monsieur, I wish we had not left 
 our Poitou ! Shall we ever see Vrillac again, and the 
 fishers' huts about the port,- and the sea -beating blue 
 against the long brown causeway? " 
 
 He had listened darkly, almost sullenly; but at 
 this, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, he forced a 
 laugh. "Why, you are as bad as M. de Eosny and 
 the Vidame!" he said. "And they are as full of 
 fears as an egg is of meat ! Since the Admiral was 
 wounded by that scoundrel on Friday, they think all 
 Paris is in a league against us." 
 
 "And why nof? " she asked, her cheek grown pale, 
 her eyes reading his eyes. 
 
 "Why not? Why, because it is a monstrous thing 
 even to think of ! " Tignonville answered, with the 
 confidence of one who did not use the argument for 
 the first time. "Could they insult the King more 
 deeply than by such a suspicion? A Borgia may kill 
 his guests, but it was never a practice of the Kings of 
 Prance! Pardieu, I have no patience with them! 
 
CEIMSON FAVOUES. 9 
 
 They may lodge where they please, across thf river, 
 or without the walls if they choose, the Eue de 
 I'Arbre Sec is good enough for me, and the King's 
 name suf&cient surety ! " 
 
 "I know you are not apt to be fearful, " she an- 
 swered, smiling ; and she looked at him with a wo- 
 man's pride in her lover. "All the same, you will 
 not desert me again, sir, wUl you? " 
 
 He vowed he would not, kissed her hand, looked 
 into her eyes ; then melting to her, stammering, blun- 
 dering, he named Madame St. Lo. She stopped him. 
 
 "There is no need," she said, answering his look 
 with kind eyes, and refusing to hear his protestations. 
 "In a fortnight will you not be my husband? 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's cousin. For a moment I 
 was mad enough to dream that she held you on pur- 
 pose. You do not think it was so ? " 
 
 " She ! " he cried sharply ; and he winced, as if the 
 thought hurt him. "Absurd! The truth is. Made- 
 moiselle," he continued with a little heat, "you are 
 like so many of our people ! You think a Catholic 
 capable of the worst." 
 
 "We have long thought so at Vrillac," she an- 
 swered gravely. 
 
 "That's over now, if people would only under- 
 stand. This wedding has put an end to all that. 
 But I'm harking back," he continued awkwardly; 
 and he 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 with his other hand touching his 
 
10 COUNT HAl^NIBAL. 
 
 sword-hilt, he led her down the staircase, that by a 
 single turn reached the courtyard of the palace. 
 Here a mob of armed servants, of lacqueys, and 
 foot-boys, some bearing torches, and some carrying 
 their masters' cloaks and galoshes, loitered to and fro. 
 Had M. de Tignonville been a little more observant, 
 or a trifle less occupied with his own importance, he 
 might have noted more than one face which looked 
 darkly on him ; he might have caught more than one 
 overt sneer at his expense. But in the business of 
 summoning Carlat — Mademoiselle de Vrillac's stew- 
 ard and major-domo — he lost the contemptuous 
 "Christaudins!" that hissed from a footboy's lips, 
 and the "Southern dogs!" that died in the mous- 
 tachios of a bully in the livery of the King's brother. 
 He was engaged in finding the steward, and in aiding 
 him to cloak his mistress ; then with a ruffling air, a 
 new acquirement, which he had picked up since he 
 came to Paris, he made a way for her through the 
 crowd. A moment, and the three, followed by half 
 a dozen armed servants, bearing pikes and torches, 
 detached themselves from the throng, and crossing 
 the courtyard, with its rows of lighted windows, 
 passed out by the gate between the Tennis Courts, 
 and so into the Eue des Posses de St. Germain. 
 
 Before them, against a sky in which the last faint 
 glow of evening still contended with the stars, the 
 spire and pointed arches of the church of St. Germain 
 rose darkly graceful. It was something after nine ; 
 the heat of the August day brooded over the crowded 
 city, and dulled the faint distant ring of arms and 
 armour that yet would make itself heard above the 
 hush ; a hush which was not silence so much as a sub- 
 dued hum. As Mademoiselle passed the closed house 
 
CEIMSOK PAVOUES. 11 
 
 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 drew nearer to him. But he laughed at 
 her. 
 
 "It was a private blow," he said, answering her 
 unspoken thought. "It is like enough the Guises 
 sped it. But they know now what is the King's 
 will, and they have taken the hint and withdrawn 
 themselves. It will not happen again, Mademoiselle. 
 For proof, see the guards" — they were passing the 
 end of the Eue Bethizy, in the corner house of which, 
 abutting on the Eue de I'Arbre Sec, Coligny had his 
 lodgings — "whom the King has placed for his secu- 
 rity. Fifty pikes under Cosseins." 
 
 "Cosseins'?" she repeated. "But I thought Cos- 
 seins " 
 
 " Was not wont to love us ! " Tignonville answered 
 with a confident chuckle. "He was not. But the 
 dogs lick where the master wills. Mademoiselle. He 
 was not, but he does. This marriage has altered all." 
 
 "I ho]^e it may not prove an unlucky one!" she 
 murmured. She felt impelled to say it. 
 
 "Ifot it! " he answered confidently. "Why should 
 it?" 
 
 They stopped, as he spoke, before the last house, 
 at the corner of the Eue St. Honors opposite the 
 Croix du Tiroir ; which rose shadowy in the middle of 
 the four ways. He hammered on the door. 
 
 "But," she said softly, looking in his face, "the 
 change is sudden, is it not? The King was not wont 
 to be so good to us ! " 
 
 "The King was not King until now," he answered 
 warmly. " That is what I am trying to persuade our 
 
12 COUNT HANN3AL. 
 
 people. Believe me, Mademoiselle, you may sleep 
 without fear ; and early in the morning I will be with 
 you. Carlat, have a care of your mistress until morn- 
 ing, and let Madame lie in her chamber. She is ner- 
 vous to-night. There, sweet, until morning! God 
 keep you, and pleasant dreams ! " 
 
 He uncovered, and bowing over her hand, kissed 
 it ; and the door being open he would have turned 
 away. But she lingered as if unwilling to enter. 
 "There is — do you hear it — a stir in that quarter?" 
 she said, pointing across the Eue St. Honor6. " What 
 lies there?" 
 
 "Northward? The markets," he answered. "'Tis 
 nothing. They say, you know, that Paris never 
 sleeps. Good-night, sweet, and a fair awakening f " 
 
 She shivered as she had shivered under Tavannes' 
 eye. And still she lingered, keeping him. "Are 
 you going to your lodging at once ? " she asked — for 
 the sake, it seemed, of saying something. 
 
 "I? " he answered a little hurriedly. "No, I was 
 thinking of paying Eochefoucauld the compliment 
 of seeing him home. He has taken a new lodging to 
 be near the Admiral ; a horrid bare place in the Eue 
 Bethizy, without furniture, but he would go into it 
 to-day. And he has a sort of claim on my family, 
 you know." 
 
 "Tes," she said simply. "Of course. Then I 
 must not detain you. God keep you safe, " she con- 
 tinued, with a faint quiver in her tone ; and her lip 
 trembled. "Good-night, and fair dreams, Monsieur." 
 
 He echoed the words gallantly. " Of you, sweet ! " 
 he cried ; and turning away with a gesture of fare- 
 well, he set off on his return. 
 
 He walked briskly, nor did he look back, though 
 
CEIMSOIT PAVOUES. 13 
 
 she stood awhile gazing after him. She was not 
 aware that she gave thought to this ; nor that it hurt 
 her. Yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, 
 and she had mounted the cold, bare staircase of that 
 day — when she had heard the dull echoing footsteps 
 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 she felt 
 a lack of something. 
 
 Perhaps the chill that possessed her came of that 
 lack, which she neither defined nor acknowledged. 
 Or possibly it came of the night air, August though 
 it was; or of sheer nervousness, or of the remem- 
 brance of Count Hannibal's smUe. Whatever its 
 origin, she took it to bed with her ; and long after the 
 house slept round her, long after the crowded quarter 
 of the Halles had begun to heave and the Sorbonne to 
 vomit a black-frocked band, long after the tall houses 
 in the gabled streets, from St. Antoine to Montmartre 
 and from St. Denis on the north to St. Jacques on the 
 south, had burst into rows of twinkling lights — nay, 
 long after the Quarter of the Louvre alone remained 
 dark, girdled by this strange midnight brightness — she 
 lay awake. At length she too slept, and dreamed of 
 home and the wide skies of Poitou, and her castle of 
 Vrillac washed day and night by the Biscay tides. 
 
CHAPTEE n. 
 
 hannibal de sattlx, comte de tavannes. 
 
 "Tavannes!" 
 
 "Sire." 
 
 Tavannes, we know, had been slow to obey the 
 summons. Emerging from the crowd he found that 
 the King, with Eetz and Eambomllet, his Marshal 
 des Logis, had retired to the farther end of the 
 Chamber; apparently Charles had forgotten that he 
 had called. His head a little bent — ^he was tall and 
 had a natural stoop — the King seemed to be listening 
 to a low but continuous murmur of voices which pro- 
 ceeded from the door of his closet. One voice fre- 
 quently raised was beyond doubt a woman's ; a foreign 
 accent, smooth and silky, marked another; a third, 
 that from time to time broke in, wilful and impetuous, 
 was the voice of Monsieur, the King's brother, Cathe- 
 rine de MMicis' favourite son. Tavannes, waiting 
 respectfully two paces 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 Eambouillet on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "There! "he said, with one of his horrible oaths, 
 "'tis settled! 'Tis settled! Go, man, and take your 
 orders ! And you, M. de Eetz, " he continued, in a tone 
 of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them! " 
 
 "I, sire?" the Italian Marshal answered in accents 
 
HAimiBAL DE SATJLX. 15 
 
 of deprecation. There were times when the young 
 King would show his impatience of the Italian ring, 
 the Eetzs and Biragues, the Strozzis and Gondys, with 
 whom his mother surrounded him. 
 
 "Yes, you!" Charles answered. "You and my 
 lady mother ! And in God's name answer for it at the 
 day ! " he continued vehemently. "You will have it! 
 You will not let me rest till you have it ! Then have 
 it, only see to it, it be done thoroughly ! There shall 
 not be one left to cast it in the King's teeth and cry, 
 ' Et tu, Carole! ' Swim, swim in blood if you will," 
 he continued with growing wildness. " Oh, 'twill be 
 a merry night! And it's true so far, you may kill 
 fleas aU day, but burn the coat, and there's an end. 
 
 So burn it, burn it, and " He broke off with a 
 
 start as he discovered Tavannes at his elbow. " God's 
 death, man! " he cried roughly, "who sent for youl " 
 
 "Your Majesty called me," Tavannes answered; 
 while, partly urged by the King's hand, and partly 
 anxious to escape, the others slipped into the closet 
 and left them together. 
 
 "I sent for you? I called your brother, the Mar- 
 shal!" 
 
 "He is within, sire," Tavannes answered, indicat- 
 ing the closet. "A moment 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 at once ! " 
 Then while his haggard gaze, passing by Tavannes, 
 roved round the Chamber, he laid his hand on Count 
 Hannibal's breast. "They give me no peace, Ma- 
 dame and the Guises," he whispered, his face hectic 
 with excitement. "They will have it. They say that 
 Coligny — they say that he beards me in my own pa- 
 
16 COUNT HAI*riiiriB4:L. 
 
 lace. And— and, mordieu," -vnth sudden violence, 
 "it's true! It's true enough ! It was but to-day lie 
 was for making terms with me ! With me, the King ! 
 Making terms! So it shall he, by God and Devil, 
 it shall! But not six or seven! E^o, no. All! All! 
 There shall not be one left to say to me, 'You did 
 it!'" 
 
 "Softly, sire," Tavannes answered; for Charles 
 had gradually raised his voice, "You will be ob- 
 served." 
 
 For the first time the young King— he was but 
 twenty-two years old, God pity him! — looked at his 
 companion. "To be sure," he whispered; and his 
 eyes grew cunning. " Besides, and after all, there's 
 another way, if I choose. Oh, I've thought and 
 thought, I'd have you know." And shrugging his 
 shoulders, almost to his ears, he raised and lowered his 
 open hands alternately, while his back hid the move- 
 ment 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 to lower 
 the one as the other," with a cunning glance at Tavan- 
 nes' face, " or to cut off the right as the left. And — 
 and the Admiral's an old man and will pass ; and for 
 the matter of that I like to hear him talk. He talks 
 well. 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 lady mother 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. Do you see him 
 — as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat 
 and his teeth showing? Why, God! " his voice rising 
 
HA20IBAL DB SATJLX. 17 
 
 almost to a scream, "the candles by him are bumiiig 
 blue!" And with a shaking hand, his face con- 
 vnlsed, the young King clutched his companion's 
 arm, and pinched it. 
 
 Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but an- 
 swered nothing. 
 
 "D'you think we shaU see them afterwards?" 
 Charles resumed, in a sharp, eager whisper. " In our 
 dreams, man ? Or when the watchman cries, and we 
 awake, and the monks are singing lauds at St. Ger- 
 main, and — and the taper is lowl " 
 
 Tavannes' lip curled. "I don't dream, sire," he 
 answered coldly, "and I seldom 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 brow was wet with sweat. "I 
 wish I didn't. But there, it's settled. They've set- 
 tled 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 said drily. "It is for your Majesty 
 and your council to think. It is enough for me that 
 it is the King's wUl." 
 
 "But you'll not flinch?" Charles muttered, with a 
 quick look of suspicion. "But there," with a mon- 
 strous oath, "I know you'll not! I believe you'd as 
 soon kill a monk — though, thank God," and he 
 crossed himself devoutly, "there is no question of 
 that — as a man. And sooner than a maiden." 
 
 "Much sooner, sire," Tavannes answered grimly. 
 
 "If you have any orders in the monkish direction — 
 
 no? Then your Majesty must not talk to me longer. 
 
 M. de Eochefoucauld is beginning to wonder what is 
 
 2 
 
18 COinfT HANOTBAIi. 
 
 keeping your Majesty from your game. And others 
 are marking you, sire." 
 
 " By the Lord ! " Charles exclaimed, a ring of wonder 
 mingled with horror in his tone, " if they knew what 
 was in our minds they'd mark us more! Yet, see 
 Nangay there beside the door? He is unmoved. He 
 looks to-day as he looked 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 mut- 
 tered. " Is it to be done here, too, sire ? " 
 
 "Would you let some escape, to return by-and-by 
 and cut our throats'?" the King retorted with a 
 strange spirt of fury; an incapacity to maintain 
 the same attitude of mind for two minutes together 
 was the most fatal weakness of his ill-balanced na- 
 ture. "Ko. All! All!" he repeated with vehe- 
 mence. "Didn't Noah people the earth with eight? 
 But I'll not leave eight! My cousins, for they are 
 blood-royal, shall live if they will recant. And my 
 old nurse whether or no. And Par6, for no one else 
 understands my complexion. And " 
 
 "And Eochefoucauld, doubtless, sire?" 
 
 The King, whose eye had sought his favourite 
 companion, withdrew it. He darted a glance at 
 Tavannes. "Foucauld? Who said so? " he muttered 
 jealously. "Not I! But we shall see. 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's sUence, seeing that the King had 
 done with htm, he bowed low and withdrew ; watched 
 by the circle, as all about a King were watched in the 
 days when a King's breath meant life or death, and 
 
HANNlBAIi DE SAULX. 19 
 
 his smile made the fortunes of men. As he passed 
 Eochefoucauld, the latter looked up and nodded. 
 
 "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 nurse has stuffed him withal. 
 He'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if you can 
 divert him." 
 
 "I will if he come," Eochefoucauld answered, shuf- 
 fling the cards. "If not 'tis Chicot's business and he 
 should attend to it. I'm tired and shall to bed." 
 
 "He will come," Tavannes answered, and moved, 
 as if to go on. Then he paused for a last word. 
 "He will come," he muttered, stooping and speaking 
 under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "But 
 play him lightly. He is in an ugly mood. Please 
 him, if you can, and it may serve." 
 
 The eyes of the two met an instant, and those of 
 Poucauld — so the King caUed his Huguenot favourite 
 — betrayed some surprise ; for Count Hannibal and he 
 were not intimate. But seeing that the other was in 
 earnest, he raised his brows in acknowledgment. Ta- 
 vannes nodded carelessly in return, looked an instant 
 at the cards on the table, and passed on, pushed his 
 way through the circle, and reached the door. He 
 was lifting the curtain to go out, when Nangay, the 
 Captain of the Guard, plucked his sleeve. 
 
 " What have you been saying to Poucauld, M. de 
 Tavannes? " he muttered. 
 
 "If" 
 
 "Yes," with a jealous glance, "you, M. le Comte." 
 Count Hannibal looked at him with the sudden 
 ferocity that made the man a proverb at Court. 
 
20 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "What I chose, M. le Capitaine des Suisses!" he 
 hissed. And his hand closed like a vice on the 
 other's wrist. "What I chose, look you! And re- 
 member, another time, that I am not a Huguenot, 
 and say what I please." 
 
 "But there is great need of care," Nangay pro- 
 tested, stammering and flinching. " And — and I have 
 orders, M. le Comte." 
 
 " Your orders are not for me, " Tavannes answered, 
 releasing his arm with a contemptuous gesture. 
 "And look you, man, do not cross my path to-night. 
 Ton know our motto? Who touches my brother, 
 touches Tavannes ! Be warned by it." 
 
 Nangay scowled. "But the priests say, 'If your 
 hand offend you, cut it off ! ' " he muttered. 
 
 Tavannes laughed, a sinister laugh. "If you 
 offend me I'll cut your throat," he said ; and with no 
 ceremony he went out, and dropped the curtain be- 
 hind him. 
 
 Nangay looked after him, his face pale with rage. 
 "Curse him!" he whispered, rubbing his wrist. "If 
 he were anyone else I would teach him! But he 
 would as soon run you through in the presence as in 
 the Pr6 aux Clercs ! And his brother, the Marshal, 
 has the King's ear! And Madame Catherine's too, 
 which is worse ! " 
 
 He was still fuming when an officer in the colours 
 of Monsieur, the King's brother, entered hurriedly, 
 and keeping his hand on the curtain, looked anxiously 
 round the Chamber. As soon as his eye found Nan- 
 gay, his face cleared. "Have you the reckoning?" 
 he muttered. 
 
 "There are seventeen Huguenots in the palace be- 
 sides their Highnesses," Nangay replied, in the same 
 
HAITNEBAL DE SATJLX. 21 
 
 cautious tone. "N'ot counting two or three who are 
 neither the one thing nor the other. In addition, 
 there are the two Montmprencies ; but they are to go 
 safe for fear of their brother, who is not in the trap. 
 He is too like his father, the old Bench-burner, to be 
 lightly wronged ! And besides, there is Par6, who is 
 to go to his Majesty's closet as soon as the gates are 
 shut. If the King decides to save anyone else, he 
 will send him to his closet. So 'tis all clear and ar- 
 ranged here. If you are as forward outside, it will be 
 well ! Who deals with the gentleman with the tooth- 
 pick?" 
 
 "The Admiral? Monsieur, Guise, and the Grand 
 Prior ; Cosseins and Besme have charge. 'Tis to be 
 done first. Then the Provost will raise the town. 
 He will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or 
 four rendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up every- 
 where at once. Marcel, the ex-provost, has the same 
 commission south of the river. Orders to light the 
 town as for a frolic have been given, and the Halles 
 will be ready." 
 
 H'ansay 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' warning in mind. "For me, my 
 friend, I go in mail to-night," he said. "There will 
 be many a score paid before morning, besides his 
 Majesty's. And many a left-handed blow will be 
 struck in the milSe ! " 
 
 The other crossed himself. "Grant none light 
 here ! " he said devoutly. And with a last look he 
 nodded and went out. 
 
22 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 In the doorway he jostled a person who was in the 
 act of entering. It was M. de Tignonville, who, see- 
 ing Nangay at his elbow, saluted him, and stood look- 
 ing round. The young man's face was flushed, his 
 eyes were bright with unwonted excitement. " M. de 
 Eochefoucauld'? " he asked eagerly. "He has not left 
 yet?" 
 
 Nangay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked 
 the young man's flushed face, and altered bearing. 
 He noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried half- 
 hidden in his hand ; and the Captain's countenance 
 grew dark. He drew a step nearer and his hand 
 reached softly for his dagger. But his voice when he 
 spoke was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-lov- 
 ing Court, smooth as the externals of all things in 
 Paris that summer evening. "He is here still," he 
 said. "Have you news, M. de Tignonville'? " 
 
 "News?" 
 
 "For M. de Eochefoucauld? " 
 
 Tignonville laughed. "No," he said. "I am here 
 to see him to his lodging, that is all. News, Cap- 
 tain? What made you think so? " 
 
 "That which you have in your hand," Nangay an- 
 swered, his fears relieved. 
 
 The young man blushed to the roots of his hair. 
 "It is not for him," he said. 
 
 "I can see that, Monsieur," Nangay answered po- 
 litely. "He has his successes, 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 wo- 
 men love, but there was a lack of ease in the way he 
 wore his Court suit. It was a trifle finer, too, than ac- 
 corded with Huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for 
 
HANOTBAL DE SATJLX. 23 
 
 the way he wore it, even as Teligny's and Poucauld's 
 velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their richness and 
 became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the 
 men. Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hid- 
 ing and half revealing the dainty, scented paper in 
 his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more 
 awkward than usual. "It is from a lady," he admit- 
 ted. " But a bit of badinage, I assure you, nothing 
 more." 
 
 "Understood!" M. de IJran§ay 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 benevo- 
 lently. "A young man should show himself. Be- 
 sides his Majesty likes you well," he added with a 
 leer. He had an unpleasant sense of humour, had 
 his Majesty's Captain of the Guard ; and this evening 
 somewhat more than ordinary on which to exer- 
 cise it. 
 
 Tignonville held too good an opinion of himself to 
 suspect the other of badinage ; and thus encouraged 
 he pushed his way to the front of the circle. During 
 his absence with his betrothed, the crowd in the 
 Chamber had 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 air of feverish gaiety, common in the un- 
 healthy life of the Court, prevailed. At a table 
 abreast of the King, Montpensier and Marshal Coss6 
 were dicing and disputing, with now a yell of glee, 
 
24 COUNT HAlTinBAL. 
 
 and now an oath, that betrayed which way fortune 
 inclined. At the back of the King's chair, Chicot, 
 his gentleman- jester, hung over Charles's shoulder, 
 now scanning his cards, and now making hideouB 
 faces that threw the onlookers into fits of laughter. 
 Farther up the Chamber, at the end of the alcove, 
 Marshal Tavannes — our Hannibal's brother — occupied 
 a low stool, which was set opposite the open door of 
 the closet. Through this doorway a slender foot, 
 silk-clad, shot now and again into sight; it came, it 
 vanished, it came again, the gallant Marshal striving 
 at each appearance to rob it of its slipper, a dainty 
 jewelled thing of crimson velvet. He failed thrice, 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 not the slipper only, but the foot. 
 Amid a flutter of silken skirts and dainty laces — 
 while the hidden beauty shrilly protested — he dragged 
 flrst the ankle, and then a shapely leg into sight. The 
 circle applauded ; the lady, feeling herself still drawn 
 on, screamed loudly and more loudly. All save the 
 King and his opponent turned to look. And then 
 the sport came to a sudden end. A sinewy hand 
 appeared, interposed, released; for an 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 than one recognised it, and 
 wondered. For was not the young Duke in evil 
 odour with the King by reason of the attack on the 
 Admiral? And had he not been chased from Paris 
 only that morning and forbidden to return? 
 
 They were still wondering, still gazing, when ab- 
 ruptly—as he did all things— Charles thrust back his 
 chair. "Foucauld, you owe me ten pieces! " he cried 
 
HAMnOBAL DE SAULX. 25 
 
 with glee, and he slapped the table. "Pay, my 
 friend; pay!" 
 
 " To-morrow, little master ; to-morrow ! " Eochef ou- 
 cauld answered in the same tone. And he rose to his 
 feet. 
 
 "To-morrow!" Charles repeated. "To-morrow?" 
 And on the word his jaw fell. He looked wildly 
 round. His face was ghastly. 
 
 "Well, sire, and why not?" Eochef oucauld an- 
 swered in astonishment. And in his tnrn he looked 
 round, wondering; and a chiU fell on him. "Why 
 not? " he repeated. 
 
 For a moment no one answered him : the silence in 
 the Chamber was intense. .Where he looked, wher- 
 ever he looked, he met solemn, wondering eyes, such 
 eyes 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 the gap. "It is pretty apparent," 
 he said with a rude laugh. " The cock will lay and 
 Foucauld will pay — ^to-morrow ! " 
 
 The young nobleman's colour rose; between him 
 and the Gascon gentleman was 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 is time to be gone." 
 
 He was half-way to the door, watched by all, when 
 the King spoke. "Foucauld!" he cried in an odd, 
 strangled voice. "Foucauld!" And the Huguenot 
 favourite turned back, wondering. 
 
 "One minute!" the King continued in the same 
 forced voice. "Stay till morning — in my closet. It 
 is late now. We'll play away the rest of the night ! " 
 
26 COUNT HAlfNIBAL. 
 
 "Your Majesty must excuse me," Eochefoucauld 
 answered frankly. "I am dead asleep." 
 
 "You can sleep in the Garde-Eobe," the King per- 
 sisted. 
 
 "Thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay an- 
 swer. "I know that bed! I shall sleep longer and 
 better in my own." 
 
 The King shuddered, but strove to hide the move- 
 ment under a shrug of his shoulders. He turned 
 away. "It is God's will!" he muttered. He was 
 white to the lips. 
 
 Eochefoucauld did not catch the words. "Good 
 night, sire," he cried. "Farewell, little master." 
 And with a nod here and there, he passed to the 
 door, followed by Mergey and Chamont, two gentle- 
 men of his suite. 
 
 Nangay raised the curtain with an obsequious ges- 
 ture. "Pardon me, M. le Comte," he said, "do you 
 go to his Highness's? " 
 
 "For a few minutes, Nangay." 
 
 "Permit me to go with you. The guards maybe 
 set." 
 
 "Do so, my friend," Eochefoucauld answered. 
 "All, Tignonville, is it you?" 
 
 "I am come to attend you to your lodging," the 
 young man said. And he ranged up beside the other, 
 as, the curtain fallen behind them, they walked along 
 the gallery. 
 
 Eochefoucauld stopped and laid his hand on Tig- 
 nonville'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. You will not like to wait so long." 
 
 M. de TignonviUe's face fell ludicrously. "Well, 
 
HANIHBAL DE SATJLX. 27 
 
 no," he said. "I — I don't think I could wait so long 
 — to-night." 
 
 "Then come to-morrow night," Eochefoucauld an- 
 swered with good nature. 
 
 "With pleasure," the other cried heartily, his re- 
 lief evident. "Certainly. With pleasure." And, 
 nodding good-night, they parted. While Eochefou- 
 cauld, with Nanyay at his side and his gentlemen 
 attending him, passed along the echoing and now 
 empty gallery, the younger man bounded down the 
 stairs to the great hall of the Caryatides, his face 
 .radiant. He for one was not sleepy. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE HOtrSB NEXT THE "GOLDEN MAID." 
 
 We have it on record that before the Oomte de la 
 Rochefoucauld left the Louvre that night he received 
 the strongest hints of the peril which threatened 
 him; and at least one written warning was handed 
 to him by a stranger in black, and by him in turn was 
 communicated to the King of E'avarre. "We are told 
 further that when he took his final leave, about the 
 hour of eleven, he found the courtyard brilliantly 
 lighted, and the three companies of guards — Swiss, 
 Scotch, and French — drawn up in ranked array from 
 the door of the great hall to the gate which opened on 
 the street. But, the chronicler adds, neither this pre- 
 caution, sinister as it appeared to some of his suite, 
 nor the grave farewell which Eambouillet, 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 Governor of Eochelle ; 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 of the palace, gloomy-seeming to us in 
 the light cast by coming events, wore their wonted 
 aspect. ' His thoughts, moreover, as he crossed the 
 courtyard, were otherwise employed. So much so, in- 
 deed, that though he signed to his two servants to 
 follow him, he seemed barely conscious what he. was 
 
THE HOUSE ]SrEXT THE "GOLDEK MAID." 29 
 
 doing ; nor did he shake off his reverie until he reached 
 the corner of the Eue Baillet. Here the voices of the 
 Swiss who stood on guard opposite Coligny's lodgings, 
 at the end of the Eue Bethizy, could be plainly heard. 
 They had kindled a fire in an iron basket set in the 
 middle of the road, and knots of them were visible in 
 the distance, moving to and fro about their piled 
 arms. 
 
 TignonviUe 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 mas- 
 ter 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 intention of sneaking after him the mo- 
 ment he had turned his back. But he suspected 
 them of this, and stood where he was until they 
 had passed the fire, and could no longer detect his 
 movements. Then he plunged quickly into the Eue 
 Baillet, gained through it the Eue dn Eoule, and 
 traversing that also turned to the right into the Eue 
 Perronerie, the main thoroughfare, east and west, of 
 Paris. Here he halted in front of the long, dark outer 
 wall of the Cemetery of the Innocents, in which, across 
 the tombstones and among the sepulchres of dead 
 Paris, the living Paris of that day, bought and sold, 
 walked, gossiped, and made love. 
 
 About him things were to be seen that would hav^ 
 
30 COtWT HANNIBAL. 
 
 seemed stranger to Mm had he been less strange to 
 the city. From the quarter of the markets north of 
 him, a quarter whicn fenced in the cemetery on two 
 sides, the same dull murmur proceeded, -which Ma- 
 demoiselle de VrUlac had remarked an hour earlier. 
 The sky above the cemetery glowed with reflected 
 light, the cause of which was not far to seek, for 
 every window of the tall houses that overlooked it, 
 and the huddle of booths about it, contributed a 
 share of the illumination. At an hour late even for 
 Paris, an hour when honest men should have been 
 sunk in slumber, this strange brilliance did for a mo- 
 ment perplex him; but the past week had been so 
 full of f ^tes, of masques and frolics, often devised on 
 the moment and dependent on the King's whim, that 
 he set this also down to such a cause, and wondered 
 and no more. 
 
 The lights in the houses flung their radiance high, 
 and did not serve his purpose ; but beside the closed 
 gate of the cemetery, between two stalls, was a votive 
 lamp burning before an image of the Mother and 
 Child. He crossed to this, and assuring himself by a 
 glance to right and left that he stood in no danger 
 from prowlers, he drew a note from his breast. It 
 had been slipped into his hand in the gallery before he 
 saw Mademoiselle to her lodging ; it had been in his 
 possession barely an hour. But brief as its contents 
 were, and easily committed to memory, he had perused 
 it thrice already. 
 
 "At the house next the 'Golden Maid,' Eue Cinq 
 Diamants, an hour before midnight, you may find 
 the door open should you desire to talk farther with 
 C. St. L." 
 
 As he read it for the fourth time the light of the 
 
THE HOUSE NEXT THE "GOLDEN MAID," 31 
 
 lamp fell athwart his face ; and even as his fine clothes 
 had never seemed to fit him worse than when he 
 faintly denied the imputations of gallantry launched 
 at him by Nangay, 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, the 
 smile of conceit which wreathed his lips, bespoke a 
 nature not of the most noble ; or the lamp did him 
 less than justice. Presently he kissed the note, and 
 hid it. He waited until the clock of St. Jacques struck 
 the hour before midnight ; and then moving forward 
 he turned to the right by way of the narrow neck lead- 
 ing to the Eue Lombard. He walked in the kennel 
 here, his sword in his hand and his eyes looking to 
 right and left ; for the place was notorious for robber- 
 ies. But though he saw more than one figure lurking 
 in a doorway or under the arch that led to a passage, 
 it vanished on his nearer approach. In less than a 
 minute he reached the southern end of the street that 
 bore the odd title of the Five Diamonds. 
 
 Situate in the crowded quarter of the butchers, and 
 almost in the shadow of their famous church, this 
 street — ^which farther north was continued in the Eue 
 Quimcampoix — ^presented in those days a not uncom- 
 mon mingling of poverty and wealth. On one side of 
 the street a row of lofty gabled houses built under 
 Francis the First, sheltered persons of good condition ; 
 on the other, divided from these by the width of the 
 road and a reeking kennel, a row of pent-houses, the 
 hovels of cobblers and sausage-makers, leaned against 
 shapeless timber houses which tottered upwards in a 
 medley of sagging roofs and bulging gutters. Tig- 
 nonville was strange to the place, and nine nights out 
 of ten he would have been at a disadvantage. But, 
 
32 COUNT HAITNTBAL. 
 
 thanks to the tapers that to-night shone in many -win- 
 dows, 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, looking eagerly for 
 the sign of the "Golden Maid." 
 
 He found it at last ; and then for a moment he stood 
 puzzled. The note said, next door to the "Golden 
 Maid," but it did not say on which side. He scruti- 
 nised the nearer house, but he saw nothing to deter- 
 mine him; and he was proceeding to the farther, 
 when he caught sight of two men, who, ambushed be- 
 hind a horse-block on the opposite side of the road- 
 way, seemed to be watching his movements. Their 
 presence flurried him ; but much to his relief his next 
 glance at the houses showed him that the door of the 
 farther one was unlatched. It stood slightly ajar, 
 permitting a beam of light to escape into the street. 
 
 He stepped quickly to it — the sooner he was within 
 the house the better — ^pushed the door open and en- 
 tered. As soon as he was inside he tried to close 
 the entrance behind him, but he found he could not ; 
 the door would not shut. After a brief trial he aban- 
 doned the attempt and passed quickly on, through 
 a bare lighted passage which led to the foot of a stair- 
 case, equally bare. He stood at this point an instant 
 and listened, in the hope that Madame's maid would 
 come to him. At first he heard nothing save his own 
 breathing; then a gruff voice from above startled 
 him. "This way, Monsieur," it said. "You are 
 early, but not too soon! " 
 
 So Madame trusted her footman! M. de Tignon- 
 ville shrugged his shoulders ; but after all, it was no 
 affair of his, and he went up. Half-way to the top, 
 however, he stood, an oath on his lips. Two men 
 
THE HOUSE NEXT THE "GOLDEN MAID." 33 
 
 had entered by the open door below— even as he had 
 entered ! And as quietly ! 
 
 The imprudence of it ! The imprudence of leaving 
 the door so that it cotdd not be closed ! He turned 
 and descended to meet them, his teeth set, his hand 
 on his sword, one conjecture after another whirling 
 in his brain. "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 cried again, 
 but more imperatively, "No, Monsieur, this way! 
 Did you not hear me? This way and be qidck, if 
 you please. By-and-by there will be a crowd, and 
 then the more we have dealt with the better ! " 
 
 He knew now that he had made a mistake, that 
 he had entered the wrong house; and naturally his 
 impulse was to continue his descent and secure his 
 retreat. But the pause had brought the two men who 
 had entered face to face with him, and they showed 
 no signs of giving way. On the contrary. 
 
 "The room is above, Monsieur," the foremost said, 
 in a matter-of-fact tone, and with a slight salutation. 
 "After you, if you please," and he signed to him to 
 return. 
 
 He was a burly man, grim and truculent in ap- 
 pearance, and his follower was like him. Tignonville 
 hesitated, then turned and ascended. But as soon as 
 he had reached the landing where they could pass 
 him, he turned again. 
 
 "I have made a mistake, I think," he said. 
 "I have entered the wrong house." 
 
 "Are you for the house next the 'Golden Maid,' 
 Monsieur?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Rue Cinq Diamants, Quarter of the Boucherie? " 
 3 
 
34 COUNT HAKSTBAL. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "No mistake then," the stout man replied firmly. 
 "You are early, that is all. You have arms, I see. 
 Maillard!" — to the person whose voice Tignonville 
 had heard at the head of the stairs — " A white sleeve, 
 and a cross for Monsieur's hat, and his name on the 
 register. Come, make a beginning ! Make a begin- 
 ning, man." 
 
 "To be sure. Monsieur. All is ready." 
 
 "Then lose no time, I say. Here are others, also 
 early in the good cause. Gentlemen, welcome ! "Wel- 
 come all who are for the true faith ! Death to the here- 
 tics ! 'KjU, and no quarter ! ' is the word to-night ! " 
 
 "Death to the heretics !" the last comers cried in 
 chorus. "Kill and no quarter! At what hour, M. 
 lePr^vot?" 
 
 "At day-break," the Provost answered important- 
 ly. "But have no fear, the tocsin will sound. The 
 King and our good man M. de Guise have all in hand. 
 A white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall 
 rid Paris of 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 — ^the room was beginning to fill 
 — ^waved their weapons and echoed the cry. 
 
 Tignonville had been fortunate enough to appre- 
 hend the position — and the peril in which he stood 
 — before Maillard advanced to him bearing a white 
 linen 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, and suffered the beadle to pass the sleeve over 
 
THE HOUSE NEXT THE "GOLDEN MAID." 35 
 
 it and to secure the white linen above the elbow. 
 Then at a gesture he gave up his velvet cap, and saw 
 it decorated with a white cross of the same material. 
 "Now the register, Monsieur," Maillard continued 
 briskly ; and waving him in the direction of a clerk, 
 who sat at the end of the long table, having a book and 
 an ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer. 
 
 Tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of 
 the register, but the clerk's eye was on him. He had 
 been fortunate so far, but he knew that the least 
 breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summon- 
 ing his wits together he gave his name in a steady 
 voice. "Anne Desmartins." It was his mother's 
 maiden name, and the first that came into his mind. 
 
 "Of Paris 1" 
 
 "Eecently; by birth, of the Limousin." 
 
 "Good, Monsieur," the clerk answered, writing in 
 the name. And he turned to the next. "And you, 
 my friend?" 
 
CHAPTEE rV. 
 
 THE EVE OF THE EEAST. 
 
 It was Tignonville's salvation that the men who 
 crowded the long white-walled room, and exchanged 
 vile boasts nnder the naked flaring lights, were of all 
 classes. There were butchers, natives of the sur- 
 roundtag quarter whom the scent of blood had drawn 
 from their lairs ; and there were priests with hatchet 
 faces, who whispered in the butchers' ears. There 
 were gentlemen of the robe, and plain mechanics, rich 
 merchants in their gowns, and bare-armed ragpickers, 
 sleek choristers, and shabby led-captains ; but differ as 
 they might in other points, in one thing all were alike. 
 From all, gentle or simple, rose the same cry for blood, 
 the same aspiration to be first equipped for the fray. 
 In one corner a man of rank stood silent and apart, his 
 hand on his sword, the working of his face alone be- 
 traying the storm that reigned within. In another, a 
 Norman horse-dealer talked in low whispers with two 
 thieves. In a third, a gold- wire drawer addressed an 
 admiring group from the Sorbonne ; and meantime the 
 middle of the floor grew into a seething mass of mut- 
 tering, scowling men, through whom the last comers, 
 thrust as they might, had much ado to force their way. 
 And from all under the low ceiling -rose a ceaseless 
 hum, though none spoke loud. "Kill! kill! kill!" 
 was the burden ; the accompaniment such profanities 
 and blasphemies as had long disgraced the Paris pul- 
 
THE EVE OF THE FEAST. 37 
 
 pits, and day by day had fanned the bigotry — already 
 at a wliite heat — of the Parisian populace. Tignon- 
 ville turned sick as he listened, and would fain have 
 closed his ears. But for his life he dared not. And 
 presently a cripple in a beggar's garb, a dwarfish, 
 filthy creature with matted hair, twitched his sleeve, 
 and offered him a whetstone. 
 
 "Are you sharp, noble sir?" he asked with a leer. 
 "Are you sharp 1 It's surprising how the edge goes 
 on the bone. A cut and thrust? Well, every man 
 to his taste. But give me a broad butcher's knife 
 and I'll ask no help, 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 he looked to Tig- 
 nonville to join in the jest. 
 
 "Ay, give me a white throat for choice! " the crip- 
 ple answered, with horrible 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, 
 again proffering the whetstone. "No? Then I'll 
 give my blade another whet, in the name of our 
 Lady, the Saints, and good Father Pezelayt" 
 
 " Ay, and give me a turn ! " the lean man cried, 
 proffering his weapon. "May I 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 toe of my feet! A full score ! " 
 
 " 'Tis according to your sins!" the other, who had 
 something of the air of a Churchman, answered. 
 "The more heretifcs killed, the more sins forgiven. 
 Eemember that, brother, and spare not if your soul 
 be burdened! They blaspheme God and call Him 
 paste! In the paste of their own blood," he con- 
 
38 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 tinued ferociously, "I will knead them and roll them 
 out, saith the good Father Pezelay, my master ! " 
 
 The cripple crossed himself. "Whom God keep," 
 he said. " He is a good man. But you are looking 
 ill, noble sir'? " he continued, peering curiously at the 
 young Huguenot. 
 
 " 'Tis the heat," Tignonville muttered. "The night 
 is stifling, and the lights make it worse. I will go 
 nearer the door." 
 
 He hoped to escape them ; he had some hope even of 
 escaping from the room and 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 his movements were observed — for he knew 
 that his agitation might have awakened 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 swim before his eyes. The catastro- 
 phe that overhung his party, the fate so treacherously 
 prepared for all whom he loved and all with whom 
 his fortunes were bound up, confused his brain al- 
 most to delirium. He strove to think, to calculate 
 chances, to imagine some way in which he might es- 
 cape from the room, or from a window might cry the 
 alarm. But he could not bring his mind to a point. 
 Instead, in lightning flashes he foresaw what must 
 happen : his betrothed in the hands of the murderers, 
 the fair face that had smiled on him frozen with 
 terror ; brave men, the fighters of Montauban, the de- 
 fenders of Angely, strewn dead through the dark 
 lanes of the city. And now a gust of passion, and 
 now a shudder of fear, seized him ; and in any other 
 
THE EVE OF THE FEAST. 39 
 
 assembly his agitation must have led to detection. 
 But in that room were many twitching faces and 
 trembling hands. Murder, cruel, midnight, and most 
 foul, wrung even from the murderers her toll of hor- 
 ror. While some, to hide the nervousness they felt, 
 babbled of what they would do, others betrayed by 
 the intentness with which they awaited the signal, the 
 dreadful anticipations that possessed their souls. 
 
 Before he had formed any plan, a movement took 
 place near the door. The stairs shook beneath the 
 sudden trampling of feet, a voice cried "De par le 
 Eoi ! De par le Eoi ! " and the babel of the room 
 died down. The throne swaved and fell back on 
 
40 COUNT HAIOTIBAL. 
 
 Count Hannibal, who stood in the first rank at his 
 brother's elbow. Tavannes stared an instant as if he 
 doubted his eyesight. Then, as doubt gave slow place 
 to certainty, and surprise to amazement, he smiled. 
 And after a moment he looked another way. 
 
 Tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed 
 to stand still. The lights whirled before his eyes, 
 there was a roaring in his ears. He waited for the 
 word that should denounce him. It did not come. 
 And still it did not come ; and Marshal Tavannes was 
 turning. Tes, turning, and going ; the Provost, bow- 
 ing low, was attending him to the door; his suite 
 were opening on either side to let him pass. And 
 Count Hannibal? Count Hannibal was following 
 also, as if nothing had occurred. As if he had seen 
 nothing ! 
 
 The young man caught his breath. Was it pos- 
 sible that he had imagined the 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 was gone through the 
 doorway, his spurs rang on the stairs; and the babel 
 3f the crowd, unchecked by the great man's presence, 
 broke out anew, and louder. 
 
 Tignonville shuddered. He was saved as by a mir- 
 acle, saved he did not know how. But the respite, 
 though its strangeness diverted his thoughts for a 
 while, brought short relief. The horrors which im- 
 pended over others surged afresh into his mind, and 
 filled him with a maddening sense of impotence. To 
 be one hour, only one short half -hour without ! To 
 run through the sleeping streets, and scream in the 
 duU ears which a King's flatteries had stopped as 
 
THE EVE OF THE FEAST. 41 
 
 with wool ! To go up and down and shake into life the 
 guests whose royal lodgings daybreak would turn to a 
 shambles reeking with their blood! They slept, the 
 gentle Teligny, the brave Pardaillan, the gallant 
 Eochefoucauld, Piles the hero of St. Jean, while the 
 cruel city stirred rustling about them, and doom crept 
 whispering to the door. They slept, they and a thou- 
 sand others, gentle and simple, young and old ; while 
 the half -mad Valois shifted between two opinions, 
 and the Italian woman, accursed daughter of an ac- 
 cursed 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 access of passion he thrust 
 aside those who stood between, he pushed his way, 
 disregarding complaints, disregarding opposition, to 
 the door. But the pikes lay across it, and he could 
 not utter a syllable to save his life. He would have 
 flung himself on the door-keepers, for he was losing 
 control of himself; but as he drew back for the 
 spring, a hand clutched his sleeve, and a voice he 
 loathed hummed in his ear. 
 
 "1^0, 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 
 and peering with a cunning look into the other's face, 
 "of your own, noble sir, or your friends', anything 
 or anybody you want despatched, count on me. It 
 were better, perhaps, you didn't appear in it your- 
 self, and a man you can trust " 
 
 "What do you mean? "the young man cried, re- 
 coiling from him. 
 
 "ISo need to look surprised, noble sir," the lean 
 
42 COHSTT HAIfTinBAL. 
 
 man, who liad joined them, answered in a soothing 
 tone. "Who kills to-night does God service, and 
 who serves God much may serve himself a little. 
 'Thou Shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the 
 corn,' says good Father Pezelay." 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " the cripple chimed in eagerly, his 
 impatience such that he danced on his toes. "He 
 preaches as well as the good father his master ! So 
 frankly, noble sir, what is it? What is it? A wo- 
 man grown ugly? A rich man grown old, with per- 
 chance a will in his chest? Or a young heir that 
 stands in my lord's way? Whichever it be, or what- 
 ever it be, trust me 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 cast a suspicious glance at Tig- 
 nonville's clothes. It was evident that the two had 
 discussed him, and the motives of his presence there. 
 " Have the dice proved fickle, my lord, and are you 
 for the jewellers' shops on the bridge to fill your 
 purse again? If so, take my word, it were better to 
 go three than one, and we'll enlist." 
 
 "Ay, we know shops on the bridge where you can 
 plunge your arm elbow-deep in gold," the cripple 
 muttered, his eyes sparkling greedily. "There's 
 Baillet's, noble sir ! There's a shop for you ! And 
 there's the man's shop who works for the King. 
 He's lame like me. And I know the way to all. Oh, 
 it will be a merry night if they ring before the dawn. 
 It must be near daybreak now. And what's that? " 
 
 Ay, what was it? A score of voices called for 
 silence ; a breathless hush fell on the crowd. A mo- 
 ment the fiercest listened, with parted lips and 
 
THE EVE OP THE FEAST. 43 
 
 starting eyes. Then, "It was the bell! "cried one, 
 "let us out!" "It was 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 furious mass 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, 
 how pitilessly, how remorselessly they would purge 
 Paris of this leprosy when the signal did sound. Un- 
 til 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 bell came to them on the 
 hot night-air. It was the boom^ sullen and menac- 
 ing, of the death signal. 
 
 The door-keepers lowered their pikes, and with a 
 wild rush as of wolves swarming on their prey, the 
 band stormed the door, and thrust and struggled 
 and battled a way down the narrow staircase, and 
 along the narrow passage. "A bas les Huguenots! 
 Mort aux Huguenots ! " they shouted ; and shrieking, 
 sweating, spurning with vile hands viler faces, they 
 poured pell-mell into the street, and added their 
 clamour to the boom of the tocsin that, as by magic 
 and in a moment, turned the streets of Paris into a 
 hell of blood and cruelty. For as it was here, so it 
 was in a dozen other quarters. 
 
 Quickly as they streamed out — and to have issued 
 more quickly would have been impossible — fiercely as 
 they pushed and fought and clove their way, Tignon- 
 ville was of the foremost. And for a moment, seeing 
 
44 COVWF HANNIBAL. 
 
 the street clear before him and almost empty, the 
 Huguenot thought that he might do something. He 
 might outstrip the stream of rapine, he might carry 
 the alarm ; at worst he might reach his betrothed be- 
 fore harm befel her. But when he had sped fifty yards, 
 his heart sank. True, none passed him ; but under the 
 spell of the alarm-bell the stones themselves seemed 
 to turn to men. Houses, courts, alleys, the very 
 churches vomited men. In a twinkling the street was 
 alive with men, roared with them as with a rushing 
 tide, gleamed with their lights and weapons, thundered 
 with the volume of their thousand voices. He was 
 no longer ahead, men were running before him, be- 
 hind him, on his right hand and on his left. In every 
 side-street, every passage, men were running ; and 
 not men only, but women, children, furious creatures 
 without age or sex. And all the time the bell tolled 
 overhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder and 
 louder ; and shots and screams, and the clash of arms, 
 and the fall of strong doors began to swell the mael- 
 strom of sound. 
 
 He was in the Rue St. Honor6 now, and speeding 
 westward. But the flood still 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 hundred paces of it, he found his pas- 
 sage barred by a dense mass of people moving slowly 
 to meet him. In the heart of the press the light of a 
 dozen torches shone on half as many riders mailed 
 and armed; whose eyes, as they 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 a white-clad figure showed itself, and 
 passed from chimney-stack to chimney-stack, or, 
 
THE EVE OF THE FEAST. 45 
 
 stooping low, ran along the parapet. Every time 
 that this happened, the men on horseback pointed 
 upwards and the mob foamed with rage. 
 
 Tignonville groaned, but he could not help. Un- 
 able to go forward, he turned, and with others hurry- 
 ing, shouting, and brandishing weapons, he pressed 
 into the Rue du Eoule, passed through it, and gained 
 the Bethizy. But here, as he might have foreseen, 
 all passage was barred at the H6tel Ponthieu by a 
 horde of savages, who danced and yelled and sang 
 songs round the Admiral's body, which lay in the 
 middle of the way ; while to right and left men were 
 bursting into houses and forcing new victims into the 
 street. The worst had happened there, and he turned 
 panting, regained the Eue St. Honor6 and, crossing it 
 and turning left-handed, darted through side streets 
 until he came again into the main thoroughfare a lit- 
 tle beyond the Croix du Tiroir, that marked the cor- 
 ner of Mademoiselle's house. 
 
 Here his last hope left him. The street swarmed 
 with bands of men hurrying to and fro as in a sacked 
 city. The scum of the Halles, the rabble of the quar- 
 ter poured this way and that, here at random, there 
 swayed and directed by a few knots of men-at-arms, 
 whose corselets reflected the glare of a hundred 
 torches. At one time and within sight, three or four 
 houses were being stormed. On every side rose heart- 
 rending cries, mingled with brutal laughter, with sav- 
 age jests, with cries of "To the river!" The most 
 cruel of cities had burst its bounds and was not to be 
 stayed ; nor would be stayed until the Seine ran red 
 to the sea, and leagues below, in pleasant Normandy 
 hamlets, men, for fear of the pestilence, pushed the 
 corpses from the bridges with poles and boat-hooks. 
 
46 COUNT FANOTBAL. 
 
 All this Tignonville saw, though his eyes, leaping 
 the turmoil, looked only 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 he stood he could see no more. That was 
 enough, however. Eage nerved him, and despair; 
 his world was dying round him. If he could not save 
 her he would avenge her. Eecklessly he plunged 
 into the tumult ; blade in hand, with vigorous blows 
 he thrust his way through, his white sleeve and the 
 white cross in his hat gaining him passage until he 
 reached the fringe of the band who beset the door. 
 Here his first attempt to pass failed; and he might 
 have remained hampered by the crowd if a squad 
 of archers had not ridden up. As they spurred to 
 the spot, heedless over whom they rode, he clutched 
 a stirrup, and was borne with them into the heart of 
 the crowd. In a twinkling he stood on the threshold 
 of the house, face to face and foot to foot with Count 
 Hannibal, who stood also on the threshold, but with 
 his back to the door, which, unbarred and unbolted, 
 gaped open behind him. 
 
OHAPTEE V. 
 
 A EOUGH WOOING. 
 
 The young man had caught the delirium that was 
 abroad that night. The rage of the trapped beast was 
 in his heart, his hand held a sword. To strike blind- 
 ly, to strike without question the first who withstood 
 him was the wild-beast instinct ; and if Count Hanni- 
 bal had not spoken on the instant, the Marshal's 
 brother had said his last word in the world. 
 
 Yet as he stood there, a head above the crowd, he 
 seemed unconscious alike of TignonviUe and the point 
 that all but pricked his breast. Swart and grim- 
 visaged, his harsh features distorted by the glare 
 which shone upon him, he looked beyond the Hugue- 
 not to the sea of tossing arms and raging faces that 
 surged about the saddles of the horsemen. It was to 
 these he spoke. 
 
 "Begone, dogs!" he cried, in a voice that startled 
 the nearest, "or I will whip you away with my stir- 
 rup-leathers! Do you hear? Begone! This house is 
 not for you ! Bum, 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. 
 
 " A.nd has no cross ! " shrieked another, thrusting 
 himself forward in his turn. "See you, let us by, 
 
48 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 ■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 of it! ISTo cross, say you? I will 
 make one of you, foul crow ! " 
 
 And as he spoke, his arm shot out; the man re- 
 coiled, 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 will there be no favour shown 
 to-night to any, small or great. And this house is 
 registered, and is full of heretics." 
 
 "And has no cross!" the rabble urged in chorus. 
 And they leapt up and down in their impatience, and 
 to see the better. "And has no cross!" they per- 
 sisted. They could understand that. Of what use 
 crosses, if they were not to kill where there was no 
 cross? Daylight was not plainer. 
 
 Tavannes' face grew dark, and he shook his finger 
 at the archer who had spoken. "Eogue," he cried, 
 " does the King's will run here only ? Are there no 
 other 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 tail with 
 you ! Off ! Or must I cry ' Tavannes ! ' and bid my 
 people sweep you from the streets? " 
 
 The foremost rank hesitated, awed by his manner 
 and his name ; while the rearmost, attracted by the 
 prospect of easier pillage, had gone off already. The 
 rest wavered ; and another and another broke away. 
 The archer 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 would advise you to close 
 
A EOUGH WOOING. 49 
 
 the door and bolt and bar. We shall not be the last 
 to 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 to that ! " And turning on the 
 threshold, "Within there!" he cried. "Open the 
 shutters and set lights, and the table ! Light, I say ; 
 light I And lay on quickly, if you value your lives ! 
 And throw open, for I sup with your 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 to the street. He saw that the 
 crowd was melting, and, looking in Tignonville's 
 face, he laughed aloud. "Does Monsieur sup with 
 us? "he said. "To complete the party? Or will he 
 choose to sup with our friends yonder? It is for 
 him to say. I confess, for my part," with an awful 
 smile, "their hospitality seems a trifle crude, and 
 boisterous." 
 
 Tignonville looked behind him and shuddered. 
 The same horde which had so lately pressed about 
 the door had found a victim lower down the street, 
 and, as Tavannes spoke, came driving back along 
 the roadway, a mass of tossing lights and leaping, 
 running figures, from the heart of which rose the 
 screams of a creature in torture. So terrible were 
 the sounds that Tignonville leant half swooning 
 against the door-post ; and even the iron heart of 
 Tavannes seemed moved for a moment. 
 
 For a moment only : then he looked at his compan- 
 ion, and his lip curled. "You'll join us, I think?" 
 he said with an undisguised sneer. "Then, after 
 4 
 
60 COUNT HAMTIBAIi. 
 
 you, Monsieur. They are opening the shutters. 
 Doubtless the table is laid, and Mademoiselle is ex- 
 pecting us. " After you. Monsieur, if you please. A 
 few hours ago I should have gone first, for you, in 
 this house" — with a sinister smile — "were at home! 
 Now, we have changed places." 
 
 Whatever he meant by the gibe — and some smack 
 of an evil jest lurked in his tone — he played the host 
 so far as to urge his bewildered companion along the 
 passage and into the living-chamber on the left, where 
 he had seen from without that his orders to light and 
 lay were being executed. A dozen candles shone on 
 the board, and lit up the apartment. What the house 
 contained of food and wine had been got together 
 and set on the table; from the low, wide window, 
 beetle-browed and diamond-paned, which extended 
 the whole length of the room and looked on the street 
 at the height of a man's head above the roadway, the 
 shutters had been removed — doubtless by trembling 
 and reluctant fingers. To such eyes of passers-by. as 
 looked in, from the inferno of driving crowds and 
 gleaming weapons which prevailed outside — and not 
 outside only, but throughout Paris — the brilliant 
 room and the laid table must have seemed strange 
 indeed ! 
 
 To Tignonville, all that had happened, all that was 
 happening, seemed a dream: a dream his entrance 
 under the gentle impulsion of this man who domi- 
 nated him; a dream Mademoiselle standing behind 
 the table with blanched face and stony eyes ; a dream 
 the cowering servants huddled in a corner beyond 
 her ; a dream his silence, her silence, the moment of 
 waiting before Count Hannibal spoke. 
 
 When he did speak it was to count the servants. 
 
A EOUGH WOODfG. 51 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five," he said. "And two of 
 them women. Mademoiselle is but poorly attended. 
 Are there not" — and he turned to her — "some lack- 
 ing?" 
 
 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 not returned." 
 
 "And have not returned'?" he answered, raising 
 his eyebrows. "Then I fear we must not wait for 
 them. We might wait long ! " And turning sharply 
 to the panic-stricken servants, "Go you to your 
 places ! Do you not see that Mademoiselle waits to 
 be served?" 
 
 The girl shuddered and spoke. 
 
 "Do you wish me," she muttered, in the same 
 strangled tone, "to play this farce — ^to the end? " 
 
 "The end may be better. Mademoiselle, than you 
 think," he answered, bowing. And then to the mis- 
 erable servants, who hung back afraid to leave 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, Mademoi- 
 selle, may I have the honour? And when we are at 
 table we can talk." 
 
 He extended his hand, and, obedient to his gesture, 
 she moved to the place at the head of the table, but 
 without letting her fingers come into contact with his. 
 He gave no sign that he noticed this, but he strode to 
 the place on her right, and signed to Tignonville to 
 take that on her left. "Will you not be seated? " he 
 continued. For she kept her feet. 
 
 She turned her head stiffly, until for the first time 
 her eyes looked into his. A shudder more violent 
 
52 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 than the last shook her. " Had you not better — kill 
 us at once?" she whispered. The blood had for- 
 saken 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 the best. And you, sir, " he contin- 
 ued, turning to Carlat, "Serve your mistress with 
 wine. She needs it." 
 
 The steward filled for her, and then for each of the 
 men, his shaking hand spilling as much as it poured. 
 Nor was this strange. Above the diu and uproar of 
 the street, above the crash of distant doors, above 
 the tocsin that still rang from the reeling steeple 
 of St. Germain's, the great bell of the Palais on the 
 island had just begun to hurl its note of doom upon 
 the town. A woman crouching at the end of the 
 chamber burst into hysterical weeping, but, at a 
 glance from Tavannes' terrible eye, was mute again. 
 
 Tignonville found voice at last. "Have they — 
 killed the Admiral?" he muttered, his eyes on the 
 table. 
 
 "M. Coligny? An hour ago." 
 
 "AndTeligny?" 
 
 "Him also." 
 
 "M. de Eochefoucauld?" 
 
 "They are dealing with M. le Comte now, I be- 
 lieve," Tavannes answered. "He had his chance, and 
 cast it away." And he began to eat. 
 
 The man at the table shuddered. The woman con- 
 tinued to look before her, but her lips moved as if 
 she prayed. Suddenly a rush of feet, a roar of voices 
 surged past the window ; for a moment the glare of 
 the torches which danced ruddily on the walls of the 
 room, showed a severed head borne above the multi- 
 
A EOUGH WOOING. 53 
 
 tnde on a pike. Mademoiselle, with a low cry, made 
 an effort to rise, but Count Hannibal grasped her 
 wrist and she sank back half fainting. Then the 
 nparer clamour sank a little, and the bells, unchal- 
 lenged, flung their iron tongues abOve the maddened 
 city. In the east the dawn was growing; soon its 
 grey light would fall on cold hearths, on battered 
 doors and shattered weapons, on hordes of wretches 
 drunk with greed and hate. 
 
 When he could be heard, "What are you going to 
 do with US'? " the man asked hoarsely. 
 
 "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 if?" he cried. 
 And he stood up and sat down again in a breath. 
 
 Tavannes raised his eyebrows with a blandness 
 that seemed at odds with his harsh visage. " I will an- 
 swer that question by another question," he replied. 
 "How many are there in the house, my friend'? " 
 
 "You can count," 
 
 Tavannes counted again. "Seven?" he said. 
 
 Tignonville nodded impatiently. 
 
 "Seven lives?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, Monsieur, you know the Bang'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 if that which he had to say could 
 not be said even by him in cold blood, "Nay, you 
 
54 COUNT HAliTNIBAL. 
 
 know it ! You heard it from the archer at the door. 
 You heard him say, 'No favour, no quarter for man, 
 for woman, or for child. So says the King.' You 
 heard it, but you fence with me. Foucauld, witt 
 whom his Majesty' played to-night, hand to hand and 
 face to face — Foucauld is dead ! And you think to 
 live? You?" he continued, lashing himself into 
 passion. "I know not by what chance you came 
 where I saw you an hour gone, nor by what chance 
 you came by that and that " — pointing with accusing 
 finger to the badges the Huguenot wore. "But this I 
 know! I have but to cry your name from yonder 
 casement, nay. Monsieur, I have but to stand aside 
 when the mob go their rounds from house to house, 
 as they will go presently, and you will perish as cer- 
 tainly as you have hitherto escaped ! " 
 
 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, Ma- 
 demoiselle," he answered, bowing. 
 
 "At a price? " she muttered. 
 
 "At a price," he answered. "A price which wo- 
 men do not find it hard to pay — at Court. 'Tis paid 
 every day for pleasure or a whim, for rank or the 
 entrSe, for robes and gewgaws. Few, Mademoiselle, 
 are privileged to buy a life ; still fewer, seven ! " 
 
 She began to tremble. "I would rather die — seven 
 times ! " she cried, her voice 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 
 stem persistence, while his eyes passed lightly from 
 
A EOUGH WOOING. 55 
 
 her to Tignonville and back to her again, their depths 
 inscrutable. "If you love Monsieur, Mademoiselle, 
 and I believe you 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 thrust forward his head. 
 "For that is the question. Think, think, Mademoi- 
 selle. It is in my power to save from death him 
 whom you love ; to save you ; to save this canaille, if 
 it so please you. It is in my power to save him, to 
 save you, to save all ; and I will save all — at a price ! 
 If, on the other hand, you deny me that price, I will 
 as certainly leave all to perish, as perish they will, 
 before the sun that is now rising sets to-night ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle looked straight before her, the flicker 
 of a dreadful prescience in her eyes. "And the 
 price?" she muttered. "The price?" 
 
 "Ton, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Yes, you! Nay, why fence with me?" he con- 
 tinued gently. "You knew it, you have said it. You 
 have read it in my eyes these seven days." 
 
 She did not speak, move, or seem to breathe. As 
 he said, she had foreseen, 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 continued vehemently. "You shall 
 not leave this room alive! You shall pay for this 
 insult!" 
 
56 COUNT HAIfNIBAL. 
 
 "Insult?" Tavannes answered in apparent sur- 
 prise; and then, as if comprehension broke upon 
 him, " All ! Monsieur mistakes me, " he said, with a 
 generous sweep of his hand. "And* Mademoiselle 
 also, perhaps? Oh! be content, she shall have bell, 
 book, and candle ; she shall be tied as tight as Holy 
 Church can tie her ! Or, if she please, and one sur- 
 vive, she shall have a priest of her own church — you 
 call it a church? She shall have whichever of the two 
 will serve her better. 'Tis one to me ! But for pay- 
 ing me. Monsieur," he continued with irony in voice 
 and manner; "when, I pray you? In Eternity? For 
 if you refuse my offer, you have done with time. 
 Now? I have but to sound this whistle " — ^he touched 
 a silver whistle which hung at his breast — "and there 
 are those within hearing will do your business before 
 you make two passes. Dismiss the notion, sir, and 
 understand. You are in my power. Paris runs Avlth 
 blood, as noble as yours, as innocent as hers. If you 
 would not perish with the rest, decide ! And quick- 
 ly ! For what you have seen are but the forerunners, 
 what you have heard are but the gentle whispers that 
 predict the gale. Do not parley too long; so long 
 that even I may no longer save you." 
 
 "I would rather die!" Mademoiselle moaned, her 
 face covered. " I would rather die ! " 
 
 "And see him die?" he answered quietly. "And 
 see these die ? Think, think, child ! " 
 
 "Tou wiU not do it!" she gasped. She shook 
 from head to foot. 
 
 "I shall do nothing," he answered firmly. "I shall 
 but leave you to your fate, and these to theirs. In 
 the King's teeth I dare save my wife and her people ; 
 but no others. Tou must choose — and quickly." 
 
A EOUGH WOOmG. 57 
 
 One of the frightened women — ^it was Mademoi- 
 selle's tiring-maid, a girl called Javette — made a 
 movement, as if to throw herself at her mistress's 
 feet. Tignonville drove her to her place with a word. 
 He turned to Count Hannibal. "But, M. le Comte," 
 he said, "you must be mad! Mad, to wish to marry 
 her in this way ! You do not love her, Tou do not 
 want her. What is she to you more than other wo- 
 men?" 
 
 "What is she to you more than other women? " Ta- 
 vannes retorted in a tone so sharp and incisive that 
 Tignonville started, and a faint touch of colour crept 
 into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, 
 the prize of the contest. "What is she more to you 
 than other women? Is she more? 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? But we 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 have her. She shall be the wife, the will- 
 ing wife, of Hannibal de Tavannes — or I 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's wife ! " 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 "WHO TOUCHES TAVANNES? 
 
 In saying that the storm was rising Count Hannibal had 
 said no more than the truth. A new mob had a min- 
 ute before burst from the eastward into the Eue St. 
 Honor^ ; and the roar of its thousand voices swelled 
 louder than the importunate clangour of the bells. 
 Behind its moving masses the dawn of a new day — 
 Sunday, the 24th of August, the feast of St. Barthol- 
 omew — was breaking over the Bastille, as if to aid the 
 crowd in its cruel work. The gabled streets, the lanes, 
 and gothic courts, the stifling wynds, where the work 
 awaited the workers, still lay in twilight; still the 
 gleam of the torches, falling on the house-fronts, her- 
 alded the coming of the crowd. But the dawn was 
 growing, the sun was about to rise. Soon the day 
 would be here, giving up the lurking fugitive whom 
 darkness, more pitiful, had spared, and stamping with 
 legality the horrors that night had striven to hide. 
 
 And with day, with the full light, kUling would 
 grow more easy, escape more hard. Already they 
 were killing on the bridge where the rich goldsmiths 
 lived, on the wharves, on the river. They were kill- 
 ing at the Louvre, in the courtyard under the King's 
 eyes, and below the windows of the M4dicis. They 
 were killing in St. Martin and St. Denis and St. An- 
 toine; wherever hate, or bigotry, or private malice 
 impelled the hand. From the whole city went up 
 
WHO TOUCHES TAVAIOIES ! 59 
 
 a din of lamentation, and wrath, and foreboding. 
 From the Cour des Miracles, from the markets, from 
 the Boucherie, from every haunt of crime and misery, 
 hordes of wretched creatures poured forth ; some to 
 rob on their own account, and where they listed, none 
 gainsaying; more to join themselves to one of the 
 armed bands whose business it was to go from street 
 to street, and house to house, quelling resistance, and 
 executing through Paris the high justice of the King. 
 
 It was one of these swollen bands which had en- 
 tered the street whUe Tavannes spoke ; nor could he 
 have called to his aid a more powerful advocate. As 
 the deep " A bas ! A bas ! " rolled like thunder along 
 the fronts of the houses, as the more strident "Tuez! 
 Tuez ! " drew nearer and nearer, and the lights of the 
 oncoming multitude began to flicker on the shut- 
 tered 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 herself 
 about them, shrieked to her to save her, only to save 
 her ! One of the men moved forward on impulse, as 
 if he would close the shutters ; and only old Carlat 
 remained silent, praying mutely with moving lips 
 and a stern, set face. 
 
 Aud Count Hannibal? As the glare of the links in 
 the street grew brighter, and ousted the sickly day- 
 light, his form seemed to dilate. He stilled the 
 shrieking woman by a glance. " Choose ! Mademoi- 
 selle, and quickly!" he said. "For I can only save 
 my wife and her people! Quick, for the pinch is 
 coming, and 'twill be no boy's play." 
 
 A shot, a scream from the street, a rush of racing 
 feet before the window seconded his words. 
 
60 COnifT HAiraiBAX. 
 
 "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. But he made no sign, and only Ta- 
 vannes 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, 'Whoever perishes, I will live! ' But " 
 
 "Curse you!" the young man cried, and, stung 
 to madness, he tore the cross from his cap and flung 
 it on the ground. He seized his white sleeve and 
 ripped it from shoulder to elbow. Then, when it 
 hung by the string only, he held his hand. 
 
 "Curse you!" he cried furiously. "I will not at 
 your bidding ! I may save her yet ! I will save her ! " 
 
 "Pool!" Tavannes answered — ^but his words were 
 barely audible above the deafening uproar. "Can 
 you fight a thousand'? Look! Look!" and seiz- 
 ing the other's wrist he pointed to the window. 
 The street glowed like a furnace in the red light of 
 torches, raised on poles above a sea of heads ; an end- 
 less sea of heads, and gaping faces, and tossing arms 
 which swept on and on, and on and by. For a while 
 it seemed that the torrent would flow past them and 
 would leave them safe. Then came a check, a con- 
 fused outcry, a surging this way and that ; the torches 
 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 a little. He stood between the sul- 
 len group that surrounded the disordered table and 
 the maddened rabble, that gloated on the viotiins be- 
 
WHO TOUCHES TAVAKTSTES ! 61 
 
 fore they tore them to pieces. "Open! Open!" the 
 mob howled : and a man dashed in the window with 
 his pike. 
 
 In that crisis Mademoiselle's eyes met Tayanties' 
 for the fraction of a second. She did not speak ; nor, 
 had she retained the power to frame the words, wotdd 
 they hare 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 sUeuce. 
 
 "Back!" he thundered. "Back, knares!" And 
 he whistled shrilly. "Do what yon will," he contin- 
 ued in the same tone, "but not here ! Pass on ! Pass 
 on !— ^o you hear ? " 
 
 But the crowd were not to be lightly diverted. "With 
 a petsistence brutal and unquestioning they con- 
 tinued to howl " Opeu ! Open ! " while the man who 
 had broken the window the moment before, Jehan, 
 the cripple with the hideous 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 foot 
 against the trail below. 
 
 Tavannes saw what he did, and his frame seemed 
 to dilate with the fury and violence of his character. 
 "Dogs! " he shouted, "must I caU out my riders and 
 scatter youl Must I flog you tlirough the streets 
 with stirrup-leathers'? I am Tavannes, beware of me ! 
 I have claws and teeth and I bite ! " he continued, 
 the scorn in his words exceeding even the rage of the 
 crowd, at which he flung them. "KUl where you 
 please, rob where you please, but not where I am ! 
 Or I will hang you by the heels on Montfaucon, man 
 by man! I will flay your backs. Go! go! I am 
 Tavannes ! " 
 
62 COTJlfT HAIOriBAL. 
 
 But the mob, cowed for a moment by the thunder of 
 his voice, by his arrogance and recklessness, showed 
 at this that their patience was exhausted. With a 
 yell which drowned his tones they swayed for- 
 ward; a dozen thundered on the door, crying, "In 
 the King's name ! " As many more tore out the re- 
 mainder of the casement, seized the bars of the win- 
 dow, and strove to pull them out or to climb between 
 them. Jehan, the cripple, with whom Tignonville had 
 rubbed elbows at the rendezvous, led the 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 ad- 
 versary's inactivity, began to squeeze himself through 
 the bars, Tavannes raised a pistol, which he had held 
 unseen behind him, cocked it at leisure, and levelled 
 it at the foul face which leered close to his. The dwarf 
 saw the 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 fell back into the 
 arms of a lean man in black who had lent him his 
 shoulder to ascend. 
 
 For a few seconds the smoke of the pistol filled the 
 window and the room. There was a cry that the Hu- 
 guenots were escaping, that the Huguenots were re- 
 sisting, that it was a plot ; and some shouted to guard 
 the back and some to watch the roof, and some to be 
 gone. But when the fumes cleared away, the mob 
 saw, with stupor, that all was as it had been. Count 
 Hannibal 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 
 
WHO TOUCHES TAVANNES ? 63 
 
 change to ferocity, "You dogs!" he went on. "You 
 scum of a filthy city, sweepings of the Halles ! Do 
 you think to beard mel Do you think to frighten me 
 or murder me? I am Tavannes, and this is my house, 
 and were there a score of Huguenots in it, you should 
 not touch one, nor harm a hair of his head ! Begone, 
 I say again, while you may ! Seek women and chil- 
 dren, and kill them. But not here ! " 
 
 For an instant the mingled scorn and brutality of 
 his words silenced them. Then from the rear of the 
 crowd came an answer — ^the roar of an arquebuse. 
 The ball whizzed past Count Hannibal's head, and, 
 splashing the plaster from the wall within a pace of 
 Tignonville, dropped to the ground. 
 
 Tavannes laughed. "Bungler! " he cried. "Were 
 you in my troop I would dip your trigger-finger in 
 boiling oil to teach you to shoot ! But you weary me, 
 dogs. I must teach you a lesson, must I? " And he 
 lifted a pistol and levelled it. The crowd did not 
 know whether it was the one he had discharged or 
 another, but they gave back with a sharp gasp. 
 "I must teach you, must I? " he continued with scorn. 
 "Here Bigot, Badelon, drive me these blusterers! 
 Eid the street of them ! A Tavannes ! A Tavannes ! " 
 
 Not by word or look had he before this betrayed that 
 he had supports. But as he cried the name, a dozen 
 men armed to the teeth, who had stood motionless 
 under the Croix du Tiroir, fell in a line on the right 
 fiank of the crowd. The surprise for those nearest 
 them was complete. With the flash of the pikes be- 
 fore their eyes, with the cold steel in fancy between 
 their ribs, they fled every way, uncertain how many 
 pursued, or if any pursuit there was. For a moment 
 the mob, which a few minutes before had seemed so 
 
64 COTmT HAIIWIBAL, 
 
 formidable that a regiment might have quailed before 
 it, bade fair to be routed by a dozen pikes. 
 
 And so, had all in the crowd been what he termed 
 them, the rabble and sweepings of the streets, it 
 would have been. But in the heart of it, and felt 
 rather than seen, were a handful of another kidney ; 
 Sorbonne students and fierce-eyed priests, with three 
 or four mounted archers, the nucleus that, mov- 
 ing through the streets, had drawn together this 
 concourse. And these with threats and curses and 
 gleaming eyes stood fast, even Tavannes' dare-devils 
 recoiling before the tonsure. The check thus caused 
 allowed those who had budged a breathing space. 
 They rallied behind the black robes, and began to 
 stone the pikes; who in their turn withdrew until 
 they formed two groups, standing on their defence, 
 the one before the window the other before the door. 
 
 Count Hannibal had watched the attack and the 
 check, as a man watches a play ; with smiling inter- 
 est. In the panic, the torches had been dropped or 
 extinguished, and now between the hbuse and the 
 sullen crowd which hung back, yet grew moment by 
 moment more dangerous, the daylight fell cold on the 
 littered street and the cripple's huddled form prone 
 in the gutter. A priest raised on the shoulders of the 
 lean man in black began to harangue the mob, and the 
 dull roar of assent, the brandished arms which greeted 
 his appeal, had their effect on Tavannes' men. They 
 looked to the window, and muttered among them- 
 selves. It was plain that they had no stomach for 
 a fight with the Church, and were anxious for the 
 order to withdraw. 
 
 But Count Hannibal gave no order, and, much as 
 his people feared the cowls, they feared him more. 
 
WHO TOUCHES TAVANNES ? 65 
 
 Meanwhile the speaker's eloquence rose higher; he 
 pointed with frenzied gestures to the house. The 
 mob groaned, and suddenly a volley of stones fell 
 among the pikemen, whose corselets rattled under the 
 shower. The priest seized that moment. He sprang 
 to the 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 huge one-fronted 
 thundering wave, before which the two handfuls of 
 pikemen — afraid to strike, yet afraid to fly — were 
 swept away like straws upon the tide. 
 
 But against the solid walls and oak-barred door of 
 the house the wave beat, only to fall back agaih, a 
 broken, seething mass of brandished arms and raven- 
 ing faces. One point alone was vulnetable, the win- 
 dow, and there in the gap Stood Tavannes. Quick as 
 thought he fired two pistols into 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 — as they were doing to the best 
 of their power — or he had resources still unseen, was 
 not to be known. For as the smoke began to rise, and 
 while the rabble before the window, cowed by the fall 
 of two of their number, were Still pushing backward 
 Instead of forward, there rose behind them sti'ange 
 sounds — yells, and the clatter of hoofs, mingled with 
 screams of alarm. A second, and into the loose skirts 
 of the crowd came charging helter-skelter, pell-mell, 
 a score of galloping, shrieking, cursing horsemen, 
 attended by twice as many footmen, who clung to 
 their stirrups or to the tails of the horses, and yelled 
 and whooped, and struck in unison with the mad- 
 dened riders. 
 
 "On! on!" the foremost shrieked, rolling in his 
 5 
 
66 COUlfT HAimXBAL. 
 
 saddle, and foaming at the mouth. "Bleed in Au- 
 gust, bleed in May ! Kill ! " And he fired a pistol 
 among the rabble, who fled every way to escape his 
 rearing, plunging charger. 
 
 "Kill! Kill!" cried his followers, cutting the air 
 with their swords, and rolling to and fro on their 
 horses in drunken emulation. "Bleed in August, 
 bleed in May ! " 
 
 " On ! On ! " cried the leader, as the crowd which 
 beset the house fled every 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, 
 "Oh6!" cried Coujit Hannibal from his window. 
 "Oh6!" with a shout of laughter, "ride over them, 
 dear brother ! Make me a clean street for my wed- 
 ding ! " 
 
 Marshal Tavannes — for he, the hero of Jarnac, was 
 the leader of this wild orgy — turned that way, and 
 strove to rein in his horse. "What ails them?" he 
 cried, as the maddened animal reared upright, its 
 iron hoofs striking fire from the slippery pavement. 
 
 "They are rearing like thy Bayard!" Count Han- 
 nibal answered. "Whip them, whip them for me! 
 Tavannes! Tavannes!" 
 
 " What ? This canaille ? " 
 
 "Ay, that canaille! " 
 
 " WTio touches my brother, touches Tavannes ! " 
 the Marshal replied, and spurred his horse among the 
 rabble, who had fled to the sides of the street and 
 now strove hard to efface themselves against the 
 walls. "Begone, dogs; begone! " he cried, still hunt- 
 ing them. And then, "You would bite, would you? " 
 
WHO TOUCHES TAVAKSTBS ? 67 
 
 And snatching another pistol from his boot, he fired 
 it among them, careless whom he hit. "Ha! ha! 
 That stirs you, does it ! " he continued as the wretches 
 fled headlong. "Who touches my brother, touches 
 Tavannes! On! On!" 
 
 Suddenly, from a doorway near at hand, a sombre 
 figure darted into the roadway, caught the Marshal's 
 rein, and for a second checked his course. The priest 
 — for a priest it was. Father Pezelay, the same who 
 had addressed the mob — held up a warning hand. 
 "Halt!" he cried, with burning eyes. "Halt, my 
 lord! It is written, thou shalt not spare the Canaan- 
 itish woman. 'Tis not to spare the King has given 
 command and a sword, but to kill ! 'Tis not to har- 
 bour, but to smite ! To smite ! " 
 
 "Then smite I will!" the Marshal retorted, and 
 with the butt of his pistol struck the zealot down. 
 Then, with as much indifference as he would have 
 treated a Huguenot, he spurred his horse over him, 
 with a mad laugh at his jest. "Who touches my 
 brother, touches Tavannes!" he yelled. "Touches 
 Tavannes! On! On! Bleed in August, bleed in 
 May!" 
 
 "On!" shouted his followers, striking about them 
 in the same desperate fashion. They were young no- 
 bles who had spent the night feasting at the Palace, 
 and, drunk with wine and mad with excitement, had 
 left the Louvre at daybreak to rouse the city. "A 
 Jamac! A Jarnac!" they cried, and some saluted 
 Count Hannibal as they passed. And so, shouting 
 and spurring and following their leader, they swept 
 away down the now empty street, carrying terror and 
 a flame wherever their horses bore them that morn- 
 ing. 
 
68 COtTNT HAKHIBAL. 
 
 Tavannes, his hands on the ledge of the shattered 
 Windovr, leaned out laughing, and followed them with 
 his eyes. A moment, and the mob was gone, the 
 street was empty; and one by one, with sheepish 
 faces, his pikemen emerged from the doorways and 
 alleys in which they had taken refuge. They gath- 
 ered about the three huddled forms which lay prone 
 and still in the gutter: or, not three— two. I^or 
 even as they approached them, one, the priest, rose 
 slowly and giddily to his feet. He turned a face 
 bleeding, lean, and relentless towards the window at 
 which Tavannes stood. Solemnly, with the sign of 
 the cross, and with Uplifted hands, he cursed him In 
 bed and at board, by day and by night, in walking, 
 in riding, in standing, in the day of battle, and at the 
 hour of death. The pikemen fell back appalled, and 
 hid their eyes; and those who were of the north 
 crossed themselves, and those who came from the 
 south bent two fingers horse-shoe fashion. But Han- 
 nibal de Tavannes laughed; laughed in his mous- 
 tache, his teeth showing, and bade them moV6 that 
 carrion to a distance, for it would Smell when the sun 
 was high. Then he turned his back 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 had guttered out. The three 
 which still burned, contending pallidly with the day- 
 light that each moment grew stronger, imparted to 
 the scene the air of a debauch too long sustained. 
 The disordered board, the wan faces of the servants 
 cowering in their corner. Mademoiselle's frozen look 
 of misery, all increased the likeness; which a com- 
 mon exhaustion so far strengthened that when Ta- 
 vannes turned from the window, and, flushed with his 
 triumph, met the others' eyes, his seemed the only 
 vigour, and he the only man in the company. True, 
 beneath the exhaustion, beneath the collapse of his 
 victims, there burned passions, hatreds, repulsions, as 
 fierce as the hidden fires of the volcano ; but for the 
 time they smouldered ash-choked and inert. 
 
 He flung the discharged pistols on the table. "If 
 yonder raven speak truth," he said, "I am like to 
 pay dearly for my wife, and have short time to call 
 her wife. The more need. Mademoiselle, for speed, 
 therefore. You know the old saying, ' Short signing, 
 long seisin' ? Shall it be my priest, or your minister 1 " 
 
 M. de Tignonville started forward. "She prom- 
 ised nothing ! " he cried. And he struck his hand on 
 the table. 
 
70 COUNT HAiraiBAL. 
 
 Count Hannibal smiled, Ms lip curling. "That," 
 he replied, "is for Mademoiselle 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 day to carry, as men of a later time 
 carried a snuff-box. He slowly chose a prune. "If 
 she says it? " he answered. " Then M. de Tignonville 
 has regained his sweetheart. 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 re- 
 peated trembling. 
 
 "Because, M. de Tignonville, it is not true." 
 
 "But she did not speak!" Tignonville retorted, 
 with passion — the futile passion of the bird which 
 beats its wings against a cage. "She did not speak. 
 She could not promise, therefore." 
 
 Tavannes ate the prune slowly, seemed to give a 
 little thought to its flavour, approved it a true Agen 
 plum, and at last spoke. "It is not for you to say 
 whether she promised," he returned drily, "nor for 
 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 and relief. " For she did not speak. 
 Mademoiselle, listen!" he continued, turning with 
 outstretched hands and appealing to her with passion. 
 
DT THE AMPHITHEATEB, 71 
 
 "Do you hear? Do you understand? You have but 
 to speak to be free ! Tou have but to say the word, 
 and Monsieur lets you go! In God's name, speak! 
 Speak then, Clotilde! Oh!" with a gesture of de- 
 spair, as she did not answer, but continued to sit 
 stony and hopeless, looking straight before 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 has turned her brain." 
 
 Count Hannibal smiled. "I knew her father and 
 her uncle," he said, "and in their time the Vrillacs 
 were not wont to be cowards. Monsieur forgets, too," 
 he continued with fine irony, "that he speaks of my 
 betrothed." 
 
 "It is a lie!" 
 
 Tavannes raised his eyebrows. "Tou are in my 
 power," he said. "For the rest, if it be a lie, Ma- 
 demoiselle has but to say so." 
 
 "You hear him?" TignonvUle 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 position strange and un- 
 paralleled. For in proportion as the fear of death 
 instant and violent was lifted from him, reflection 
 awoke, and the situation in which he stood took uglier 
 shape. It was not so much love that cried to her, 
 love that suffered, anguished by the prospect of love 
 lost; as in the highest natures it might have been. 
 Eather it was the man's pride which suffered; the 
 pride of a high spirit which found itself helpless be- 
 tween the hammer and the anvil, in a position so false 
 
72 COUNT HAmnBAL. 
 
 that hereafter men might say of the unfortunate that 
 he had bartered his mistress for his life. He had 
 not! But he had perforce to stand by; he had to 
 be passive under stress of circumstances, and by the 
 sacrifice, if she consummated it, he would in fact be 
 saved. 
 
 There was the pinch. No wonder that he cried to 
 her in a voice which roused even the servants from 
 their lethargy of fear. "Say it!" he cried. "Say 
 it, before it be too late. Say you did not promise ! " 
 
 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 no part of the price. See! 
 There ! And there ! " He tore the white sleeve 
 wholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung 
 it on the floor and trampled on it. "It shall never 
 be said that I stood by and let you buy my life ! I 
 go into the street and I take my chance." And he 
 turned to the door. 
 
 But Tavannes was before him. "No!" he said; 
 "you will stay here, M. de Tignonville ! " 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 if I choose to per- 
 ish?" 
 
 " Only this, " Tavannes retorted. " I am answerable 
 to Mademoiselle now, in an hour I shall be answer- 
 able to my wife— for your life. Live, then. Monsieur ; 
 
m THE AMPHITHEATER 73 
 
 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?" Tignon- 
 vUle cried. 
 
 Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled. Sudden stormy 
 changes, from indifference to ferocity, from irony 
 to invective, were characteristic of the man. "Tor- 
 tured!" he repeated grimly. "You talk of torture 
 while Piles and Pardaillan, Teligny and Eochefou- 
 cauld lie dead in the street ! While your cause sinks 
 withered in a night, like a gourd ! While your ser- 
 vants fall butchered, and Prance rises round you in a 
 tide of blood ! Bah ! " — with a gesture 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 your leave I return in an hour, and 
 I bring with me — shall it be my priest, or your minis- 
 ter?" 
 
 She looked at him with the face of one who awakes 
 slowly to the full horror, the full dread, of her posi- 
 tion. For a moment she did not answer. Then, "A 
 minister," she murmured, her voice scarcely audible. 
 
 He nodded, "A minister?" he said lightly. 
 "Very well, if I can find one." And walking to the 
 shattered, gaping casement — through which the cool 
 morning air blew into the room and gently stirred 
 the hair of the unhappy girl — he said some words to 
 the man on guard outside. Then he turned to the 
 door, but on the threshold he paused, looked with a 
 strange expression at the pair, and signed to Carlat 
 and the servants to go out before him. 
 
 "Up, and lie close above!" he growled. "Open a 
 
74 COUNT HA20IBAL. 
 
 window or look out, and you will pay dearly for it! 
 Do you hear? Up! Up! You, too, old crop-ears. 
 What! would you f" — with, a sudden glare as Carlat 
 hesitated — "that is 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 
 other as if to quell her rising horror, sat looking be- 
 fore her, and seemed barely to breathe. The man, 
 leaning against the wall at a little distance, bent his 
 eyes not on her, but on the floor, his face gloomy and 
 distorted. 
 
 His first thought should have been of her and for 
 her ; his first impulse to 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 of farewell, 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 him who 
 paid with her the price. 
 
 And all these things, and more, may have been in 
 M. de Tignonville's mind; they may even have been 
 uppermost in it, but they found no expression. The 
 man remained sunk in a sombre reverie. He had the 
 appearance of thinking of himself, not of her ; of his 
 own position, not of hers. Otherwise he must have 
 looked at her, he must have turned to her ; he must 
 have owned the subtle attraction of her unspoken 
 appeal when she 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 
 
m THE AMPHITHEATEE. 75 
 
 responded. He sat buried in thought of himself, and 
 his position, the vile, the unworthy position in which 
 her act had placed him. At length the constraint of 
 her gaze wrought on him, or his thoughts became 
 unbearable, and he looked up and met her eyes, and 
 with an oath he sprang to his feet. 
 
 "It shall not be!" he cried, in a tone low, but 
 fall of fury. "You shall not do it! I will kill him 
 
 first! I will kin him with this hand! Or " a 
 
 step took him to the window, a step brought him 
 back — ^ay, brought him back exultant, and with a 
 changed face. "Or better, we will thwart him yet. 
 See, Mademoiselle, do you see? Heaven is merciful! 
 For a moment the cage is open ! " His eyes shone 
 with excitement, the sweat of sudden hope 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 draw her to the window. 
 
 But she hxing back, staring at him. " Oh, no, no ! " 
 she cried. 
 
 "Yes, yes! I say!" he responded. "You do not 
 understand. The way is open ! We can escape, Clo- 
 tilde, we can escape ! " 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! " she wailed, still resisting him. 
 
 "You are afraid! " 
 
 "Afraid? " she repeated the word in a tone of won- 
 der. "'So, but I cannot. I promised him. I can- 
 not. And, O God!" she continued, in a sudden out- 
 burst of grief, as the sense of general loss, of the 
 great common tragedy broke on her and whelmed for 
 the moment her private misery. "Why should we 
 think of ourselves? They are dead, they are dying, 
 who were ours, whom we loved! Why should we 
 think to live! What does it matter how it fares with 
 
76 COTTNT" HANNIBAL. 
 
 us? We cannot be happy. Happy 1 " slie continued 
 wildly. "Are any happy now 1 Or is the world all 
 changed in a night? No, we could not be happy. 
 And at least you will live, Tignonville. I have that 
 to console me." 
 
 "Live!" he responded vehemently. "I live I I 
 would rather die a thousand times. A thousand 
 times rather than live shamed ! Than see you sacri- 
 ficed to that devil ! Than go out with a brand on my 
 brow, for every man to point at me ! I would rather 
 die a thousand times ! " 
 
 "And do you think that I would not?" she an- 
 swered, shivering. "Better, far better die than — 
 than live with him ! " 
 
 "Then why not die? " 
 
 She stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden still- 
 ness possessed her. "How? " she whispered. "What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "That! " he said. As he spoke, he raised his hand 
 and signed to her to listen. A sullen murmur, dis- 
 tant as yet, but borne to the ear on the fresh morning 
 air, foretold the rising of another storm. The sound 
 grew in intensity, even wMle she listened ; and yet for 
 a moment she misunderstood him. "O God!" she 
 cried, out of the agony of nerves overwrought, "will 
 that bell never stop 7 Will it never stop 1 Will no 
 one stop it?" 
 
 " 'Tis not the bell ! " he cried, seizing her hand as if 
 to focus her attention. "It is the mob you hear. 
 They are returning. We have but to stand a moment 
 at this open window, we have but to show ourselves 
 to them, and we need live no longer ! Mademoiselle ! 
 Clotilde! — if you mean what you say, if you are in 
 earnest, the way is open! " 
 
DT THE AMPHITHEATEE. 77 
 
 "And we shall die — ^together! " 
 
 "Yes, together. But have you the courage! " 
 
 "The courage?" she cried, a brave snule lighting 
 the whiteness of her face. "The courage were needed 
 to live. The courage were needed to do that. I am 
 ready, quite ready. It can be no sin ! To live with 
 that in front of me were the siu ! Come ! " For the 
 moment she had forgotten her people, her promise, 
 all ! It seemed to her that death would absolve her 
 from aU. " Come ! " 
 
 He moved with her under the impulse of her hand 
 until they stood at the gaping window. The mur- 
 mur, which he had heard indistinctly a moment be- 
 fore, had grown to a roar of voices. The mob, on 
 its return eastward along the Eue St. Honor^ was 
 nearing the house. He stood, his arm supporting 
 her, and they waited, a little within the window. 
 Suddenly he stooped, his face hardly less white than 
 hers ; their eyes met, and he would have kissed her. 
 
 She did not withdraw from his arm, but she drew 
 back her face, her eyes half shut. "BTo!" she mur- 
 mured. "BTo! While I live I am his. But we die 
 together, Tignonville ! We die together. It will not 
 last long, will it? And afterwards " 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved 
 in prayer, and over her features came a far-away 
 look ; such a look as that which on the face of an- 
 other Huguenot lady, Philippine de Luns — ^vilely 
 done to death in the Place Maubert fourteen years 
 before — silenced the ribald jests of the lowest rabble 
 in the world. An hour or two earlier, awed by the 
 abruptness of the outburst. Mademoiselle had shrunk 
 from her fate ; she had known fear. H'ow that she 
 stood out voluntarily to meet it, she, like many a wo- 
 
78 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 man before and since, feared no longer. She was 
 lifted out of and above herself. 
 
 But death was long in coming. Some cause beyond 
 their knowledge stayed the 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 doors down the Eue St. Honor6. For a half- 
 minute, a long half -minute, which appeared an age, 
 it drew no nearer. Would it draw nearer? Would 
 it come on? Or would it turn again? 
 
 The doubt, so much worse than despair, began to 
 sap that courage of the man which is always better 
 fitted to do than to suffer. The sweat rose on Tig- 
 nonville's brow as he stood listening, his arm round 
 the girl — as he stood listening and waiting. It is pos- 
 sible that when he had said a minute or two earlier 
 that he would rather die a thousand times than live 
 thus shamed, he had spoken beyond the mark. Or 
 it is possible that he had meant his words to the full. 
 But in this case he had not pictured what was to come, 
 he had not gauged correctly his power of passive en- 
 durance. He was as brave as the ordinary man, as 
 the ordinary soldier ; but martyrdom, the apotheosis 
 of resignation, comes more naturally to women than 
 to men, more hardly to men than to women. Yet- 
 had the crisis come quickly he might have met it. 
 But he had to wait, and to wait with that howling 
 of wild beasts in his ears ; and for this he was not 
 prepared. 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. Was it 
 even now too late to escape? Too late to avoid the 
 consequences of the girl's silly persistence? Too late 
 to ? Her eyes were closed, she hung half lifeless 
 
EST THE AMPHITHEATER 79 
 
 on his arm. She ■would not know, she need not 
 know until afterwards. And afterwards she would 
 thank him ! Afterwards — meantime the window was 
 open, the street was empty, and still the crowd hung 
 back and did not come. 
 
 He remembered that two doors away was a nar- 
 row passage, which leaving the Eue St. Honor6 turned 
 at right angles under a beetling archway, to emerge 
 in the Eue du Eoule. 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 step forward. 
 He tightened his grasp of the girl's waist, and, seiz- 
 ing with his left hand the end of the bar which the 
 assailants had torn from its setting in the window 
 jamb, he turned to lower himself. One long step 
 would land him in the street. 
 
 At that moment she awoke from the stupor of exal- 
 tation. She opened her eyes with a startled move- 
 ment ; and her eyes met his. 
 
 He was in the act of stepping backwards and down- 
 wards, dragging her after him. But it was not this 
 betrayed him. It was his face, which in an instant 
 told her all, and that he sought not death, but life ! 
 She struggled upright and strove to free herself. 
 But he had the purchase of the bar, and by this time 
 he was furious as well as determined. Whether she 
 would or no, he would save her, he would drag her 
 out. Then, as consciousness 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 her passionately, desperately, with 
 
80 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 all her strength. He had his one foot in the air 
 at the moment, and in a flash it was done. With a 
 cry of rage he lost his balance, and, stUl holding the 
 bar, reeled backwards through the window; while 
 Mademoiselle, panting and half fainting, recoiled — 
 recoiled into the arms of Hannibal de Tavannes, who, 
 unseen by either, had entered the room a long minute 
 before. Prom the threshold, and with a smile, all his 
 own, he had watched the contest and the result. 
 
CHAPTEE Vni. 
 
 TWO HENS AND AN EGG. 
 
 M. DE TiGNONTiLLE was shaken by the fall, and in 
 the usual course of things he would have lain where he 
 was, and groaned. But when a man has once turned 
 his back on death he is apt to fancy it at his shoul- 
 der. He has small stomach for surprises, and is in 
 haste to set as great a distance as possible between 
 the ugly thing and himself. So it was with the Hu- 
 guenot. Shot suddenly into the full publicity of the 
 street, he knew that at any instant danger might take 
 him by the nape ; and he was on his legs and glancing 
 up and down before the clatter of his fall had trav- 
 elled the length of three houses. 
 
 The rabble were still a hundred paces away, piled 
 up and pressed about a house where men were being 
 hunted as men hunt rats. He saw that he was un- 
 noted, and apprehension gave place to rage. His 
 thoughts turned back hissing hot to the thing that 
 had happened, and in a paroxysm of shame he shook 
 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 — and her — it had 
 not been wanting. 
 
 For It was not only the man M. de Tignonville 
 
 hated at this moment ; he hated Mademoiselle also, 
 
 the unwitting agent of the other's triumph. She had 
 
 thrust him from her; she had refused to be guided 
 
 6 
 
82 COUIfT HAIOTEBAL. 
 
 by him; she had resisted, thwarted, shamed him. 
 Then let her take the consequences. She willed to 
 perish : let her perish ! 
 
 He did not acknowledge even to himself the real 
 cause of offence, the proof to which she had put 
 his courage, and the failure of that courage to stand 
 the test. Yet it was this, though he had himself 
 provoked the trial, which burned up his chivalry, as 
 the smuggler's fire burns up the dwarf heath upon 
 the Landes. It was the discovery that in an heroic 
 hour he was no hero that gave force to his passion- 
 ate gesture, and next moment sent him storming 
 down the beetling passage to the Eue du Eoule, his 
 heart a maelstrom of fierce vows and fiercer men- 
 aces. 
 
 He had reached the further end of the alley and 
 was on the point of entering the street before he re- 
 membered that he had nowhere to go. His lodgings 
 were no longer his, since his landlord knew him to be 
 a Huguenot, and would doubtless betray him. To 
 approach those of his faith whom he had frequented 
 was to expose them to danger ; and, beyond the reli- 
 gion, he had few acquaintances and those of the new- 
 est. Yet the streets were impossible. He walked 
 them on the utmost edge of peril ; he lurked in them 
 under the blade of an impending axe. And, whether 
 he walked or lurked, he went at the mercy of the first 
 comers bold enough to take his life. 
 
 The sweat stood on his brow as he paused under 
 the low arch of the alley-end, tasting the bitter for- 
 lornness of the dog banned and set for death in 
 that sunlit city. In every window of the gable 
 end which faced his hiding-place he fancied an eye 
 watching his movements; in every distant step he 
 
TWO HENS AND AN EGG. 83 
 
 heard the footfall of doom coming that way to his dis- 
 covery. And while 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 no safety. And how could he gain the 
 open country? If he succeeded in reaching one of 
 the gates — St. Antoine, or St. Denis, in itself a task 
 of difficulty — it would only be to find the gate closed, 
 and the guard on the alert. At last it flashed on 
 him that he might cross the river; and at the no- 
 tion hope awoke. It was possible that the massacre 
 had not extended to the southern suburb; possible, 
 that if it had, the Huguenots who lay there — ^Fronte- 
 nay, and Montgomery, and Chartres, with the men of 
 the North — might be strong enough to check it, and 
 even to turn the tables on the Parisians. 
 
 His colour returned. He was no coward, as sol- 
 diers go; if it came to fighting he had courage 
 enough. He could not hope to cross the river by the 
 bridge, for there, where the goldsmiths lived, the 
 mob were like to be most busy. But if he could 
 reach the bank he might procure a boat at some 
 deserted point, or, at the worst, he might swim 
 across. 
 
 From the Louvre at his back came the sound of 
 gun-shots ; from every quarter the murmur of distant 
 crowds, or the faint lamentable cries of victims. But 
 the empty street before him promised an easy pas- 
 sage, and he ventured into it and passed quickly 
 through it. He met no one, and no one molested 
 him; but as he went he had glimpses of pale 
 faces that from behind the casements watched him 
 come and turned to watch him go ; and so heavy on 
 his nerves was the pressure of this silent ominous at- 
 
84 COUNT HAJOIBAIi. 
 
 tention, that lie blundered at the end of the street. 
 He should have taken the southerly turning ; instead 
 he held on, found himself in the Eue Perronerie, and 
 a moment later was all but in the arms of a band of 
 city guards, who were making a house-to-house visi- 
 tation. 
 
 He owed his safety rather to the condition of the 
 street than to his presence of mind. The Eue Ferro- 
 nerie, narrow in itself, was so choked at this date by 
 stalls and bulkheads, that an edict directing the re- 
 moval of those which abutted on the cemetery had 
 been issued a little before. Nothing had been done 
 on it, however, and this neck of Paris, this main 
 thoroughfare between the east and the west, between 
 the fashionable quarter of the Marais and the fashion- 
 able quarter of the Louvre, was still a devious huddle 
 of sheds and pent-houses. Tignonville slid behind 
 one of these, found that it masked the mouth of an 
 alley, and, heedless whither the passage led, ran hur- 
 riedly along it. Every instant he expected to hear 
 the hue and cry behind him, and he did not halt or 
 draw breath until he had left the soldiers far in the 
 rear, and found himself astray at the junction of four 
 noisome lanes, over two of which the projecting ga- 
 bles fairly met. Above the two others a scrap of sky 
 appeared, but this was too small to indicate in which 
 direction the river lay. 
 
 TignonviUe hesitated, but not for long ; a burst of 
 voices heralded a new danger, and he shrank into a 
 doorway. Along one of the lanes a troop of chil- 
 dren, the biggest not twelve years old, came dancing 
 and leaping round something which they dragged by 
 a string. Now one of the hindmost would hurl it 
 onward with a kick, now another, amid screams of 
 
TWO HEKS Aim AK EGG. 85 
 
 childish laughter, tripped headlong over the cord; 
 now at the crossways they stopped to wrangle and 
 question which way they should go, or whose turn it 
 was to pull and whose to follow. At last they started 
 afresh with a whoop, the leader singing and all 
 plucking the string to the cadence of the air. Their 
 plaything leapt and dropped, sprang forward, and 
 lingered like a thing of Ufe. But it was no thing of 
 life, as Tignonville saw with a shudder when they 
 passed him. The object of their sport was the naked 
 body of a child, an infant ! 
 
 His gorge rose at the sight. Fear such as he had 
 not before experienced chilled his marrow. This was 
 hate indeed, a hate before which the strong man 
 quailed ; the hate of which Mademoiselle had spoken 
 when she said that the babes crossed themselves 
 at her passing, and the houses tottered to fall upon 
 her! 
 
 He paused a minute to recover himself, so deeply 
 had the sight moved him ; and as he stood, he won- 
 dered if that hate already had its cold eye fixed on 
 him. Instinctively his gaze searched the opposite 
 wall, but save for two small double-grated windows 
 it was blind ; time-stained and stone-built, dark with 
 the ordure of the city lane, it seemed but the back 
 of a house, which looked another way. The outer 
 gates of an arched doorway were open, and a loaded 
 hay-cart, touching either side and brushing the arch 
 above, blocked the passage. His gaze, leaving the 
 windows, dropped to this, he scanned it a moment ; 
 and on a sudden he stiffened. Between the hay and 
 the arch a hand flickered an instant, then vanished. 
 
 TignonviUe stared. At first he thought his eyes 
 had tricked him. Then the hand appeared agaiQj 
 
86 COUNT HANOTBAl. 
 
 and this time it conveyed an unmistakable invitation. 
 It is not from the unknown or the hidden that the 
 fugitive has aught to fear, and Tignonville, after cast- 
 ing a glance down the lane — which revealed a single 
 man standing with his face the other way — 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 the act, and aided him. In a 
 second he was lying on liis face, tight squeezed be- 
 tween the hay and the roof of the arch. Beside him 
 lay a man whose features his eyes, unaccustomed to 
 the gloom, could not discern. But the man knew 
 him and whispered his name. 
 
 "You know me?" Tignonville muttered in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "I marked you, M. de Tignonville, at the preach- 
 ing last Sunday," the stranger 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 with his 
 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 politics was imperfect. Tignon- 
 ville, like most men of rank of the younger genera- 
 tion, was a Huguenot by politics ; and he was in a 
 bitter humour. He felt, perhaps, that it was men 
 such as this who had driven the other side to excesses 
 
TWO HENS AWD AN EGG. 87 
 
 such as these; and he hardly repressed a sneer. "I 
 wish I felt as sure!" he muttered bluntly. "You 
 know that all our people are dead? " 
 
 "He can save by few or by many," the preacher 
 answered devoutly. " We are of the few, blessed be 
 God, and shall see Israel victorious, and our people 
 as a flock of sheep ! " 
 
 "I see smaU chance of it," TignonvUle 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. "I knew not who it would be 
 until you appeared and placed yourself in the door- 
 way over against me, even as Obadiah in the Holy 
 Book passed before the hiding-place of Elijah." 
 
 The two lay on their faces side by side, the rafters 
 of the archway low on their heads. Tignonville lifted 
 himself a little, and peered anew at the other. He 
 fancied that La Tribe's mind, shaken by the horrors 
 of the morning 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 know that 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 be- 
 tide others, we shall hve." 
 
 Tignonville shrugged his shoulders. "I tell you, 
 you rave, M. la Tribe," he said petulantly. "At any 
 
88 COUNT HAIOITBAL. 
 
 moment we may be discovered. Even now I hear 
 footsteps." 
 
 "They tracked me well-nigh to this place," the 
 minister answered placidly. 
 
 "The deuce they did! " Tignonville muttered, with 
 irritation. He dared not 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 
 are discovered " 
 
 "Then," the other continued calmly, "you wiU 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 began to 
 wriggle himself backwards. 
 
 The minister laid his hand on him. "Have a 
 care! " he muttered. "And do not move, but listen. 
 And you will understand. When- 1 reached this 
 place— it would be about five o'clock this morning — 
 breathless, and expecting each minute to be dragged 
 forth to make my confession before men, 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 better than my fellows ! ' All the 
 sky was black before my eyes, and my ears were filled 
 with the wailings of the little ones and the lamenta- 
 tions of women. 'O Lord, it is enough,' I prayed. 
 ' Take my soul, or, if it be Thy will, then, as the angel 
 was sent to take the cakes to Elijah, give me also a 
 sign that I shall live. ' " 
 
 For a moment he paused, struggling with overpow- 
 ering emotion. Even his impatient listener, hitherto 
 incredulous, caught the infection, and in a tone of 
 awe murmured, "Yes ? And then, M. la Tribe! " 
 
 "The sign was given me. The words were scarcely 
 
TWO HENS Aim AN EGG. 89 
 
 out of my mouth when a hen flew up, and, scratching 
 a nest in the hay at my feet, presently laid an egg." 
 
 Tignonville stared. "It was timely, I admit," he 
 said. "But it is no uncommon thing. Probably it 
 has its nest here and lays daily." 
 
 "Young man, this is new-mown hay," the minister 
 answered solemnly. "This cart was brought here no 
 further back than yesterday. It smells of the mead- 
 ow, 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 be stayed and I go 
 hence. But that is not all. A while later a second 
 hen appeared, and I thought it would lay in the same 
 nest. But it made a new one, on the side on which 
 you lie and not far from your foot. Then I knew 
 that I was to have a companion, and that God had 
 laid also for him a table 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 a sign enjoined silence. He 
 did so not a moment too soon. Preoccupied by the 
 story, narrator and listener had paid no heed to what 
 was passing in the lane, and the voices of men speak- 
 ing close at hand took them by surprise. From the 
 first words which reached them, it was clear that the 
 speakers were the same who had chased La Tribe as 
 far as the meeting of the four ways, and, losing him 
 there, had spent the morning in other business. Now 
 they had returned to hunt him down, and but for a 
 wrangle which arose among them and detained them, 
 they had stolen on their quarry before their coming 
 was suspected. 
 
 " 'Twas this way he ran ! " " No, 'twas the other ! " 
 
90 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 they contended; and their words, winged with vile 
 threats and oaths, grew noisy and hot. The two lis- 
 teners dared scarcely to breathe. The danger was so 
 near, it was so certain that if the men came three 
 paces farther, they would observe and search the hay- 
 cart, that Tignonville fancied the steel already at his 
 throat. He felt the hay rustle under his slightest 
 movement, and gripped one hand with the other to 
 restrain the tremor of overpowering excitement. Yet 
 when he glanced at the minister he found him un- 
 moved, a smile on his face. And M. de Tignonville 
 could have cursed him for his folly. 
 
 For the men were coming on! An instant, and 
 they perceived the cart, and the rufSan who had ad- 
 vised this route pounced on it in triumph. "There! 
 Did I not say so?" he cried. "He is curled up in 
 that hay, for the Satan's grub he is ! That is where 
 he is, see you ! " 
 
 "Maybe," another answered grudgingly, as they 
 gathered before it. "And maybe not, Simon! " 
 
 "To hell with your maybe not!" the first replied. 
 And he drove his pike deep into the hay and turned 
 it viciously. 
 
 The two on the top controlled themselves. Tignon- 
 ville's face was livid; of himself he would have 
 slid down amongst them and taken his chance, prefer- 
 ring to die fighting, to die in the open, rather than to 
 perish like a rat in a stack. But La Tribe had 
 gripped his arm and held him fast. 
 
 The man whom the others called Simon thrust 
 again, but too low and without result. He was for 
 trying a third time, when one of his comrades who 
 had gone to the other side of the lane announced that 
 the men were on the top of the hay. 
 
TWO HENS AND AN EGG. 91 
 
 "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, forcing himself between the hay and 
 the side of the gateway, found the wheel of the cart, 
 and began to raise himself on it. Tiguonville, who 
 lay on that hand, heard, though he could not see his 
 movements. He knew what they meant, he knew 
 that in a twinkling he must be discovered ; and with 
 a last prayer he gathered himself for a spring. 
 
 It seemed an age before the intruder's head ap- 
 peared on a level with the hay ; and then the alarm 
 came from another quarter. The hen which had 
 made its nest at TignonvUle's feet, disturbed by the 
 movement or by the newcomer's hand, flew out with 
 a rush and flutter as of a great firework. Upsetting 
 the startled Simon, who slipped swearing to the 
 ground, it swooped scolding and clucking over the 
 heads of the other men, and reaching the street in 
 safety scuttled off at speed, its outspread wings sweep- 
 ing the earth in its rage. 
 
 They laughed uproariously as Simon emerged, rub- 
 bing 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, Si- 
 mon? 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 he turned! 
 He's made for the river. " 
 
 "The plague in his vitals!" Simon replied furi- 
 
92 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 ously. "Wherever he is, I'll find him!" And re- 
 luctant 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 to 
 accept his defeat or be left alone, he rejoined his 
 fellows. Slowly the footsteps and voices receded along 
 the lane ; slowly, until silence swallowed them, and on 
 the quivering strained senses of the two who re- 
 mained behind, descended the gentle influence of twi- 
 light and the sweet scent of the new-mown hay on 
 which they lay. 
 
 La Tribe turned to his companion, his eyes shin- 
 ing. "Our soul is escaped," 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 
 he whispered the ancient words of triumph. 
 
 But when they came to look in the nest at Tignon- 
 vUle's feet there was no egg ! 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 UNSTABLE. 
 
 And that troubled M. la Tribe no little, although 
 he did not impart his thoughts to his companion. In- 
 stead they talked in whispers of the things which 
 had happened ; of the Admiral, of Teligny, whom all 
 loved, of Eochefoucauld the accomplished, the King's 
 friend ; of the princes in the Louvre whom they gave 
 up for lost, and of the Huguenot nobles on the far- 
 ther 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 how the alarm had reached him, and painted 
 in broken words his reluctance to believe in treach- 
 ery so black. Thence they passed to the future of 
 the cause, and of that took views as opposite as light 
 and darkness, as Papegot and Huguenot. The one 
 was confident, the other in despair. And some time. 
 in the afternoon, worn out by the awful experiences 
 of the last twelve hours, they fell asleep, their heads 
 on their arms, the hay tickling 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 the question of the missing 
 egg. It was not altogether the prick of appetite 
 which troubled him, but regarding the hiding-place in 
 
94 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 whicli they lay as an ark of refuge providentially 
 supplied, protected and victualled, he could not 
 refrain from asking reverently what the deficiency 
 meant. It was not as if one hen only had appeared ; 
 as if no farther prospect had been extended. But 
 up to a certain point the message was clear. Then 
 when the Hand of Providence had shown itself most 
 plainly, and in a manner to melt the heart with 
 awe and thankfulness, the message had been blurred. 
 Seriously the Huguenot asked himself what it por- 
 tended. 
 
 To Tignonville, if he thought of it at all, the mat- 
 ter was the matter of an egg, and stopped there. An 
 egg might alleviate the growing pangs of hunger ; its 
 non-appearance was a disappointment, but he traced 
 the matter no farther. It must be confessed that the 
 hay-cart was to him only a hay-cart — and not an ark ; 
 and the sooner he was safely away from it the better 
 he would be pleased. While La Tribe, lying snug 
 and warm beside him, thanked God for a lot so dif- 
 ferent from that of such of his fellows as 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 man grew more and more 
 ■restive. 
 
 Hunger pricked him, and the meanness of the part 
 he had played moved him to action. About mid- 
 night, resisting the dissuasions of his companion, he 
 would have sallied out in search of food if the pas- 
 sage of a turbrdent crowd had not warned him that 
 the work of murder was still proceeding. He curbed 
 himself after that and lay until daylight. But, ill 
 content with his own conduct, on fire when he thought 
 of his betrothed, he was in no temper to bear hard- 
 
UNSTABLE. 95 
 
 ship cheerfully or long; and gradually there rose 
 before his mind the picture of Madame St. Lo's 
 smiling face, and the fair hair which curled low on 
 the white of her neck. 
 
 He would, and he would not. Death that had 
 stalked so near him preached its solemn sermon. But 
 death and pleasure are never far apart; and at no 
 time and nowhere have they jostled one another more 
 familiarly than in that age, wherever the influence 
 of Italy and Italian art and Italian hopelessness ex- 
 tended. Again, on the one side. La Tribe's example 
 went for something with his comrade in misfortune ; 
 but in the other scale hung relief from discomfort, 
 with the prospect of a woman's smiles and a woman's 
 flatteries, of dainty dishes, luxury, and passion. K 
 he went now, he went to her from the jaws of death, 
 with the glamour of adventure and 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, why not now when he had lost her? 
 
 It was this last reflection — and one other thing 
 which came on a sudden into 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 he dropped 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 you may reach one of the gates. But as 
 to crossing the one or passing the other, I reckon it a 
 thing impossible." 
 
 "I shall not wait until night," Tignonville answered 
 
96 COTJNT HAJOIBAL. 
 
 curtly, a ring of defiance in his tone. "I shall go 
 now ! I'll lie here no longer ! " 
 
 "IvTow?" 
 
 "Yes, now." 
 
 "You will be mad if you do," the other replied. 
 He thought it the petulant outcry of youth tired of 
 inaction ; a protest, and nothing more. 
 
 He was speedily undeceived. "Mad or not, I am 
 going!" Tignonville retorted. Aud he slid to the 
 ground, and from the covert of the hanging fringe of 
 hay looked warily up and down the lane. "It is 
 clear, I think," he said. "Good-bye." And with no 
 more, without one upward glance or a gesture of the 
 hand, with no further adieu or word of gratitude, he 
 walked out into the lane, turned briskly to the left, 
 and vanished. 
 
 The minister uttered a cry of astonishment, and 
 made as if he would descend also. "Come back, 
 sir!" he called, as loudly as he dared. "M. de Tig- 
 nonville, 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 his return. At last, hearing no- 
 thing, he slid, greatly excited, to the ground and 
 looked out. It was not until he had peered up and 
 down the lane and made sure that it was empty that 
 he could persuade himself that the other had gone for 
 good. Then he climbed slowly and seriously to his 
 place again, and sighed as he settled himself. "Un- 
 stable as water thou shalt not excel ! " he muttered. 
 "Now I know why there was only one egg." 
 
 Meanwhile Tignonville, after putting a hundred 
 yards between himself and his bedfellow, plunged 
 into the first dark entry which presented itself. Hur- 
 
UNSTABLE. 97 
 
 riedly, and with a frowning face, he cut off his left 
 sleeve from shoulder to wrist ; and this act, by dis- 
 closing his linen, put him in possession of the white 
 sleeve which he had once involuntarily donned, and 
 once discarded. The white cross on the cap he 
 could not assume, for he was bareheaded. But he 
 had little doubt that the sleeve would suffice, and 
 with a bold demeanour he made his way northward 
 until he reached again the Hue Ferronerie. 
 
 Excited groups were wandering up and down the 
 street, and, fearing to traverse its crowded narrows, 
 he went by lanes parallel with it as far as the Eue St. 
 Denis, which he crossed. Everywhere he saw houses 
 gutted and doors burst in, and traces of a cruelty and 
 a fanaticism almost incredible. Near the Eue des 
 Lombards he saw a dead chUd, stripped stark and 
 hanged on the hook of a cobbler's shutter. A little 
 further on in the same street he stepped over the 
 body of a handsome young woman, distinguished by 
 the length and beauty of her hair. To obtain her 
 bracelets, her captors had cut off her hands ; after- 
 wards — ^but God knows how long afterwards — a 
 passer-by, more pitiful than his fellows, had put her 
 out of her misery with a spit, which still remained 
 plunged in her body. 
 
 M. de TignonvUle shuddered at the sight, and at 
 others like it. He loathed the symbol he wore, and 
 himself for wearing it ; and more than once his better 
 nature bade hun return and play the nobler part. 
 Once he did turn with that intention. But he had set 
 his mind on comfort and pleasure, and the value of 
 these things is raised, not lowered, by danger and 
 uncertainty. Quickly his stoicism oozed away; he 
 turned again. Barely avoiding the rush of a crowd 
 7 
 
98 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 of wretclies who were bearing a swooning victim to the 
 river, he hurried through the Eue 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; the house was plain before 
 him. He had only to knock. But in proportion as 
 he approached his haven, his anxiety grew. To lose 
 all, Anth all in his grasp, to faU 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 he plied the heavy iron knocker which 
 adorned the door. 
 
 He could not turn his gaze from a knot of ruffians, 
 who were gathered under one of the tottering gables 
 on the farther side of the street. They seemed to be 
 watching him, and he fancied — though the distance 
 rendered this impossible — that he could see suspicion 
 growing in their eyes. At any moment they might 
 cross the roadway, they might approach, they might 
 challenge him. And at the thought he knocked and 
 knocked again. Why did not the porter come? 
 
 Ay, why ? For now a score of contingencies came 
 into the young man's mind and tortured him. Had 
 Madame St. Lo withdrawn to safer quarters and closed 
 the house? Or, good Catholic as she was, had she 
 given way to panic, and determined to open to no one? 
 Or was she ill? Or had she perished in the general 
 disorder? Or 
 
 And then, even as the men began to slink towards 
 him, his heart leapt. He heard a footstep heavy and 
 slow move through the house. It came nearer and 
 nearer. A moment, and an iron-grated Judas-hole in 
 the door slid open, and a servant, an elderly man, 
 sleek and respectable, looked out at him. 
 
UNSTABLE. 99 
 
 Tignonville could scarcely speak for excitement. 
 "Madame St. Lo?" he muttered tremulously. "I 
 come to her from her cousin the Comte de Tavannes. 
 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. de Tignonville to enter, then with care 
 he secured the door, and led the way across a small 
 square court, paved with red tiles and enclosed by 
 the house, but open above to the sunshine and the 
 blue sky. A gallery which ran round the upper floor 
 looked on this court, in which a great quiet reigned, 
 broken only by the music of a fountain. A vine 
 climbed on the wooden pillars which supported the 
 gallery, and, aspiring higher, embraced the wide 
 carved eaves, and even tapestried with green the 
 three gables that on each side of the court broke the 
 sky-line. The grapes hung nearly ripe, and amid 
 their clusters and the green lattice of their foliage 
 Tignonville's gaze sought eagerly but in vain the 
 laughing eyes and 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 snuling world ; a world of tennis 
 and roses, of tinkling voices and women's wiles, a 
 world which smacked of Florence and the South, and 
 love and life ; a world which his late experiences had 
 set so far away from him, his memory of it seemed a 
 dream. Now, as he drank in its stillness and its fra- 
 grance, as he felt its safety and its luxury lap htm 
 round once more, he sighed. And with that breath 
 he rid himself of much. 
 
 The servant led him to a parlour, a cool shady room 
 
100 COUNT HA]!TNIBAL. 
 
 on the farther side of the tiny quadrangle, and, mut- 
 tering something inaudible, withdrew. A moment 
 later a frolicsome laugh, and the light flutter of a 
 woman's skirt as she tripped across the court, 
 brought the blood to his cheeks. He went 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 only when he knew himself safe, when 
 he heard Madame St. Lo's footstep in the courtyard 
 and knew that in a moment he would see her, that he 
 knew also that he was failing for want of food. The 
 room seemed to go round with him ; the window to 
 shift, the light to flicker. And then again, with 
 equal abruptness, he grew strong and steady and per- 
 fectly master of himself. 'Naj, never had he felt a 
 confidence in himself so overwhelming or a capacity 
 so complete. The triumph of that which he had 
 done, the knowledge that of so many he, almost 
 alone, had escaped, filled his brain with a delicious 
 and intoxicating vanity. When the door opened, and 
 Madame St. Lo appeared on the threshold, he ad- 
 vanced holding out his arms. He expected that she 
 would fall into them. 
 
 But Madame only backed and curtseyed, a mis- 
 chievous 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, speak- 
 ing loudly because of a humming in his ears. "They 
 are lying in the streets ! They are dying, are dead, 
 are hunted, are pursued, are perishing 1 But I have 
 come through all to you ! " 
 
102 COUNT HAl^JTEBAIi. 
 
 She curtseyed anew. "So I see, Monsieur!" she 
 answered. "I am flattered!" But she did not ad- 
 vance, and gradually, light-headed as he was, he be- 
 gan to see that she looked at him with an odd close- 
 ness. And he took offence. 
 
 "I say, Madame, I have come to you! " he repeat- 
 ed. "And you do not seem pleased ! " 
 
 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 I intended. But tell 
 me how you have fared. Tou are not hurt? " 
 
 "Not a hair!" he cried boastfully. And he told 
 her in a dozen windy sentences of the adventure of 
 the hay-cart and his narrow escape. He wound up 
 with a foolish meaningless laugh. 
 
 "Then you have not eaten for thirty-six hours 1" 
 she said. And when he did not answer, "I under- 
 stand, " she continued, nodding and speaking as to a 
 child. And she rang a silver handbell and gave an 
 order. She addressed the servant in her usual tone, 
 but to TignonviUe's ear her voice 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 to him, she was gone, and he was seated at 
 a table, his trembling fingers grasping a cup of wine 
 which the elderly servant who had admitted htm was 
 holding to his lips. On the table before him were a 
 spit of partridges and a cake of white bread. When 
 he had swallowed a second mouthful of wine — which 
 cleared his eyes as by magic— the man urged him to 
 eat. And he fell to with an appetite that grew as he 
 ate. 
 
 By and by, feeling himself again, he became aware 
 that two of Madame's women were peering at him 
 
MADAME ST. LO. 103 
 
 through the open doorway. He looked that way and 
 they fled giggling into the court; but in a moment 
 they were back again, 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 their favourites 
 at table; and he wondered if Madame were with 
 them, and why she did not come and serve him 
 herself. 
 
 But for a while longer the savour of the roasted 
 game took up the major part of his thoughts; and 
 when prudence warned him to desist, and he sat 
 back, satisfied after his long fast, he was in no mood 
 to be critical. Perhaps — for somewhere in the house 
 he heard a lute — Madame was entertaining those 
 whom she could not leave? Or deluding some who 
 might betray him if they discovered him? 
 
 From that his mind turned back to the streets and 
 the horrors through which he had passed ; but for 
 a moment and no more. A shudder, an emotion of 
 prayerful pity, and he recalled his thoughts. In 
 the quiet of the cool room, looking on the sunny, 
 vine-clad court, with the tinkle of the lute and the 
 murmurous sound of women's voices in his ears, it 
 was hard to believe that the things from which he 
 had emerged were real. It was stUl more unpleasant, 
 and as futile, to dwell on them. A day of reckoning 
 would come, and, if La Tribe were right, the cause 
 would rally, bristling with pikes and snorting with 
 war-horses, and the blood spilled in this wicked city 
 would cry aloud for vengeance. But the hour was 
 not yet. He had lost his mistress, and for that atone- 
 ment must be exacted. But in the present another 
 mistress awaited him, and as a man could only die 
 once, and might die at any minute, so he could 
 
104 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 only live once and in the present. Then vogue la 
 galore ! 
 
 As lie roused himself from this brief reverie and 
 fell to wondering how long he was to be left to him- 
 self, a rosebud tossed by an unseen hand struck him 
 on the breast and dropped to his knees. To seize it 
 and kiss it gallantly, to spring to his feet and look 
 about him were instinctive movements. But he could 
 see no one ; and, in the hope of surprising the giver, 
 he stole to the window. The sound of the lute and 
 the distant tinkle of laughter persisted. The court, 
 save for a page, who lay asleep on a bench in the 
 gallery, was empty. Tignonville scanned the boy 
 suspiciously; a male disguise was often adopted by 
 the court ladies, and if Madame would play a prank 
 on him, this was a thing to be reckoned with. But 
 a boy it seemed to be, and after a while the young 
 man went back 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 it quickly 
 and looked out, but again he was too late. 
 
 "I shall catch you presently, ma reine!"la& mur- 
 mured tenderly, with intent to be heard. And he 
 closed the door. But, wiser this time, he waited 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 skirt in 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 stood Ma- 
 dame herself, laughing, laughing, laughing with all 
 
MADAME ST. LO. 105 
 
 the gay abandonment of her light little heart. "Oh, 
 the gallant gentleman!" she cried, and clapped her 
 hands effusively. "Was ever recovery so rapid 1 
 Or triumph so speedy? Suzanne, my child, you sur- 
 pass Venus. Tour charms conquer before they are 
 seen ! " 
 
 M. de Tignonville had put poor Suzanne from him 
 as if she burned; and hot and embarrassed, cursing 
 his haste, he stood looking awkwardly at them. 
 "Madame," he stammered at last, "you know quite 
 weU that I " 
 
 "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 pro- 
 tested, "you know " 
 
 "I know what I know, and I have seen what I 
 have seen ! " Madame answered merrily. 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 to laughing immoderately ; while 
 the pretty piece of mischief beside her hung her head, 
 and, putting a finger in her mouth, mocked him with 
 an affectation of modesty. 
 
 The young man glowered at them between rage and 
 embarrassment. This was not the reception, nor this 
 the hero's return to which he had looked forward. 
 And a doubt began to take form in his mind. The 
 mistress he had pictured would not laugh at kisses 
 
106 COUNT HAIOTIBAL. 
 
 given to another; nor forget in a twinkling the 
 straits through which he had come to her, the hell 
 from which he had plucked himself! Possibly the 
 court ladies held love as cheap as this, and lovers but 
 as playthings, butts for their wit, and pegs 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 me if I say that it is ill played on 
 a fasting man." 
 
 Madame desisted from laughter that she might 
 speak. "A fasting manV she cried. "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 took a kiss ! " 
 
 He winced, was silent a moment, and then seeing 
 that he got nothing" by the tone he had adopted he 
 cried for quarter. "A little mercy, Madame, as you 
 are beautiful," he said, wooing her with his eyes. 
 "Do not plague me beyond what a man can bear. 
 Dismiss, I pray you, this good creature — whose charms 
 do but set off yours as the star leads the eye to the 
 moon — and make me the happiest man in the world 
 by so much of your company as you will vouchsafe to 
 give me." 
 
 "That may be but a very little," she answered, let- 
 ting her eyes fall coyly, and affecting to handle the 
 tucker of her low ruff. But he saw that her lip 
 twitched ; and he could have sworn that she mocked 
 him to Suzanne, for the girl giggled. 
 
 Still by an effort he controlled his feelings. "Why 
 so cruel?" he murmured, in a tone meant for her 
 alone, and with a look to match. "You were not so 
 
MADAME ST. LO. 107 
 
 hard when I spoke with you in the gallery, two even- 
 ings ago, Madame." 
 
 "Was I not?" she asked. "Did I look like this? 
 And this?" And, languishing, she looked at httn 
 very sweetly after two fashions. 
 
 "Something." 
 
 "Oh, then I meant nothing!" she retorted with 
 sudden vivacity. And she made a face at him, 
 laughing under his nose. "I do that when I mean 
 nothing. Monsieur! Do you see? But you are Gas- 
 con, 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 cour- 
 tesy. "I flatter myself? " he cried, his voice choked 
 with rage. "It may be I do 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 I read this? Or is it not in your hand? 
 It is a forgery, perhaps," he continued bitterly. "Or 
 it means nothing? N'othing, this note bidding me 
 be at Madame St. Lo's at an hour before midnight 
 — it means nothing? At an hour before midnight, 
 Madame!" 
 
 "On Saturday night? The night before last 
 night? " 
 
 "On Saturday night, the night before last night! 
 But Madame knows nothing of it? Nothing, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully 
 on him. "Oh, yes, I wrote 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 love for you? " 
 
108 COtTNT SAKNTBAL. 
 
 He was staggered for the moment by her coolness. 
 "Out of what, then?" he cried hoarsely. "Out of 
 what, then, if not out of love? " 
 
 " Why, out of pity, my little gentleman ! " she an- 
 swered sharply. "And trouble thrown away it 
 seems. Love!" And she laughed so merrily and 
 spontaneously it cut him to the heart. "No ; but you 
 said a dainty thing or two, and smiled a smile ; and 
 like a fool, and like a woman, I was sorry for the in- 
 nocent calf that bleated so prettily on its way to the 
 butcher's ! And I would lock you up and save your 
 life, I thought, until the blood-letting was over. 
 Now you have it, M. de Tignonville, and I hope you 
 like it." 
 
 Like it, when every word she uttered stripped him 
 of the selfish illusions in which he had wrapped him- 
 self against the blasts of ill-fortune? Like it, when 
 the prospect of her charms had bribed him from the 
 path of fortitude, when for her sake he had been false 
 to his mistress, to his friends, to his faith, to his 
 cause? Like it, when he knew as he listened that all' 
 was lost, and nothing gained — not even this poor, 
 unworthy, shameful compensation? Like it? No 
 wonder that words failed 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 a momentary pause, "then you should 
 not have come ! It is of no profit to glower 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. 
 
MADAME ST. LO. 109 
 
 She "was of an extraordinary levity, and at that 
 after staring at him a moment she broke into shrill 
 laughter. "A little more, and I'll send you to my 
 cousin Hannibal ! " she said. "You do not know how 
 anxious he is to see you. Have you a mind, " with a 
 waggish look, "to play bride's man, M. de Tignon- 
 vUle'? Or will you give away 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 the base- 
 ness 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 mock- 
 ing him, "Has he — married her?" she lisped. "No; 
 but he will marry her, have no fear of that ! He will 
 marry her. He waits but to get a priest. Would you 
 like to see what he says?" she continued, playing 
 with biTTi as a cat plays with a mouse. "I had a note 
 from him yesterday. Would you like to see how wel- 
 come you'll be at the wedding? " 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 your affair, not mine," she said. 
 "See it if you like, and keep it if you like. Cousin 
 Hannibal wastes few words." 
 
 That was true, for the paper contained but a dozen 
 or fifteen words, and an initial by way of signa- 
 ture. "I may need your shaveling to-morrow after- 
 noon. Send him, and Tignonville in safeguard if he 
 come. — H." 
 
 "I can guess what use he has for a priest," she 
 
110 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 said. "It is not to confess him, I warrant. It's 
 long, I fear, since Hannibal told his beads." 
 
 M. de Tignonville swore. "I would I had the con- 
 fessing of him ! " he said between his teeth. 
 
 She clapped her hands in glee. "Why should you 
 not?" she cried. "Why should you not? 'Tis time 
 yet, since I am to send to-day and have not sent. 
 Will you be the shaveling to go confess or marry 
 Mm ? " And she laughed recklessly. " Will you, M. 
 de Tignonville? The cowl will mask you as well as 
 another, and pass you through the streets better than 
 a cut 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 his eyes. What if, after all, he 
 could undo the past? What if, after all, he could 
 retrace the false step he had taken, and place him- 
 self again where he had been — by her side? "If you 
 meant it ! " he exclaimed, his breath coming fast. "If 
 you only meant 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 you think I fear for him. 
 That is it, is it?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "I fear just so much for him!" she retorted with 
 contempt. "Just so much!" And coming a step 
 nearer to Tignonville she snapped her small white fin- 
 gers under his nose. "Do you see? No, M. de Tig- 
 nonville," she continued, "you do not know Count 
 
MADAME ST. LO. Ill 
 
 Hannibal if you think that he fears, or that any fear 
 for him. If yon will beard the lion in his den, the 
 risk will be yours, not his ! " 
 
 The young man's face glowed. "I take the risk! " 
 he cried. " And I thank you 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, "will he not punish you? " 
 
 "Punish me r' 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 Madame laughed her high disdain. "You do not 
 yet know Hannibal de Tavannes," she said. "He 
 does not war with women." 
 
CHAPTEE XL 
 
 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 cir- 
 cumstances in which a man, acknowledging the claims 
 of generosity, scruples to ask for more. The habit, 
 now ingrained, may have sprung from long depend- 
 ence on the male, and is one which a hundred in- 
 stances, from the time of Judith downward, prove to 
 be at its strongest where the need is greatest. 
 
 "WTien Mademoiselle de Vrillac came out of the 
 hour-long swoon into which her lover's defection had 
 cast her, the expectation of the worst was so strong 
 upon her that she could not at once credit the re- 
 spite which Madame Carlat hastened to announce. 
 She could not believe that she still lay safe, in her 
 own room above stairs ; that she was in the care of 
 her own servants, and that the chamber held no pres- 
 ence more hateful than that 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 Mm, as soon as she looked for any; 
 and even when she had seen the door locked and 
 double-locked, she doubted — doubted, and shook and 
 hid herself in the hangings of the bed. The noise of 
 the riot and rapine which prevailed in the city, and 
 which reached the ear even in that locked room — 
 
A BAEGArsr. 113 
 
 and although the window, of paper, with an upper 
 pane of glass, looked into a courtyard — was enough 
 to drive the blood from a woman's cheeks. But it 
 was fear of the house, not of the street, fear from 
 within, not from without, which impelled the girl into 
 the darkest corner and shook her wits. She could 
 not believe that even this short respite was hers, until 
 she had repeatedly heard the fact confirmed at Madame 
 Carlat's mouth. 
 
 "You are deceiving me ! " she cried more than once. 
 And each time she started up in fresh terror. "He 
 never said that he would not return until to-mor- 
 row ! " 
 
 "He did, my lamb, he did!" the old woman an- 
 swered with tears. "Would I deceive you? " 
 
 "He said he would not return 1 " 
 
 "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 replied sorrowfully. 
 
 "The priest? To-morrow!" Mademoiselle cried. 
 "The priest!" and she crouched 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 the respite, and that she had until the mor- 
 row, her courage rose, and with it the instinct of 
 which mention has been made. Count Hannibal had 
 granted a respite ; short as it was, and no more than 
 the barest humanity required, to grant one at all was 
 not the act of the mere butcher who holds the trem- 
 bling lamb, unresisting, in his hands. It was an act 
 — no more, again be it said, than hiunanlty required 
 8 
 
114 COUlsTT HANNIBAI;. 
 
 — and yet an act which bespoke an expectation of 
 some return, of some correlative advantage. It was 
 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. He had shown that 
 there were things he would not do. 
 
 Then might not something more be won from him? 
 A further delay, another point ; something, no matter 
 what, which could be turned to advantage. "With 
 the brigand it is not possible to bargain. But who 
 gives a little may give more ; who gives a day may 
 give a week ; who gives a week may give a 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 less brave. To obtain aught from 
 Tavannes it was needful to ask him, and to ask him 
 it was needful to see him ; and to see him J)efor6 that 
 to-morrow which meant so much to her. It was nec- 
 essary, in a word, to run some risk ; but without risk 
 the card could not be played, and she did not hesi- 
 tate. It might turn out that she was wrong, that the 
 man was not only pitiless and without bowels of 
 mercy, but lacked also the shred of decency for which 
 she gave him credit, and on which she counted. In 
 that case, if she sent for him — ^but she would not con- 
 sider that case. 
 
 The position of the window, whUe it increased the 
 women's safety, debarred them from all knowledge 
 of what was going forward, except that which their 
 ears afforded them. They had no means of judging 
 whether Tavannes remained in the house or had sal- 
 lied forth to play his part in the work of murder. 
 
A BAEGAIHT. 115 
 
 Madame Oarlat, indeed, had no desire to know any- 
 thing. In that room above stairs, with the door 
 double-locked, lay a hope of safety in the present, and 
 of ultimate deliverance ; there she had a 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 her 
 fate? To reach Tavannes they must apply to his rid- 
 ers, for Carlat and the men-servants were confined 
 above. Those riders were grim, brutal men, who 
 might resort to rudeness on their own account. And 
 Madame, clinging in a paroxysm of terror to her mis- 
 tress, suggested all manner of horrors, one on top of 
 the other, until she increased her own terror tenfold. 
 And yet, to do her justice, nothing that even her 
 frenzied imagination suggested exceeded the things 
 which the streets of Paris, fruitful mother of horrors, 
 were witnessing at that very hour. As we now know. 
 For it was noon — or a little more — of Sunday, Au- 
 gust the twenty-fourth, "a holiday, and therefore the 
 people could more conveniently find leisure to kill 
 and plunder." From the bridges, and particularly 
 from the stone bridge of Notre Dame — while they lay 
 safe in that locked room, and Tignonville crouched in 
 his haymow — Huguenots less fortunate were being 
 cast, bound hand and foot, into the Seine. On the 
 river bank Spire Niquet, the bookman, was being 
 burnt over a slow fire^ fed with his own books. In 
 their houses, Eamus the scholar and Goujon the sculp- 
 tor — than whom Paris has neither seen nor deserved 
 a greater — were being butchered like sheep ; and in 
 the Valley of Misery, now the Quai de la Megisserie, 
 seven hundred persons who had sought refuge in the 
 
116 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 prisons were being beaten to death with bludgeons. 
 Nay, at this hour — a little sooner or a little later, 
 what matters it? — M. Tignonville's own cousin, Ma- 
 dame d'Yverne, the darling of the Louvre the day 
 before, perished in the hands of the mob; and the 
 sister of M. de Taverny, equally ill-fated, died in the 
 same fashion, after being dragged through the streets. 
 
 Madame Carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the 
 mark in her argument. But Mademoiselle had made 
 up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded. 
 
 "If I am to be Monsieur's wife," she said with 
 quivering nostrils, "shall I fear his servants? " 
 
 And opening the door herself, for the others would 
 not, she called. The man who answered was a Nor- 
 man; and short of stature, and wrinkled and low- 
 browed of feature, with a thatch of hair and a full 
 beard, he seemed the embodiment of the women's ap- 
 prehensions. Moreover, his patois of the cider-land 
 was little better than German to them ; their southern, 
 softer tongue was sheer Italian to him. But he 
 seemed not ill-disposed, or Mademoiselle's air over- 
 awed 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 she heard his step — alas! she 
 knew it already, knew it from all others — on the 
 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 her reconciled to 
 her lot ; he would think this an overtiire, a step to- 
 wards kinder treatment, one more proof of the incon- 
 stancy of the lower and the weaker sex, made to be 
 men's playthings. And at that thought her eyes grew 
 hot with rage. But if it were so, she must stiU put 
 
A BAEGAIN. 117 
 
 up with it. She must still put up with it ! She had 
 sent for him, and be was coming — he was at the door ! 
 
 He entered, and she breathed more freely. For 
 once his face lacked the sneer, the look of smiling 
 possession, which she had come to know and hate. 
 It was grave, expectant, even suspicious ; still harsh 
 and dark, akin, as she now observed, to the low- 
 browed, furrowed face of the rider who had sum- 
 moned him. But the offensive look was gone, and 
 she could breathe. 
 
 He closed the door behind him, but he did not 
 advance into the room. "At your pleasure. Ma- 
 demoiselle?" he said simply. "You sent for me, I 
 think." 
 
 She was on her feet, standing before him with 
 something of the submissiveness of Eoxana before her 
 conqueror. "I did," she said; and stopped at that, 
 her hand to her side as if she could not continue. 
 But presently in a low voice, "I have heard," she 
 went on, "what you said. Monsieur, after I lost con- 
 sciousness." 
 
 "Tesl" he said; and was sUent. IS'or did he lose 
 his watchful look, 
 
 "I am obliged to you for your thought of me," she 
 continued in a faint voice, "and I shall be still fur- 
 ther obliged — I speak to you thus quickly and 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 im- 
 pulsively. "I appeal to your generosity. And for a 
 short, a very short, time only." 
 
 "It is impossible," he answered quietly. "And 
 
118 COUNT HANNIBAL, 
 
 for reasons, Mademoiselle. In the first place I can 
 more easily protect my wife. In the second, I am 
 even now summoned to the Louvre, and should be on 
 my way thither. By to-morrow evening, unless I am 
 mistaken in the business on which I am required, 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, I do not wish to share 
 the fate of M. de TignonvUle. Because in these days 
 life is uncertain, and death too certain. Because it 
 was our turn last 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 honest wife it is an excellent qual- 
 ity. 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 holds 
 the 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 no more. And every line of her 
 splendid figure, every tone of her voice flamed sud- 
 den, hot rebellion. "I do not go for nothing! You 
 gave me the lives of all in the house, Monsieur ! Of 
 all!" she repeated with passion. "And all are not 
 
A BAEGAIK 119 
 
 here ! Before I marry you, you must show me M. de 
 Tignonville alive and safe ! " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "He has taken himself 
 off," he said. "It is naught 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, perhaps for future reck- 
 oning and account. "I did what I could," he said 
 sullenly. "Had I willed it he had died there and 
 then in the room below. I gave him his life. If he 
 has risked it anew and lost it, it is naught to me." 
 
 "It was his life you gave me," she repeated stub- 
 bornly. "His life — and the others. But that is not 
 all," she continued; "you promised me a minister." 
 
 He nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this 
 confirmed a suspicion he had entertained. "Or a 
 priest," he said. 
 
 "No, a minister." 
 
 "If one could be obtained. If not, a priest." 
 
 "'So, it was to be at my will ; and I will a minister ! 
 I will a minister ! " she cried passionately. "Show me 
 M. Tignonville alive, and bring me a minister of my 
 faith, and I will keep my promise, M. de Tavannes. 
 Have no fear of that. But otherwise, I will not." 
 
 "You will not? " he cried. "You will not? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "You will not marry mel " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 The moment she had said it fear seized her, and she 
 could have fled from him, screaming. The flash of 
 his eyes, the sudden passion of his face, burned them- 
 selves into her memory. She thought for a second 
 
120 COUNT HANOTBAL. 
 
 that he would spring on her and strike her down. 
 Yet though the women behind her held their breath, 
 she faced him, and did not quail; and to that, she 
 fancied, she owed it that he controlled himself. 
 "You will not?" he repeated, as if he could not un- 
 derstand such resistance to his will — as if he could 
 not credit his ears. "You will not? " But after that, 
 when he had said it three times, he laughed ; a laugh, 
 however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood. 
 
 ''You bargain, do you? " he said. "You will have 
 the last tittle of the price, will you? And have 
 thought of this and that to put me off, and to gain 
 time until your lover, who is all to you, come to save 
 you ? Oh, clever girl ! clever ! But have you thought 
 where you stand — woman? Do you know that if I 
 gave the word to my people they would treat you as 
 the commonest baggage that tramps the Proidmantel? 
 Do you know that it rests with me to save you, or to 
 throw you to the wolves whose ravening you hear?" 
 And he pointed to the window. " Minister ? Priest ? " 
 he continued. "Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, I stand as- 
 tonished 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 my power to-day as the wench in my 
 kitchen ! You ! You flout me, and make terms with 
 me ! You ! " 
 
 And he came so near her with his dark harsh face, 
 his tone rose so menacing on the last word, that her 
 nerves, shattered before, gave way, and, unable to 
 control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking 
 he would strike her. 
 
 He did not follow, nor move to follow; but he 
 laughed a low laugh of content. And his eyes de- 
 
A BAEGAIN. 121 
 
 voured 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 Bieu, 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 had jeopardised everything. 
 That she stood to lose all and more than all which she 
 had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less 
 brave, of a spirit less firm, would have given up the 
 contest, and have been glad to escape so. But this 
 woman, though her bloodless face showed that she 
 knew what cause she had for fear, and though her 
 heart was, indeed, sick with sheer terror, held her 
 ground at the point to which she had retreated. She 
 played her last card. "To what do I trust?" she 
 muttered with trembling lips. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered, between his 
 teeth. "To what do you trust — 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, "you thought a moment ago that I 
 was going to strike you. You thought that I should 
 beat you ! And now it is my honour and my promise ! 
 Oh, clever, clever. Mademoiselle ! 'Tis so that women 
 make fools of men. I knew that something of this 
 kind was on foot when you sent for me, for I know 
 women and their ways. But, let me tell you, it is an 
 ill time to speak of honour when the streets are red ! 
 And of promises when the King's word is ''Eo faith 
 with a heretic ! ' " 
 
122 COUNT HANIHBAL. 
 
 "Yet you will keep yours," she said bravely. 
 
 He did not answer at once, and hope which was al- 
 most dead in her breast began to recover ; nay, pres- 
 ently sprang up erect. For the man hesitated, it was 
 evident ; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomy 
 eyes ; an observer might have fancied that he traced 
 pain as well as doubt in his face. 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 will stand 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 the bargain ! But I would have you think if 
 you are wise. Bethink you how it will 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 you will 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 wiU be content to trust to that? " he answered 
 grimly. And his tone and the lifting of his brow 
 promised little clemency. " Bethink you ! 'Tis your 
 rights now, and your terms. Mademoiselle ! And then 
 it will be only my mercy — Madame." 
 
 "I am content," she muttered faintly. 
 
 "And the Lord have mercy on my soul, is what 
 you would add," he retorted, "so mach 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 will have it so, have it so ! You 
 shall stand on your conditions now ; you shall have 
 
A BAEGAIK 123 
 
 your pennyweight and full advantage, and the rigour 
 of the pact. But afterwards — afterwards, Madame 
 de Tavannes " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, for at the first word 
 which granted her petition, Mademoiselle had sunk 
 down on the low wooden window-seat beside which 
 she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, her 
 face hidden on her arms, had burst into violent weep- 
 ing. Her hair, hastily knotted up in the hurry of the 
 previous night, hung in a thick plait to the curve of 
 her waist ; the nape of her neck showed beside it milk- 
 white. The man stood awhile contemplating her in 
 silence, his gloomy eyes watching the pitiful move- 
 ment of her shoulders, the convulsive heaving of her 
 figure. But he did not offer to touch her, and at 
 length he turned about. First one and then the other 
 of her women quailed and shrank under his gaze ; he 
 seemed about to add something. But he did not 
 speak. The sentence he had left unfinished, the long 
 look he bent on the weeping girl as he turned from 
 her, spoke more eloquently of the future than a score 
 of orations. 
 
 ^^ Afterwards, Madame de TavawnesI" 
 
CHAPTEE Xn. 
 
 IN THE HALL OP THE LOUVEE. 
 
 It is a strange thing that love — or passion, if the 
 sudden fancy for Mademoiselle which had seized 
 Count Hannibal be deemed unworthy of the higher 
 name — should so entirely possess the sords of those 
 who harbour it that the greatest events and the most 
 astounding catastrophes, even measures which set 
 their mark for all time on a nation, are to them of 
 importance 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 of his 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 a masque had moved to 
 stately music; blood on the nailed doors and the 
 close-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 which in all and 
 everywhere, among living and dead, sought only 
 Tignonville; Tignonville first, and next a heretic 
 minister, with enough of life in him to do his office. 
 
 Probably it was to this that one man hunted 
 through Paris owed his escape that 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 will run when chased — along the 
 
m THE HALL OF THE LOUVEE. 125 
 
 street to meet Count Hannibal's company. The 
 man's face was wet with the dews of death, his lungs 
 seemed cracking, his breath hissed from him as he 
 ran. His pursuers were hard on him, and, seeing 
 him headed by Count Hannibal's party, yelled in 
 triumph, holding him for dead. And dead he would 
 have been within thirty seconds had Tavannes played 
 his part. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Either 
 he took the poor wretch for Tignonville, or for the 
 minister on whom his mind was running ; at any rate 
 he suffered him to slip under the belly of his horse ; 
 then, to make matters worse, he wheeled to follow 
 him in so untimely and clumsy a fashion that his 
 horse blocked the way and stopped the pursuers in 
 their tracks. The quarry slipped into an alley and 
 vanished. The hunters, stood and blasphemed, and 
 even for a moment seemed inclined to resent the mis- 
 take. But Tavannes smiled; a broader smile light- 
 ened the faces of the six iron-clad men behind him ; 
 and for some reason the gang of ruffians thought bet- 
 ter of it and slunk aside. 
 
 There are hard men, who feel scorn of the things 
 which in the breasts of others excite pity. Tavannes' 
 lip curled as he rode on through the streets, looking 
 this way and that, and seeing what a King twenty- 
 two years old had made of his capital. His lip curled 
 most of all when he came, passing between the two 
 tennis-courts, to the east gate of the Louvre, and 
 found the entrance locked and guarded, and all com- 
 munication between city and palace cut off. Such a 
 proof of unkingly panic, in a crisis wrought by the 
 King himself, astonished him less a few minutes later, 
 when, the keys having been brought and the door 
 opened, he entered the courtyard of the fortress. 
 
126 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 Within and about the door of the gatehouse some 
 three-score archers and arquebusiers stood to their 
 arms; not in array, but in disorderly groups, from 
 which the babble of voices, of feverish laughter, and 
 strained jests rose without ceasing. The westering 
 sun, of which the beams just topped the farther side 
 of the quadrangle, fell slantwise on their armour, 
 and heightened their exaggerated and restless move- 
 ments. To a calm eye they seemed like men acting 
 in a nightmare. Their fitful talk and disjointed ges- 
 tures, their sweating brows and damp hair, no less than 
 the sullen, brooding silence of one here and there, 
 bespoke the abnormal and the terrible. There were 
 livid faces among them, and twitching cheeks, and 
 some who swallowed much; and some again who 
 bared their crimson arms and bragged insanely of the 
 part they had played. But perhaps the most striking 
 thing was the thirst, the desire, the demand for news, 
 and for fresh 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 had escaped on horseback in 
 their shirts ; that Guise had been shot in the pursuit ; 
 that he had captured the Vidame de Chartres and all 
 the fugitives ; that he had never left the city ; that he 
 was even then entering by the Porte de Bucy. Again 
 that Biron had surrendered the Arsenal, that he had 
 threatened to fire on the city, that he was dead, that 
 with the Huguenots who had escaped he was march- 
 ing on the Louvre, that 
 
 And then Tavannes passed out of the blinding sun- 
 shine, and out of earshot of their babble, and had 
 plain in his sight across the quadrangle, the new 
 
m THE HALL OF THE LOTJVEE. 127 
 
 fagade, Italian, graceful, of the Eenaissance ; •which 
 rose in smiling contrast with the three dark Gothic 
 sides that now, the central tower removed, frowned 
 unimpeded at one another. But what was this which 
 lay along the foot of the new Italian wall? This, 
 round which some stood, gazing curiously, while 
 others strewed fresh sand about it, or after long 
 downward-looking glanced up to answer the question 
 of a person at a window? 
 
 Death ; and over death — death in its most cruel as- 
 pect — a cloud of buzzing, whirling flies, and the 
 smell, never to be forgotten, of much spilled blood. 
 From a doorway hard by came shrill bursts of hyster- 
 ical laughter; and with the laughter plumped out, 
 even as Tavannes crossed the court, a young girl, 
 thrust forth it seemed by her fellows, for she turned 
 about and struggled as she came. Once outside she 
 hung back, giggling and protesting, half willing, half 
 unwilling ; and meeting Tavannes' eye thrust her way 
 in again with a whirl of her petticoats, and a 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 to the woman he had left 
 weeping in the upper room. Then he turned about 
 again and stood to count the dead. He identified 
 Piles, identified PardaiUan, identified Soubise — whose 
 corpse the murderers had robbed of the last rag — and 
 Touchet and St. Galais. He made his reckoning with 
 an unmoved face, and with the same face stopped and 
 stared, and moved from one to another ; had he not 
 seen the slaughter about " le petit homme " at Jarnac, 
 and the dead of three pitched fields? But when a by- 
 stander, smirking obsequiously, passed him a jest on 
 Soubise, and with his finger pointed the jest, he had 
 
128 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 the same hard unmoved face for the gibe as for the 
 dead. And the jester shrank away, abashed and per- 
 plexed by his stare and his reticence. 
 
 Half way up the staircase to the great gallery or 
 guardroom above. Count Hannibal found his brother, 
 the Marshal, huddled together in drunken slumber 
 on a seat in a recess. In the gallery to which he 
 passed on without awakening him, a crowd of cour- 
 tiers and ladies, with arquebusiers and captains of the 
 quarters, walked to and fro, talking in whispers ; or 
 peeped over shoulders towards the inner end of the 
 hall, where the querulous voice of the King rose now 
 and again above the hum. As Tavannes moved that 
 way, Nanpay, in the act of passing out, booted and 
 armed for the road, met him and almost jostled him. 
 
 "Ah, well met, M. le Comte," he sneered, with as 
 much hostility as he dared betray. "The King has 
 asked for you twice." 
 
 "I am going to him. And you? Whither In such 
 a hurry, M. Nangay?" 
 
 "To Chatillon." 
 
 "On pleasant btlsiness? " 
 
 "Enough that it is on the King's!" Nanpay re- 
 plied with unexpected temper. "I hope that you 
 may find yours as pleasant ! " he added with a grin. 
 And he went on. 
 
 The gleam of malice in the man's eye warned Ta- 
 vannes to pause. He looked round for someone who 
 might be in the secret, saw the Provost of the Mer- 
 chants and approached him. "What's amiss, M. le 
 Charron?" he asked. "Is not the affair going as it 
 should? " 
 
 "'Tis about the Arsenal, M. le Comte," the Provost 
 answered busily. "M. de Biron is harbouring the 
 
m THE HALL OP THE LOUVEE. 129 
 
 vermin there. He has lowered the portcullis and 
 .pointed his culverins over the gate and will not yield 
 it or listen to reason. The King would bring him to 
 terms, but no one will venture himself inside with the 
 message. Eats 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 JS'angay. But he elected to go to Chatil- 
 lon, to seize the young brood there. The Admiral's 
 children, you comprehend." 
 
 "Whose teeth are not yet grown! He was wise." 
 
 "To be suxe, M. de Tavannes, to be sure. But the 
 King was annoyed, and on top of that came a priest 
 with complaints, and if I may make so bold as to ad- 
 vise you, you will not " 
 
 But Tavannes fancied that he had caught the gist 
 of the difficulty, and with a nod he moved on ; and 
 so he missed the point of the warning which the other 
 had it in his mind to give. A moment and he 
 reached the inner circle, and there halted, discon- 
 certed, nay, taken aback. For as soon as he showed 
 his face, the King, who was pacing to and fro like a 
 caged beast, before a table at which three clerks knelt 
 on cushions, espied him and stood stUl. With a 
 glare of something like madness in his eyes, Charles 
 raised his hand with a shaking finger and singled him 
 out. 
 
 "So, by G — d, you are there!" he cried, with a 
 volley of blasphemy. And he signed to those about 
 Count Hannibal to stand away from him. " You are 
 there, 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 said everjrwhere Guise 
 9 
 
130 COTINT HAIOTLBAL. 
 
 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 of Paris ! Are you traitor, 
 sirrah!" he continued with passion, "or are you of 
 our brother Alengon's opinions, that you traverse our 
 orders to the damnation of your soul and our dis- 
 credit? Are you traitor 1 Or are you heretic? Or 
 what are you? God in heaven, will you answer me, 
 man, or shall 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, and he dried his hands con- 
 tinually ; while his gestures had the ill-measured and 
 eccentric violence of an epileptic. " Here, you ! Speak, 
 father, and confound him ! " 
 
 Then Tavannes discovered on the farther side of 
 the circle the priest whom his brother had ridden 
 down that morning. Father Pezelay's pale hatchet- 
 face gleamed paler than ordinary ; and a great band- 
 age hid one temple and part of his face. But, below 
 the bandage, the flame of his eyes was not lessened, 
 nor the venom of his tongue. To the King he had 
 come — for no other would deal with his violent oppo- 
 nent ; to the King's presence ! and, as he prepared to 
 blast his adversary, now his chance was come, his 
 long lean frame, in its narrow black cassock, seemed 
 to grow longer, leaner, more baleful, more snake- 
 like. He stood there a fitting representative of the 
 dark fanaticism of Paris, which Charles and his suc- 
 cessor — ^the last of a doomed line — alternately used as 
 tool or feared as master ; and to which the most de- 
 
IN THE HALL OP THE LOUVEE. " 131 
 
 based and the most immoral of courts paid, in its 
 sober hours, a vile and slavish homage. Even in 
 the midst of the drunken, shameless courtiers — who 
 stood, if they stood for anything, for that other in- 
 fluence of the day, the Eenaissance — ^he was to be 
 reckoned with; and Count Hannibal knew it. He 
 knew that in the eyes not of Charles only, but of nine 
 out of ten who listened to him, a priest was more 
 sacred than a virgin, and a tonsure than all the 
 virtues of spotless innocence. 
 
 "Shall the King give with one hand and withdraw 
 with the other ? " the priest began, in a voice hoarse 
 yet strident, a voice borne high above the crowd on 
 the wings of passion. " Shall he spare of the best of 
 the men 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 word an- 
 nulled that a man does as he forbiddeth and leaves 
 undone what he commandeth? Is God mocked'? 
 "Woe, woe unto you," he continued, turning swiftly, 
 arms uplifted, towards Tavannes, "who please your- 
 self with the red and white of their maidens and take 
 of the best of the spoil, sparing where the King's 
 word is 'Spare not!' Who strike at Holy Church 
 with the sword ! Who " 
 
 "Answer, sirrah!" Charles cried, spurning the 
 floor in his fury. He could not listen long to any 
 man. "Is it so? Is it so? Do you do these things? " 
 
 Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders and was 
 about to answer, when a thick, drunken voice rose 
 from the crowd behind him. "Is it what? Eh! Is 
 it what?" it droned. And a figure with bloodshot 
 eyes, disordered beard, and rich clothes awry, forced 
 its way through the obsequious circle. It was Marshal 
 
132 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 Tavannes. "Eh, what? You'd beard the King, 
 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 fresh interruption. "It's not he, fool! 
 'Tis your pestilent brother." 
 
 " Who touches my brother touches Tavannes ! " the 
 Marshal answered with a menacing gestiure. He was 
 sober enough, it appeared, to hear what was said, but 
 not to comprehend its drift ; and this caused a titter, 
 which immediately excited his rage. He turned and 
 seized the nearest laugher by the ear. "Insolent!" 
 he cried. "I will teach you to laugh when the King 
 speaks! Puppy! Who laughs at his Majesty or 
 touches my brother has to do with Tavannes ! " 
 
 The King, in a rage that almost deprived htm of 
 speech, stamped the floor twice. "Idiot!" he cried. 
 " Imbecile ! Let the man go ! 'Tis not he ! ' Tis your 
 heretic brother, I tell you ! By all the Saints ! By 
 
 the body of " and he 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 wiU 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 clutching Chicot about the neck. 
 
 "Steady, my pretty Mar^chale ! " the jester cried, 
 chucking him under the chin with one hand, while 
 with some difficulty he supported him with the other 
 — for he, too, was far from sober — 
 
 " Pretty Margot, toy with me, 
 Maiden bashful " 
 
m THE HALL OF THE LOUVEE. 133 
 
 "Silence!" Charles cried, darting forth his long 
 arms in a fury of impatience. " God, have I killed 
 every man of sense? Are you all gone mad? Si- 
 lence! Do you hear? Silence! And let me hear 
 what he has to say," with a movement towards Count 
 Hannibal. '^And look you, sirrah," he continued 
 with a curse, "see that it be to the purpose ! " 
 
 "If it be a question of your Majesty's service," 
 Tavannes answered. "And obedience to your Ma- 
 jesty's orders, I am deeper in it than he who stands 
 there! " with a sign towards the priest. "I give my 
 word for that. And I will 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 answered scornfully. " Let him stand out, 
 and if he will serve his Church as I will serve my 
 King " 
 
 "Blaspheme not! " cried the priest. 
 
 "Chatter not!" Tavannes retorted hardily, "but 
 do! Better is he," he continued, "who takes a city 
 than he who slays women! 'Naj, sire," he went on 
 hurriedly, seeing the King start, "be not angry, but 
 hear me! You would send to Biron, to the Arsenal? 
 You seek a messenger, sire? Then let the good father 
 be the man. Let him take your Majesty's will to 
 Biron, and let him see the Grand Master face to face, 
 and bring him to reason. 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. 
 
134 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "You hear, father'? " he said. "What say you? " 
 
 The priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow. 
 He knew that the walls of the Arsenal sheltered men 
 whose hands no convention and no order of Biron's 
 would keep from his throat, were the grim gate and 
 frowning culverins once passed; men who had seen 
 their women and children, their wives and sisters im- 
 molated at his word, and now asked naught but to 
 stand face to face and eye to eye with him and tear 
 him limb from limb before they died! The chal- 
 lenge, 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. He dared not accept, and he 
 scarcely dared to refuse the offer. And meantime 
 the eyes of the courtiers, who grinned in their beards, 
 were on him. At length he spoke, but it was in a 
 voice which had lost its boldness and assurance. 
 
 "It is not for me to clear myself," he cried, shrill 
 and violent, "but for those who are accused, for those 
 who have belied the King's word, and set at naught 
 his Christian orders. For you, Count Hannibal, 
 heretic, or no better than heretic, it is easy to say ' I 
 go. ' For you go but to your own, and your own will 
 receive you ! " 
 ■ "Then you will not go? " with a jeer. 
 
 "At your command? No!" the priest shrieked 
 with passion. "His Majesty knows whether I serve 
 him." 
 
 "I know," Charles cried, stamping his foot in a 
 fury, "that you all serve me when it pleases you! 
 That you are all sticks of the same faggot, wood of 
 the same bundle, hell-babes in your own business, and 
 sluggards in mine! You kill to-day and you'll lay it 
 
DT THE HALL OF THE LOUYEE. 135 
 
 to me to-morrow ! Ay, you will ! you will ! " lie re- 
 peated frantically, and drove home the asseveration 
 with a fearful oath. "The dead are as good servants 
 as you! Foucauld was better! Poucauld? Pou- 
 cauldl Ah, my God!" 
 
 And abruptly in presence of them all, with the 
 sacred name, which he so often defiled, on his lips, 
 Charles turned, and covering his face burst into 
 childish weeping ; while a great sUence fell on all — 
 on Bussy with the blood of his cousin Eesnel on his 
 point, on Fervacques, the betrayer of his friend, on 
 Chicot, the slayer of his rival, on Cocconnas the cruel 
 — on men with hands unwashed from the slaughter, 
 and on the shameless women who lined the walls ; on 
 all who used this sobbing man for their stepping- 
 stone, and, to attain their ends and gain their pur- 
 poses, trampled his dull soul in blood and mire. 
 
 One looked at another in consternation. Fear grew 
 in eyes that a moment before were bold; cheeks 
 turned pale that a moment before were hectic. If he 
 changed as rapidly as this, if so little dependence 
 could be placed on his moods or his resolutions, who 
 was safe? Whose turn might it not be to-morrow? 
 Or who might not be held accountable for the deeds 
 done this day? Many, from whom remorse had 
 seemed far distant a whUe before, shuddered and 
 glanced behind them. It was as if the dead who lay 
 stark without the doors, ay, and the countless dead of 
 Paris, with whose shrieks the air was laden, had 
 flocked in shadowy shape into the hall; and there, 
 standing beside their murderers, had whispered with 
 their cold breath in the living ears, "A reckoning! 
 A reckoning ! As I am, thou shalt be ! " 
 
 It was Count Hannibal who broke the spell and the 
 
136 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 silence, and with Ms hand on his brother's shoulder 
 stood forward. "Nay, sire," he cried, in a voice 
 which rang defiant in the roof, and seemed to chal- 
 lenge 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 are dead! So be it! 
 For the rest, your Majesty has still one servant who 
 will do your will, one soldier whose life is at your 
 disposition! I have said I will go, and I go, sire. 
 And you, churchman," he continued, turning in bit- 
 ter scorn to the priest, "do you go too — ^to church! 
 To church, shaveling ! Go, watch and pray for us ! 
 Past 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 no more troubles ! Already," a 
 shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "I see blood, 
 blood, blood everywhere ! Blood? Ah, God, shall I 
 from this time see 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 ad- 
 dressing Marshal Tavannes, "take him and tell him 
 what it is needful he should know." 
 
 "'Tis done, sire!" the Marshal cried with a hic- 
 cough. " Come, brother ! " 
 
 But when the two, the courtiers making quick way 
 for them, had passed down 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 
 sober than he seemed. "Mind you, it does not do 
 to thwart our little master in his fits! Eemember 
 that another time, or worse will come of it, brother. 
 As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that 
 
DT THE HALL OF THE LOTJVEE. 137 
 
 black devil's heels to 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 go in than to come out — with a 
 whole throat! Have you taken wild cats in the 
 hollow of a tree? The young first, and then the 
 she-cat? "Well, it will be that! Take my advice, 
 brother. Have after Montgomery, if you please, ride 
 with Nangay to Chatillon — ^he is mounting now — ^go 
 where you please out of Paris, but don't go there! 
 Biron hates us, hates me. And for the King, if he 
 do not see you for a few days, 'twill blow over in a 
 week." 
 
 Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "N'o," he 
 said, "I shall go." 
 
 The Marshal stared a moment. "Morbleu!" he 
 said, "why? 'Tis not to please 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, twitch- 
 ing his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he 
 passed across the court to the gate, and to his horses. 
 The Marshal went back laughing, and, slapping his 
 thigh as he entered the hall, 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. 
 
CHAPTEE XIIL 
 
 DIPLOMACY. 
 
 Where the old wall of Paris, of which no vestige 
 remains, ran down on the east to the north bank of 
 the river, the space in the angle between the Seine 
 and the ramparts beyond the Eue St. Pol wore at 
 this date an aspect typical of the troubles of the time. 
 Along the waterside the gloomy old Palace of St. Pol, 
 once the residence of the mad King Charles the Sixth 
 — and his wife, the abandoned Isabeau de Bavi^re — 
 sprawled its maze of mouldering courts and ruined 
 galleries, a dreary monument of the Gothic days 
 which were passing from Prance. Its spacious curti- 
 lage and dark pleasaunces covered all the ground be- 
 tween the river and the Eue St. Antoine ; and north 
 of this, under the shadow of the eight great towers of 
 the Bastille, which looked, four outward to check the 
 stranger, four inward to bridle the town, a second 
 palace, beginning where St. Pol ended, carried the 
 realm of decay to the city wall. 
 
 This second palace was the H6tel des Tournelles, 
 a fantastic medley of turrets, spires, and gables, that 
 equally with its neighbour recalled the days of the 
 English domination ; it had been the abode of the Ee- 
 gent Bedford. From his time it had remained for a 
 hundred years the town residence of the kings of 
 Prance; but the death of Henry II., slain in its lists 
 by the lance of the same Montgomery who was this 
 
DIPLOMACY. 139 
 
 day fleeing for his life before Guise, had given his 
 widow a distaste for it. Catherine de M6dicis, her 
 sons, and the Court had abandoned it; already its 
 gardens lay a tangled wilderness, its roofs let in the 
 rain, rats played 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 desolate precincts. 
 
 In the innermost angle between the ramparts and 
 the river, shut off from the rest of Paris by the de- 
 caying courts and enceintes of these forsaken palaces, 
 stood the Arsenal. Destroyed in great part by the 
 explosion of a powder-mill a few years earlier, it was 
 in the main new ; and by reason of its river frontage, 
 which terminated at the ruined tower of Billy, and 
 its proximity to the Bastille, it was esteemed one of 
 the keys of Paris. It was the appanage of the Mas- 
 ter of the Ordnance, and within its walls M. de Bi- 
 ron, a Huguenot in politics, if not in creed, who held 
 the office at this time, had secured himself on the first 
 alarm. During the day he had admitted a number of 
 refugees, whose courage or good luck had led them to 
 his gate ; and as night fell — on such a carnage as the 
 hapless city had not beheld since the great slaughter 
 of the Armagnacs, one hundred and fifty-four years 
 earlier — the glow of his matches through the dusk, 
 and the sullen tramp of his watchmen as they paced 
 the walls, indicated that there was stiU one place in 
 Paris where the King's will did not run. 
 
 In comparison of the disorder which prevailed in 
 the city, a deadly quiet reigned here; a stillness so 
 chill that a timid man must have stood and hesitated 
 to approach. But a stranger who about nightfall rode 
 
140 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 down the street towards the entrance, a single foot- 
 man running at his stirrup, only nodded a stern ap- 
 proval of the preparations. As he drew nearer he cast 
 an attentive eye this way and that ; nor stayed until 
 a hoarse challenge brought him up when he had come 
 within six horses' lengths of the Arsenal gate. He 
 reined up then, and raising his voice, asked in clear 
 tones for M. de Biron. 
 
 "Go," he continued boldly, "tell the Grand Master 
 that one from the King is here, and would speak with 
 him." 
 
 " Prom the King of France ■? " the of&cer 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 a muttered discussion that, in the 
 ears of one of the two who waited in the gloom below, 
 boded little good. The two could descry figures mov- 
 ing to and fro before the faint red light of the smoul- 
 dering matches; and presently a man on the gate 
 kindled a torch, and held it so as to fling its 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 spoken before an- 
 nounced. "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!" and after a brief delay a 
 
DIPLOMACY. 141 
 
 wicket in the gate was opened, the portcullis creaked 
 upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch. The 
 horseman waited until the preparations were com- 
 plete ; then he slid to the ground, threw his rein to 
 the servant, and boldly walked across. In an instant 
 he left behind him the dark street, the river, and 
 the sounds of outrage, which the night breeze bore 
 from the farther bank, and found himself within the 
 vaulted gateway, in a bright glare of light, the centre 
 of a ring 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. Tor the 
 stranger was masked ; and in their ignorance who it 
 was looked at them through the slits in the black vel- 
 vet they stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. There 
 were some there with naked weapons in their hands 
 who would have struck him through had they known 
 who he was ; and more who would have stood aside 
 while the deed was done. But the uncertainty — that 
 and the masked man's tone paralysed thenl. For 
 they reflected that he might be any one. Cond6, 
 indeed, stood too small, but K'avarre, if he Uved, 
 might fill that cloak; or Guise, or Anjou, or the King 
 himself. And while some would not have scrupled 
 to strike the blood royal, more would have been 
 quick to protect and avenge it. And so before the 
 dark uncertainty of the mask, before the riddle of the 
 smiling eyes which glittered through the slits, they 
 stared irresolute ; until a hand, the hand of one bolder 
 than his fellows, was raised to pluck away the screen. 
 
 The unknown dealt the fellow a buffet with his 
 fist. "Down, rascal!" he said hoarsely. "And 
 you" — to the of&cer — "show me instantly to M. de 
 Biron!" 
 
142 COIWT HANNIBAL. 
 
 But the lieutenant, who stood in fear of Ms men, 
 looked at him doubtfully. "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 the night of Pente- 
 cost 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 watch were Huguenots, who burned 
 to avenge the blood of their fellows ; and these, over- 
 riding their officer, had agreed to deal with the intru- 
 der, if a Papegot, without recourse to the Grand Mas- 
 ter, whose moderation they dreaded. A knife-thrust 
 in the ribs, and another body in the ditch — why not, 
 when such things were done outside? But even these 
 doubted now; and M. Peridol, the lieutenant, read- 
 ing in the eyes of his men the suspicions which he 
 had himself conceived, was only anxious to obey, if 
 they would let him. So gravely was he impressed, 
 indeed, by the bearing of the unknown that he 
 turned when he had withdrawn, and came back to 
 assure himself that the men meditated no harm in his 
 absence ; nor until he had exchanged 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 the gateway, and, with his chin 
 sunk on his breast and his mind fallen into reverie, 
 seemed unconscious of the dark glances of which he 
 was the target. He remained in this position until 
 the officer came back, followed by a man with a lan- 
 tern. Their coming roused the unknown, who, in- 
 
DIPLOMACY. 143 
 
 vited to follow Peridol, traversed two courts without 
 remark, and in tlie same silence entered a building in 
 the extreme eastern corner of the enceinte 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 intro- 
 duced betrayed the haste in which it had been pre- 
 pared for its occupant. Two silver lamps which 
 hung from the beams of the unceiled roof shed light 
 on a medley of arms and inlaid armour, of parch- 
 ments, books, and steel caskets, which encumbered 
 not the tables only, but the stools and chests that, 
 after the fashion of that 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 
 been instrumental in drawing the Huguenots to Paris 
 — and to their doom. It was not wonderful that the 
 events of the day, the surprise and horror still rode 
 his mind ; nor that even he who passed for a model of 
 stiffness and reticence betrayed for once the indigna- 
 tion which filled his breast. Until the officer had 
 withdrawn and closed the door he did, indeed, keep 
 silence ; standing beside the table and eyeing his vis- 
 itor with a lofty port and a stern glance. But the 
 moment he was assured that they were alone he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Tour Highness may unmask now," he said, mak- 
 ing no effort to hide his contempt. "Yet were you 
 well advised to take the precaution, since you had 
 hardly come at me in safety without it. Had those 
 who keep the gate seen you, I would not have an- 
 swered for your Highness's life ! The more shame, " 
 he continued vehemently, " on the deeds of this day 
 
144 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 which have compelled the brother of a King of France 
 to hide his face in his own capital and in his own for- 
 tress. For I dare to say, Monsieur, what no other 
 will say, now the Admiral is dead. You have 
 brought back the days of the Armagnacs. You have 
 brought bloody days and an evil name on France, 
 and I pray God that you may not pay in your turn 
 what you have exacted. But if you continue to be 
 advised by M. de Guise, this I will say. Monsieur " — 
 and his voice fell low and stern. "Burgundy slew 
 Orleans, 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 he smiled under his mask. 
 
 Biron's face altered. "I take you," he answered 
 sharply, "for him whose sign you sent me." 
 
 "The wisest are sometimes astray," the other an- 
 swered 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 sheer astonishment. Then, 
 striking his hand on the table, "What means this 
 trickery?" he asked. 
 
 " It is of the simplest, " Tavannes answered coolly. 
 " And yet, as you just now 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 a bell which stood beside him on the 
 table, "you cannot that way undo what is done." 
 
 "I can at least deliver you," the Grand Master 
 answered, in heat, "to those who will deal with you 
 as you have dealt with us and ours." 
 
 "It will avail you nothing," Count Hannibal re- 
 plied soberly. "For see here, Grand Master, I come 
 
DIPLOMACY. 146 
 
 from the King. If you are at war with hiln, and 
 hold his fortress in his teeth', I am liis 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 trem- 
 bling with indignation. "And are those safe or at 
 peace who came here trusting to his word, who lay in 
 his palace and slept in his beds? Where are they, 
 and how have they fared, that you dare appeal to the 
 law of nations, or he to the loyalty of Biron? And 
 for you to beard me, whose brother to-day hounded 
 the dogs of this vile city on the noblest in Prance, 
 who have leagued yourself with a crew of foreigners 
 to do a deed which will make our country stink in the 
 nostrils of the world when we are dust! You, to 
 come here and talk of peace and safety ! M. de Ta- 
 vannes *' — and he struck his hand on the table — "you 
 are a bold man. I know why the King had a will to 
 send you, but I know not why you had the will to 
 come." 
 
 "That I will tell you later," Count Hannibal an- 
 swered coolly. "For the King, first. My message is 
 brief, M. de Biron. Have you a mind to hold the 
 scales in France? " 
 
 "Between? " Biron asked contemptuously. 
 
 "Between the Lorrainers and the Huguenots." 
 
 The Grand Master scowled fiercely. "I have 
 played the go-between once too often," he growled. 
 
 "It is no question of going between, it is a question 
 of holding between," Tavannes answered coolly. "It 
 is a question — but, in a word, have you a mind, M. 
 de Biron, to be Governor of Eochelle? The King, 
 having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, 
 looks to follow Up severity, as a wise ruler should, 
 10 
 
146 COUNT HAIOTBAL. 
 
 with indulgence. And to qtiiet the minds of the 
 Eochellois he would set over them a ruler at once ac- 
 ceptable to them — or war must come of it — and faith- 
 ful to his Majesty. Such a man, M. de Biron, will in 
 such a post be Master of the Kingdom ; for he will 
 hold the doors of Janus, and as he bridles his sea- 
 dogs, or unchains them, there will be peace or war in 
 France." 
 
 "Is all that from the King's mouth? " Biron asked 
 with sarcasm. But his passion had died down. He 
 was grown thoughtful, suspicious ; he eyed the other 
 intently as if he would read his heart. 
 
 "The offer is his, and the reflections are mine," 
 Tavannes answered drily. "Let me add one more. 
 The Admiral is dead. The King of Navarre and the 
 Prince of Cond6 are prisoners. Who is now to bal- 
 ance the Italians and the Guises? The Grand Master 
 — ^if he be wise and content to give the law to Prance 
 from the citadel of Eochelle." 
 
 Biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his 
 frankness. "You are a bold man," he cried at last. 
 "But timeo Danaos et dona ferentes," he continued bit- 
 terly. "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 counter- 
 act the King's will. That is all." 
 
 The Grand Master looked puzzled. "I will give 
 up no one," he said. "No one! Let that be under- 
 stood." 
 
 "The King requires no one." 
 
 A pause. Then, "Does M. de Guise know of the 
 
DIPLOMACY, 147 
 
 offer?" Biron inquired; and Ms 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 an- 
 swered drily. "And if no worse come of it should 
 be content. Madame Catherine knows of it." 
 
 The Grand Master was aware that Marshal Ta- 
 vannes depended on the Queen-mother; and he 
 shrugged his shoulders. "Ay, 'tis like her policy," 
 he muttered. " 'Tis like her ! " And pointing his 
 guest to a cushioned chest which stood against the 
 wall, he sat down in a chair beside the table and 
 thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, his eyes dream- 
 ing. By-and-by he laughed sourly. "You have 
 lighted the fire," he said, "and wotild 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 if? " 
 
 "We prefer to pay it to M. de Biron," Count Han- 
 nibal answered civilly. 
 
 Again the Grand Master was silent awhile. At 
 length he looked up and fixed 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," Ta- 
 vannes answered steadfastly. 
 
 M. de Biron relaxed the fixity of his gaze. "But 
 you said that you had an 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 a little, as he spoke. 
 
148 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "Have you in tlie Arsenal a M. de Tignonville, a 
 gentleman of Poitou? " 
 
 "Iliave not," Biron answered curtly. "The sec- 
 ond? " 
 
 "Have you here a Huguenot minister 1 " 
 
 " 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 said carelessly. "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 ex- 
 claimed. "To-day?" 
 
 "She sticks on that. To-day." 
 
 "To-day? Mom de Dieu! To-day! Well," brush- 
 ing the matter aside after a pause of bewilderhient, 
 "any way, I cannot help her. I have no minister 
 here. If there be aught else I can do for her " 
 
 "Nothing, I thank you," Tavaimes answered. 
 " Then it only remains for me to take your answer to 
 the King?" And he rose politely, and taking his 
 mask from the table prepared to assume it. 
 
 M. de Biron gazed at him a moment without speak- 
 ing, as if he pondered on the answer he should give. 
 At length he nodded, and rang the bell which stood 
 beside him. 
 
 "The mask! " he muttered in a low voice as foot- 
 steps sounded without. And, obedient to the hint, 
 Tavannes disguised himself. A second later the offi- 
 
DIPLOMACy. 149 
 
 cer wlio had introduced him opened the door and 
 entered. 
 
 "Peridol," M. de Biron said — he had risen to his 
 feet — "I have received a message which needs confir- 
 mation ; and to obtain this I must leave the Arsenal. 
 I am going to the house — you will remember this — 
 of Marshal Tavannes, who will be responsible for my 
 person ; in the meantime this gentleman will remain 
 under strict guard in the south chamber upstairs. 
 Ton will treat him as ahostage, with all respect, and 
 will allow him to preserve his incognito. But if I do 
 not return by noon to-morrow, you will 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 the discomfiture which he undoubt- 
 edly felt. But as the Grand Master paused, "M. de 
 Btron," he said, in a voice harsh and low, "you will 
 answer to me for this ! " . And his eyes glittered 
 through the slits in the mask. 
 
 "Possibly, but not to-day or to-morrow!" Biron 
 replied, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. 
 "Peridol! see the gentleman bestowed as I have or- 
 dered, and then return to me. Monsieur," with a 
 bow, half courteous, half ironical, "let me commend 
 to you the advantages of silence and your mask." 
 And he waved his hand in the direction of the door. 
 
 A moment Count Hannibal hesitated. He was in 
 the heart of a hostile fortress where the resistance of 
 a single man armed to the teeth must have beeu fu- 
 tile ; and he was unarmed, save for a poniard. Nev- 
 ertheless, for a moment the impulse to spring on Bi- 
 ron, and with the dagger at his throat to make his 
 life the price of a safe passage, was strong. Then — 
 
150 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 for vitli the warp of a harsh and passionate character 
 were interwrought an odd shrewdness and some things 
 little suspected — he resigned himself. Bowing grave- 
 ly, he turned with dignity, and in silence followed the 
 officer from the room. 
 
 Peridol had two men with lanterns in waiting at 
 the door. Prom one of these the lieutenant took the 
 light, and, with an air at once sullen and deferential, 
 led the way up the stone staircase to the floor over 
 that in which M. de Biron had his lodging. Ta- 
 vannes followed ; the two guards came last, carrying 
 the second lantern. At the head of the staircase, 
 whence a bare passage ran north and south, the pro- 
 cession turned right-handed, and, passing two doors, 
 halted before the third and last, which faced them at 
 the end of the passage. The lieutenant unlocked it 
 with a key which he took from a hook beside the 
 doorpost. Then, holding up his light, he invited his 
 charge to enter. 
 
 The room was not small, but it was low in the roof, 
 and prison-like, it had bare walls and smoke-marks 
 on the ceiling. The window, set in a deep recess, the 
 floor of which rose a foot above that of the room, was 
 unglazed ; and through the gloomy orifice the night 
 wind blew in, laden even on that August evening 
 with the dank mist of the river flats. A table, two 
 stools, and a truckle bed without straw or covering 
 made up the furniture; but Peridol, after glancing 
 round, ordered one of the men to 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 lieutenant laughed. 
 
 "No bars?" he said. "No, monsieur, and no need 
 
DIPLOMAOT. 151 
 
 of them. You will not go by that road, bars or no 
 bars." 
 
 "What is below? " Count Hannibal asked careless- 
 ly. "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 puppies thrown in 
 under this window that did not weigh more than a fat 
 pullet apiece. One was gone before you could count 
 fifty, and the other did not live thrice as long — nor 
 would have lasted that time, but that it fell on the 
 first and clung to it." 
 
 Tavannes dismissed the matter with a shrug, and, 
 drawing his cloak about him, set a stool against the 
 wall and sat down. The men who brought in the 
 wine and the bundle of straw were inquisitive, and 
 would have loitered, scanning him stealthily; but 
 Peridol hurried them away. The lieutenant himself 
 stayed only to cast a glance round the room and to 
 mutter that he would return when his lord returned ; 
 then, with a "Good night" which said more for his 
 manners than his good will, he followed them out. 
 A moment later the grating of the key in the lock and 
 the sound of the bolts as they sped home told Tavan- 
 nes that he was a prisoner. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 TOO SHORT A SPOON. 
 
 Count Hannibal remained seated, his chin sunk on 
 his breast, until his ear assured him that the three 
 men had descended the stairs to the floor below. 
 Then he rose, and, taking the lantern from the table, 
 on which Peridol had placed it, he went softly to the 
 door, which, like the window, stood in a recess — ^in 
 this case the prolongation of the passage. A brief 
 scrutiny satisfied him that escape that way was im- 
 possible, and he turned, after a cursory glance at the 
 floor and ceiling, to the dark, windy aperture which 
 yawned at the end of the apartment. Placing the 
 lantern on the table, and covering it with his cloak, 
 he mounted the window recess, and, stepping to the 
 unguarded edge, looked out. 
 
 He knew, rather than saw, that Peridol had told 
 the truth. The smell of the aguish flats which 
 fringed that part of Paris rose strong in his nostrils. 
 He guessed that the sluggish arm of the Seine which 
 divided the Arsenal from the lie des Louviers crawled 
 below ; but the night was dark, and it was impossible 
 to discern land from water. He fancied that he could 
 trace the outline of the island — an uninhabited place, 
 given up to wood piles ; but the lights of the college 
 quarter beyond it, which rose feebly twinkling, to 
 the crown of St. Genevieve, confused his sight and 
 rendered the nearer gloom more opaque. From that 
 
TOO SHOET A SPOON. 153 
 
 direction and from the GiU to his right came sounds 
 which told of a city still heaving in its blood-stained 
 sleep, and even in its dreams planning further ex- 
 cesses. Now a distant shot, and now a faint murmur 
 on one of the bridges, or a far-off cry, raucous, sud- 
 den, curdled the blood. But even of what was pass- 
 ing under cover of the darkness, he could learn little ; 
 and after standing awhile with a hand on either side 
 of the window he found the night air chill. He 
 stepped back, and, descending to the floor, uncovered 
 the lantern and set it on the table. His thoughts 
 travelled back to the preparations he had made the 
 night before with a view to securing Mademoiselle's 
 person, and he considered, with a grim smile, how lit- 
 tle he had foreseen that within twenty-four hours he 
 would himself be a prisoner. Presently, finding his 
 mask oppressive, he removed it, and, laying it on the 
 table before him, sat scowling at the light. 
 
 Biron had jockeyed him cleverly. Well, the worse 
 for Armand de Gontaut de Biron if after this adven- 
 ture the luck went against him ! But in the mean- 
 time? In the meantime 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 the temptation to add him 
 to the victims. If Biron placed himself at once in 
 Marshal Tavannes' hands, all might be well. But if 
 he ventured within the long arm of the Guises, or 
 went directly to the Louvre, the fact that with the 
 Grand Master's fate Count Hannibal's was bound up, 
 would not weigh a straw. In such crises the great 
 sacrificed the less great, the less great the small, with- 
 
154 COUNT HA]OriBAL. 
 
 out a scruple. And tlie Guises did not love Count 
 Hannibal; lie was not loved by many. Even the 
 strength of his brother the Marshal stood rather in 
 the favour of the King's heir, for whom he had won 
 the battle of Jarnac, than intrinsically ; and, durable 
 in ordinary times, might snap in the clash of forces 
 and interests which the desperate madness of this day 
 had let loose on Paris. 
 
 It was not the peril in which he stood, however — 
 though, with the cold clear eye of the man who had 
 often faced peril, he appreciated it to a nicety — ^that 
 Count Hannibal found least bearable, but his enforced 
 inactivity. He had thought to ride the whirlwind 
 and direct the storm, and out of the danger of others 
 to compact his own success. Instead he lay here, not 
 only powerless to guide his destiny, which hung on 
 the discretion of another, but unable to stretch forth 
 a finger to further his plans. 
 
 "As he sat looking darkly at the lantern, his mind 
 followed Biron and his riders through the midnight 
 streets : along St. Antoine and La Yerrerie, through 
 the gloomy narrows of the Eue la Ferronerie, and so 
 past the house in the Eue St. Honor6 where Made- 
 moiselle sat awaiting the morrow — sat awaiting Tig- 
 nonville, the minister, the marriage ! Doubtless there 
 were still bands of plunderers roaming to and fro ; at 
 the barriers troops of archers stopping the suspected ; 
 at the windows pale faces gazing down ; at the gates 
 of the Temple, and of the walled enclosures which 
 largely made up the city, strong guards set to prevent 
 invasion. Biron would go with sufficient to secure 
 himself; and unless he encountered with the body- 
 guard of Guise his passage would quiet the town. 
 But was it so certain that she was safe? He knew his 
 
TOO SHOET A SPOOK 155 
 
 men, and while he had been free he had not hesitated 
 to leave her in their care. But now that he could not 
 go, now that he could not raise a hand to help, the 
 confidence which had not failed him in straits more 
 dangerous grew weak. He pictured the things which 
 might happen, at which, in his normal frame of mind, 
 he would have laughed. Now they troubled him so 
 that he started at a shadow, so that he quailed at a 
 thought. He, who last night, when free to act, had 
 timed his coming and her rescue to a minute ! Who 
 had rejoiced in the perU, since with the glamour of 
 such things foolish women were taken ! Who had not 
 flinched when the crowd roared most fiercely for her 
 blood! 
 
 Why had he suffered himself to be trapped? Why 
 indeed? And thrice in passion he paced the room. 
 Long ago the famous IJTostradamus had told him that 
 he would live to be a king, but of the smallest king- 
 dom in the world. "Every man is a king in his 
 coffin," he had answered. "The grave is cold and 
 your kingdom shall be warm," the wizard had re- 
 joined. On which the courtiers had laughed, prom- 
 ising him a Moorish island and a black queen. And 
 he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken 
 note of the sovereign counties of France, their rulers 
 and their heirs. 'Now he held the thought in horror, 
 foreseeing no county, but the cage under the stifling 
 tiles at Loches, in which Cardinal Balue and many 
 another had worn out their hearts. 
 
 He came to that thought not by way of his own 
 peril, but of Mademoiselle's ; which affected him in 
 so novel a fashion that he wondered at his folly. 
 At last, tired of watching the shadows which the 
 draught set dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak 
 
156 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 about hipi and lay down on the straw. He had kept 
 vigil the pfeviQ\is night, and ip ^ fev minutes, with a 
 campaigper's e^se, he was asleep. 
 
 Midnigl^t had struck. About two tbe light in the 
 lantern burned low in the socket, and with a soft 
 sputtering went out. For an hour after that the room 
 lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, 
 the greyer ffir the river mist whicb wrapped the 
 neighbourhood in a clammy shroud, beg{(.n to creep 
 into the room ^nd discoyer tbe vague shapes of things. 
 Ag£|,in an hour passed, and tbe sun was rising above 
 Montreuil, ?bnd. here and there the river began to 
 shipuner tbrongb the fog. Put in tbe room it was 
 barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, 
 his face expectant. Something had roused him. He 
 listened, 
 
 His ear, and the babit of vigilance which a life 
 of danger instHs, had not deceived bim. There were 
 men nioving in the passage ; men who shuf&ed their 
 feet impatiently. Had Biron returned? Or had 
 augbt happened to him, and were these men come tq 
 avenge him? Count Hannibal rose and stole across 
 the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it, lis- 
 tened. 
 
 He listened while a man might count a hundred 
 and fifty, counting slowly, Then, for the third part 
 of a second, he tnrned his head, and his eyes travelled 
 the room. He stooped again and listened more close-- 
 ly, scarcely breathing. There were voices as well as, 
 feet to be heard now ; one voice-^he thought it was 
 Peridol's-r-whieh held oji long, now low, now rising 
 into violence. Others were audible at intervals, bnt 
 only in a growl or a bitter exclamation, that tqld of 
 ipinds made up and hands which would not be re- 
 
TOO SHOET A SPOOK 157 
 
 strained. He caught his own name, Tavannes — ^the 
 mask was 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 little closer together ; an ugly smile 
 curved his lips. His gaze travelled over the objects 
 in the room, the bare stools and table, the lantern, the 
 wine pitcher; beyond these, in a corner, the cloak 
 and straw on the low bed. The light, cold and grey, 
 feU cheerlessly on the dull chamber, and showed 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. He looked, 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 des- 
 perate. The depth to the water-level was not, he 
 judged, twelve feet. But Peridol had told the truth. 
 Below lay not water, but a smooth surface of viscid 
 slime, here luminous with the florescence of rotten- 
 ness, there furrowed by a tiny runnel of moisture 
 which sluggishly crept across it to the slow stream 
 beyond. This quicksand, vile and treacherous, 
 lapped the wall below the window, and more than ac- 
 counted for the absence of bars or fastenings. But, 
 leaning far out, he saw that it ended at the angle of 
 the building, at a point twenty feet or so to the right 
 of his position. 
 
 He sprang to the floor again, and listened an in- 
 stant ; then, with guarded movements — for there was 
 fear in the air, fear in the silent room, and at any 
 moment the rush might be made, the door burst in — ■ 
 
158 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 lie set the lantern and wine pitcher on the floor, and 
 took up the table in his arms. He began to carry it 
 to the window, but, halfway thither, his eye told him 
 that it would not pass through the opening, and he 
 set it down again and glided to the bed. Again he 
 was thwarted ; the bed was screwed to the floor. An- 
 other might have despaired at that, but he rose with 
 no sign of dismay, and listening, always listening, he 
 spread his cloak on the floor, and deftly, with as lit- 
 tle noise and rustling as might be, he piled the straw 
 in it, compressed the bundle, and, cutting the bed- 
 cords Anth his dagger, bound all together with them. 
 In three steps he was in the embrasure of the win- 
 dow, and, even as the men in the passage thrust the 
 lieutenant aside and with a sudden uproar came down 
 to the door, he flung the bundle lightly and carefully 
 to the right — so lightly and carefully, and with so 
 nice and deliberate a calculation, that it seemed odd 
 it fell beyond the reach of an ordinary leap. 
 
 An instant and he was on the floor again. The 
 men had to unlock, to draw back the bolts, to draw 
 back the door which opened outwards; their num- 
 bers, as well as their savage haste, impeded them. 
 When they burst in at last, with a roar of "To the 
 river ! To the river ! " — burst in a rush of struggling 
 shoulders and lowered pikes, they found him stand- 
 ing, a solitary flgure, on the further side of the table, 
 his arms folded. And the sight of the passive figure 
 for a moment stayed them. 
 
 "Say your prayers, child of Satan! " cried the lead- 
 er, waving his weapon. "We give you one minute! " 
 
 "Ay, one minute!" his followers chimed in. "Be 
 ready ! " 
 
 "You would murder mel" he said with dignity. 
 
TOO SHOET A SPOON. 159 
 
 And when they shouted assent, "Good! " he answered. 
 "It is between you and M. de Biron, whose guest I 
 am. But" — with a glance which passed round the 
 ring of glaring eyes and working features — "I would 
 leave a last word for some one. Is there any one 
 here who values a safe-conduct from the King? 'Tis 
 for two men 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 
 crimson savage faces — ^the faces, for the most part, of 
 honest men maddened by their wrongs — ^flashed an 
 avaricious gleam. A safe-conduct? To avenge, to 
 slay, to kUl — and to go safe ! For some minds such a 
 thing has an invincible fascination. A man thrust 
 himself forward. "Ay, I'll have it!" he cried. 
 "Give it here!" 
 
 "It is yours," Count Hannibal answered, "if you 
 wiU carry ten words to Marshal 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 me mad? " And then 
 aloud he cried, "Ay, I'll take your message! Give 
 me the paper." 
 
 "You swear you will take it? " 
 
 The man had no intention of taking it, but he per- 
 jured himself and went forward. The others would 
 have pressed round too, half in envy, half in scorn ; 
 but Tavannes by a gesture stayed them. "Gentle- 
 
160 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 men, I ask a minute only," he said. "A minute for 
 a dying man is not much. Your friends had as 
 much." And the fellows, acknowledging the claim 
 and assured that their victim could not escape, let 
 Maudron go round the table to him. 
 
 The man was in haste and ill at ease, conscious of 
 his evil intentions and the fraud he was practising ; 
 and at once greedy to have, yet ashamed of the 
 bargain he was making. His attention was divided 
 between the slip of paper, on which his eyes fixed 
 themselves, and the attitude of his comrades ; he paid 
 little heed to Count Hannibal, whom he knew to be 
 unarmed. Only when Tavannes seemed to ponder 
 on his message, and to be fain to delay, "Go on," he 
 muttered with brutal frankness ; "your time is up ! " 
 
 Tavannes started, the paper slipped from his fin- 
 gers. Maudron saw a chance of getting it without 
 committing himself, and quick as the thought leapt 
 up in his mind he stooped, and grasped the paper, 
 and would have leapt 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 in 
 which all the man's stormy nature, restrained to a 
 part during the last few minutes, broke forth, he 
 flung the ill-fated wretch head first through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 The movement carried Tavannes himself — even 
 while his victim's scream rang through the chamber 
 — ^into the embrasure. An instant he hung on the 
 verge; then_, as the men, a moment thunderstruck, 
 sprang forward to avenge their comrade, he leapt out, 
 jumping for the struggling body that had struck the 
 mud, and now lay in it face downwards. 
 
 He alighted on it, and drove it deep into the quak- 
 
TOO SHOET A SPOOK 161 
 
 ing slime ; but lie himself bounded off right-handed. 
 The peril was appalling, the possibility untried, the 
 chance one which only a doomed man would have 
 taken. But he reached the straw-bale, and it gave 
 him a momentary, a precarious footing. He could 
 not regain his balance, he could not even for an in- 
 stant stand upright on it. But from its support he 
 leapt on convulsively, and as a pike, flung from above, 
 wounded htm. in the shoulder, he fell his length in the 
 slough — but forward, with his outstretched hands 
 resting on soil of a harder nature. They sank, it is 
 true, 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 the building for the purpose of 
 fending off the stream in flood-time. 
 
 The men at the window shrieked with rage as he 
 slowly drew himself from the slough, and stood from 
 tead to foot a pillar of mud. Shout as they might, 
 ihey had no firearms, and, crowded together in the 
 narrow embrasure, they could take no aim with their 
 pikes. They could only look on in furious impo- 
 tence, flinging curses at him until he passed from 
 their view, behind the angle of the building. 
 
 Here for a score of yards a strip of hard foreshore 
 ran between mud and wall. He struggled along it 
 until he reached the end of the wall ; then with a 
 shuddering glance at the black heaving pit from 
 which he had escaped, and which yet gurgled above 
 the body of the hapless Maudron — a tribute to horror 
 which even his fierce nature could not withhold — he 
 turned and painfully climbed the river-bank. The 
 11 
 
162 COUNT HAlinnBAL. 
 
 pike-wound in his shoulder was slight, but the effort 
 had been supreme ; the sweat poured from his brow, 
 his visage was grey and drawn. Nevertheless, when 
 he had put fifty paces between himself and the build- 
 ings of the Arsenal he paused, and turned. He saw 
 that the men had run to other windows which looked 
 that way ; and his face lightened and his form dilated 
 with triumph. 
 
 He shook his fist at them. "Ho, fools! " he cried, 
 "you kill not Tavannes so! Till our next meeting at 
 Montf aucon, fare you well ! " 
 
CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 THE BROTHER OE ST. MAGLOIRB. 
 
 As the exertion of power is for the most part pleas- 
 ing, so the exercise of that which a woman possesses 
 over a man is especially pleasant. When in addition 
 a risk of no ordinary kind has been run, and the 
 happy issue has been barely expected — above all 
 when the momentary gain seems an augury of final 
 victory — ^it is impossible that a feeling akin to exul- 
 tation should not arise in the mind, however black 
 the horizon, and however distant the fair haven. 
 
 The situation in which Count Hannibal left Made- 
 moiselle de Vrillac will be remembered. She had pre- 
 vailed on him ; but in return he had bowed her to the 
 earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheer 
 savagery. He had left her weeping, with the words 
 "Madame de Tavannes" ringing doom in her ears, 
 and the dark phantom of his will pointing onward to 
 an inevitable future. Had she abandoned hope, it 
 would have been natural 
 
 But the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily 
 cowed ; and Tavannes had not left her half an hour 
 before the reflection, that so far the honours of the 
 day were hers, rose up to console her. In spite of his 
 power and her impotence, she had imposed her will 
 upon his ; she had established an influence over him, 
 she had discovered a scruple which stayed him, and a 
 limit beyond which he would not pass. In the result 
 
164 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 she might escape; for the conditions which he had 
 accepted with an ill grace, might prove beyond his 
 fulfilling. She might escape! True, many in her 
 place would have feared a worse fate and harsher 
 handling. But there lay half the merit of her vic- 
 tory. It had left her not only in a better position, but 
 with a new confidence in her power over her adver- 
 sary. He would insist on the bargain struck between 
 them ; within its four corners she could look for no 
 indulgence. But if the conditions proved to be be- 
 yond his power, she believed that he would spare her : 
 with an ill grace, indeed, with such ferocity and 
 coarse reviling as her woman's pride might scarcely 
 support. But he would spare her. 
 
 And if the worst befell her? She would still have 
 the consolation of knowing that from the cataclysm 
 which had overwhelmed her friends she had ransomed 
 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 the remainder of that day, 
 and to which it returned with unabated zest on the 
 following morning. But the Oarlats and her women 
 learned from the guards below what was passing ; and 
 quaking and cowering in their corners fixed fright- 
 ened eyes on her, who was their stay and hope. 
 How could she prove false to them? How doom 
 them to perish, had there been no question of her 
 lover? 
 
 Of him she sat thinking by the hour together. She 
 recalled with solemn tenderness the moment in which 
 he had devoted himself to the death which came but 
 halfway to seize them ; nor was she slow to forgive 
 his subsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue 
 her in spite of herself. She found the impulse to die 
 
THE BEOTHJJE OF ST. MAGLOIEE. 165 
 
 glorious ; tlie withdrawal— for the aotor was her lover 
 — a thing done for her, which he would not have done 
 for himself, and which she quickly forgave him. The 
 revulsion of feelipg which had conquered her at the 
 time, and led her to tear herself from him, no longer 
 moved her much ; while aU in his action that might 
 have seemed in other eyes legs than heroic, all in his 
 conduct— in a crisis demanding the highest — that 
 smacked of common or mean, vanished, for she still 
 clung to him, Clung to him, not so much with the 
 passion of the mature woman, as with the maiden and 
 sentimental affection of one who has now no hope of 
 possessing, and for whom love no longer spells life 
 but sacrifice. 
 
 She had leisure for these, musings, for she was left 
 to hergelf all that day, and until late on the following 
 day. Hey own servants waited on her, and it was 
 known that below stairs Count Hannibal's riders kept 
 sullen ward behind barred doors and ghuttejed win- 
 dows, refusing admission to all who cajiae. Now and 
 again echoes of the riot which filled the streets with 
 bloodshed reached her ears: or word of the more 
 striking occurrences was brought to her by Madame 
 Oarlat. And early on this second day, Monday, it 
 was whispered that M. de Tavannes had not returned, 
 and that the men below were growing uneasy. 
 
 At lastj when the suspense below and above was 
 growing tense, it was broken. Footsteps and voices 
 were heard ascending the stairs, the trajipling and 
 hubbub were followed by a heavy knock ; perforce 
 the door was opened. While Mademoiselle, who had 
 risen, awaited with a beating heart she knew not 
 what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks of 
 St. Magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing 
 
166 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 himself, muttered tlie words of benediction. He en- 
 tered slowly. 
 
 No sight could have been more dreadful to Made- 
 moiselle; for it set at naught the conditions which 
 she had so hardly exacted. What if Count Hannibal 
 were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, 
 prepared to force her to a marriage before this shave- 
 ling? Or ready to proceed, if she refused, to the last 
 extremity'? Sudden terror taking her by the throat 
 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, stepping forward haughtily. "This person 
 has no business here. How dare you admit him? " 
 
 The Norman showed his bearded visage a moment 
 at the door. "My lord's orders," he muttered sul- 
 lenly. And he closed the door on them. 
 
 She had a Huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in 
 this crisis, her reasons for 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 my face! If he will perjure himself, 
 let him forswear himself in person. Or, if you come 
 on your own account," she continued, flinging pru- 
 dence to the winds, "as your brethren came to Phil- 
 ippa de Luns, to offer me the choice you offered her, 
 I give you her answer ! If I had thought of myself 
 only, I had not lived so long ! And rather than bear 
 your presence or hear your arguments " 
 
 She came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the 
 word; her lips remained parted, she swayed an in- 
 stant on her feet. The next moment Madame Carlat, 
 
THE BEOTHEE OF ST. MAGLOIEE. 167 
 
 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 with whom Mademoiselle's 
 thoughts had been engaged. In this disguise, and 
 armed with Tavannes' note to Madame St. Lo — which 
 the guards below knew for Count Hannibal's hand, 
 though they were unable to decipher the contents — 
 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 lit- 
 tle risk. His betrothed, on the other hand, who 
 knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw 
 in him one who came to her at the greatest risk, 
 across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming 
 with blood. And though she had never embraced 
 him save in the crisis of the massacre, though she had 
 never called him by his Christian name, in the joy of 
 this meeting she abandoned herself to htm, she clung 
 to him weeping, she forgot for the time his defection, 
 and thought only of him who had returned to her so 
 gallantly, who brought into the room a breath of Poi- 
 tou, and the sea, and the old days, and the old life ; 
 and at the sight of whom the horrors of the last two 
 days fell from her — for the moment. 
 
 And Madame Carlat wept also, and in the room 
 was a soujid of weeping. The least moved was, for 
 a certainty, M. de Tignonville himself, who, as we 
 know, had gone through much that day. But even 
 his heart swelled, partly with pride, partly with 
 thankfulness that he had returned to one who loved 
 
168 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 Mm so well. Fate had been kinder to him than he 
 deserved ; but he need not confess that now. When 
 he had brought off the coup which he had in his mind, 
 he would hasten to forget that he had entertained 
 other ideas. 
 
 Mademoiselle had been the first to be carr^d away ; 
 she was also the first to recover herself. "I had for- 
 gotten," she cried suddenly. "I had forgotten," and 
 she wrested herself from his embrace with violence, 
 and stood panting, her face white, her eyes affrighted. 
 "I must not! And you — I had forgotten that too! 
 To be here, monsieur, is the worst office you can do 
 me. You must go ! Go, monsieur, in mercy I beg of 
 you, while it is possible. Every moment you are 
 here, every moment you spend in this house, I shud- 
 der." 
 
 "You need not fear for me," he said, in a tone of 
 bravado. He did not understand. 
 
 "I fear for myself!" she answered. And then, 
 wringing her hands, divided between her love for him 
 and her fear for herself, " Oh, forgive me ! " she said. 
 " You do not know that he has promised to spare me, 
 if he cannot produce you, and — and — a minister! 
 He has granted me that; but I thought when 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 under- 
 stand, and you Anil pardon me, monsieur? If he 
 cannot produce you I am saved. Go then, leave me, 
 I beg, without a moment's delay." 
 
 He laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl 
 and squared his shoulders. "All that is over!" he 
 said, "over and done with, sweet! M. de Tavannes 
 is at this moment a prisoner in the Arsenal. On my 
 
THE BEOTHEE OF ST. MAGLOIEE. 169 
 
 way hither I fell in with M. de Biron, and he told me. 
 The Grand Master, who would have had me join his 
 company, had been all night at Marshal Tavannes' 
 hotel, where he had been detained longer than he 
 expected. He stood pledged to release Count Han- 
 nibal on his return, but at my request he consented 
 to hold 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! IsTor you! " 
 
 "How, monsieur's" 
 
 "In a few minutes," he explained — ^he could not 
 hide his exultation, "a message will come from the 
 Ajsenal in the name of Tavanaes, bidding the monk 
 he sent to you bring you to him. A spoken message, 
 corroborated by my presence, should suffice : 'Bid the 
 monk who is now with Mademoiselle,' it will run, 'bring 
 her to me at the Arsenxil, and let f<mr pikes guard them 
 hither. ' When I begged M. de Biron to do this, he 
 laughed. 'I can do better,' he said. ' They shall 
 bring one of Count Hannibal's gloves, which he left 
 on my table. Always supposing my rascals have 
 done him no harm, which God forbid, for I am an- 
 swerable. ' " 
 
 TignonviUe, delighted with the stratagem which the 
 meeting with Biron had suggested, could see no flaw 
 in it. She could, and though she heard him to the 
 end, no second glow of hope softened the lines of her 
 features. With a gesture full of dignity, which took 
 in not only Madame Carlat and the waiting-woman 
 who stood at the door but the absent servants, "And 
 what of these?" she said. "What of these? You 
 
170 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 forgot them, monsieur. You do not think, you can- 
 not have thought, that I would abandon 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 frightened waiting-woman, fierce with the 
 fierceness of a hunted animal, were on him. The 
 Carlat and she had heard, could hear. At last, "Bet- 
 ter one than none ! " he muttered, in a voice so low 
 that if the servants caught his meaning it was but in- 
 distinctly. "I have to think of you." 
 
 "And I of them," she answered firmly. "Nor is 
 that all. Were they not here, 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 I keep not my word, can I expect him 
 to keep his? Or how, if I am ready to break the 
 bond, on this happening which I never expected, can 
 I hold him to conditions which he loves as little — as 
 little as I love him?" 
 
 Her voice dropped piteously on the last words; 
 her eyes, craving her lover's pardon, sought his. But 
 rage, not pity or admiration, was the feeling roused 
 in Tignonville's breast. He stood staring at her, 
 struck dumb 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 by force, by 
 treachery, in the midst of such horrors as he and his 
 hafve brought 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! Prom assassins ! " he protested. 
 
THE BEOTHEB OF ST. MAGLOIEE. 171 
 
 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 is it! Ifay, you must wish to 
 marry him! For, as for his conditions. Mademoi- 
 selle," the young man continued, with an insulting 
 laugh, "you cannot think seriously of them. He 
 keep conditions and you in his power! He, Count 
 Hannibal ! But for the matter of that, and were he 
 in the mind to keep them, what are theyl There are 
 plenty of ministers. I left 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 wound- 
 ed pride, "it is for that reason I implore you to go. 
 The sooner you leave me, the sooner you place your- 
 self in a position of security, the happier for me! 
 Every moment 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 breat 
 down, her voice to quiver, she looked piteously at 
 him — "by staying here make it harder for me to — 
 to " 
 
 "Hush!" cried Madame Carlat. "Hush!" And 
 as they started and turned towards her — she was at the 
 end of the chamber by the door, almost out of earshot 
 — she raised a warning hand. "Listen!" she mut- 
 tered, "some one has entered the house." 
 
 "'Tis my messenger from Biron," Tignonville an- 
 swered sullenly. And he drew his cowl over his face, 
 and, hiding his hands in his sleeves, moved towards 
 the door. But on the threshold he turned and 
 
172 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 held out his arms. He could not go thus. "Made- 
 moiselle! Clotilde!" he cried with passion, "for 
 the last time, listen to me, come with me. Be per- 
 suaded ! " 
 
 "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 she 
 wrung her hands. "Oh, mon Dieu, mon Bieu, what 
 are we to do 1 " she continued, panic-stricken. And 
 she looked all ways about the room. 
 
CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 AT CLOSE QXJAETEES. 
 
 Feae leapt into Mademoiselle's eyes, but she com- 
 manded herself. She signed to Madame Carlat to be 
 silent, and they listened, gazing at one another, hop- 
 ing against hope that the woman was mistaken. A 
 long moment they waited, and some were beginning 
 to breathe again, when the strident tones of Count 
 Hannibal's voice rolled up the staircase, and put an 
 end to doubt. Mademoiselle grasped the table and 
 stood supporting herself by it. "What are we to 
 do? " she muttered. "What are we to do? " and she 
 turned distractedly towards the women. The cour- 
 age which had supported her in her lover's absence 
 had abandoned her now. "If he finds him here I am 
 lost! I am lost!" 
 
 "He will not know me," Tignonville muttered. 
 But he spoke uncertainly ; and his gaze, shifting hith- 
 er and thither, belied the boldness of his words. 
 
 Madame Carlat's eyes flew round the room ; on her 
 for once the burden seemed to rest. Alas ! the room 
 had no second door, and the windows looked on a 
 courtyard guarded by Tavannes' people. And even 
 now Count Hannibal's step rang on the stair! his 
 hand was almost on the latch. The woman wrung 
 her hands ; then, a thought striking her, she darted 
 to a corner where Mademoiselle's robes hung on pegs 
 against the wall. 
 
174 COTJl^ HAXNTBAL. 
 
 "Here!" she cried, raising them. "Behind these! 
 He may not be seen here ! Quick, monsieur, quick ! 
 Hide yourself ! " 
 
 It was a forlorn hope — ^the suggestion of one 
 who had not thought out the position; and, what- 
 ever its promise. Mademoiselle's pride revolted 
 against it. 
 
 "Ifo," she cried. "Not there! " while Tignonville, 
 who knew that the step was useless, since Count Han- 
 nibal must have learned that a monk had entered, 
 held his ground. 
 
 "You could not deny yourself? " he muttered hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 "And a priest with me?" she answered; and she 
 shook her head. 
 
 There was no time for more, and even as Mademoi- 
 selle spoke Count Hannibal'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 his face. It was possible that he might pass 
 unrecognised, if Tavannes' stay was brief; at any 
 rate the risk must he run. In a half -stifled voice she 
 bade her woman, Javette, open the door. 
 
 Count Hannibal bowed low as he entered ; and he 
 deceived the others. But he did not deceive her. 
 He had not crossed the threshold before she repented 
 that she had not acted on Tignonville's suggestion, 
 and denied herself. For what could escape those 
 hard keen eyes, which swept the room, saw all, and 
 seemed to see nothing — ^those eyes in which there 
 dwelt even now a glint of cruel humour? He might 
 deceive others, but she who panted within his grasp, 
 as the wild bird palpitates in the hand of the fowler, 
 was not deceived! He saw, he knew! although, as 
 
AT CLOSE QTJAETEES. 175 
 
 lie bowed, and smiling, stood upright, he looked only 
 at her. 
 
 "I expected to be with you before this," he said 
 courteously, "but I have been detained. First, Ma- 
 demoiselle, by some of your friends, who were re- 
 luctant to part with me ; then by some of your ene- 
 mies, who, finding me in no handsome case, took me 
 for a Huguenot escaped from the river, and drove me 
 to shifts to get clear of them. However, now I am 
 come, I have news." 
 
 "News?" she muttered with dry lips. It could 
 hardly be good news. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle, of M. de Tignonville," he an- 
 swered. "I have little doubt that I shaU be able to 
 produce him this evening, and so to satisfy one 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 he seldom refrained. Cath- 
 olic as he was, when he mentioned a priest, "has by 
 this time [succeeded in removing the other, and per- 
 suading you to accept his ministrations " 
 
 "No! " she cried impulsively. 
 
 "No?" with a dubious smile, and a glance from 
 one to the other. "Oh, I had hoped better things. 
 But he still may? He still may. I am sure he may. 
 In which case. Mademoiselle, your modesty must par- 
 don me if I plead urgency, and fix the hour after sup- 
 per this evening for the fulfilment of your 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 only two hours separated her, she 
 
176 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 could find no words but those wMcli she had already 
 used. The worst was upon her; worse than the 
 worst could not befall her. "But he has not per- 
 suaded me ! " she cried, clenching her hands in pas- 
 sion. "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 preci- 
 pice yawned at her feet ; its naked terrors turned her 
 brain. She had been pushed nearer, and nearer, and 
 nearer ; struggle as she might she was on the verge. 
 A mist rose before her eyes, and though they thought 
 she listened she understood nothing of what was pass- 
 ing. When she came to herself after the lapse of a 
 minute, Count Hannibal was speaking. 
 
 "Permit him another trial," he was saying in a tone 
 of bland irony. "A short time longer, Mademoiselle ! 
 One more assault, father! The weapons of the 
 Church could not be better directed or to a more 
 worthy object ; and, successful, shall not fail of due 
 recognition and an earthly reward." 
 
 And while she listened, half fainting, with a hum- 
 ming in her ears, he was gone. The door closed on 
 him, and the three — Mademoiselle's woman had with- 
 drawn when she opened to him — ^looked at one an- 
 other. The girl parted her lips to speak, but she 
 only smiled piteously ; and it was M. de Tignonville 
 who broke the silence, in a tone which betrayed rather 
 relief than any other feeling. 
 
 "Come, all is not lost yet," he said briskly. "If I 
 can escape from the house " 
 
 "He knows you," she answered. 
 
 "WhatV 
 
 "He knows you," Mademoiselle repeated in a tone 
 
AT CLOSE QTJAETEES. 177 
 
 almost apathetic. "I read it in his eyes. He knew 
 you at once: and knew, too," she added bitterly, 
 "that he had here under his hand one of the two 
 things he required." 
 
 "Then why did he hide his knowledge?" the 
 young man retorted sharply. 
 
 "Why?" she answered. "To induce me to waive 
 the other condition in the hope of saving you. Oh ! " 
 she continued in a tone of bitter raillery, "he has 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 — "he wUl be my master! 
 He will break me to his will and to his hand ! I shall 
 be his ! His, body and soul, body and soul ! " she 
 continued drearily, 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 tem- 
 ples beat wildly. "But you shall not," he exclaimed. 
 "I may be no match for him in cunning, you say 
 well. But I can kill him. And I will ! " He paced 
 up and 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 the opening door. It was Javette who 
 entered. 
 
 They looked at her, and before she spoke were on 
 their feet. Her face, white and eager, marking some- 
 thing besides fear, announced that she brought news. 
 She closed the door behind her, and in a moment it 
 was told. 
 
 "Monsieur can escape, if he is quick," she cried in 
 a low tone ; and they saw that she trembled with ex- 
 12 
 
178 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 citement. "They are at supper. But lie must be 
 quick ! He must be quick ! " 
 
 "Is not the door guarded? " 
 
 "It is, but " 
 
 "And he knows! Tour mistress says that he 
 knows that I am here." 
 
 For a moment Javette looked startled. "It is pos- 
 sible," 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, the window that was broken is 
 only blocked " — she swallowed once or twice in her 
 excitement — "with something he can move. And 
 then monsieur is in the street, 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 found courage 
 either to note what she had or to bring the news. 
 But as Providence had been so good to them as to put 
 it into this woman's head to act as she had, it behoved 
 them to use the opportunity — the last, the very 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 place yourself 
 as quickly as possible beyond his reach." A faint 
 colour, the flush of hope, had returned to her cheeks. 
 Her eyes glittered. 
 
AT CLOSE QTJAETEES. 179 
 
 "Eight, Mademoiselle!" he cried, obedient for 
 once. "I go! And do you be of good courage." He 
 held her hand an instant, then, moving to the door, 
 he opened it and listened. They all pressed behind 
 him to hear. A murmur of voices, low and distant, 
 mounted the staircase and bore out the girl's tale; 
 apart from this the house was silent. Tignonville 
 cast a last look at Mademoiselle, and, with a gesture 
 of farewell, glided a-tiptoe to the stairs and began to 
 descend, his face hidden in his cowl. They watched 
 him reach the angle of the staircase, they watched 
 hinri vanish beyond it ; and still they listened, looking 
 at one another when a board creaked or the voices 
 below were hushed for a moment. 
 
CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 THE DtJEL. 
 
 At the foot of the staircase Tignonville paused. 
 The droning Norman voices of the men on guard 
 issued from an open door a few paces before him on 
 the left. He caught a jest, the coarse chuckling 
 laughter which attended it, and the gurgle of ap- 
 plause which followed ; and he knew that at any mo- 
 ment one of the men might step out and discover 
 him. Fortunately the door of the room with the 
 shattered window was almost within reach of his 
 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 a movement in the 
 guard-room, as if some were rising, he pushed the 
 door in a 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 to him and 
 his face to the partly closed window, sat Count Han- 
 nibal! 
 
 The young man's heart stood still. For a long 
 minute he gazed at the Count's back, spellbound and 
 unable to stir. Then, as Tavannes ate on without 
 looking round, he began to take courage. Possibly 
 he had entered sd quietly that he had not been heard, 
 or possibly his entrance was taken for that of a ser- 
 vant. In either case, there was a chance that he 
 
THE DUEL. 181 
 
 might retire after the same fashion ; and he had actu- 
 ally raised the latch, and was 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 Tignon- 
 ville," he said, without looking round. "In your 
 cowl you do not feel it, but it is otherwise with me." 
 
 The unfortunate Tignonville stood transfixed, glar- 
 ing at the back of the other'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 did 
 know, then? And she was right." 
 
 "If you mean that I expected you, to be sure, mon- 
 sieur," Count Hannibal answered. "See, your place 
 is laid. You will not feel the air from without there. 
 The very becoming dress which you have adopted se- 
 cures you from cold. But — do you not find it some- 
 what oppressive this summer weather? " 
 
 "Curse you! " the young man cried, trembling. 
 
 Tavannes turned and looked at him with a dark 
 smile. "The curse may fall," he said, "but I fancy 
 it will not be in consequence of youx petitions, mon- 
 sieur. And now, were it not better you played the 
 man?" 
 
 "If I were armed," the other cried passionately, 
 "you would not insult me ! " 
 
 "Sit down, sir, sit down," Count Hannibal an- 
 swered sternly. "We wiU talk of that presently. In 
 the meantime 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, "I am indifferent whether 
 you eat or not. 'It is enough for me that you are one 
 
182 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 of the two tilings I lacked an hour ago ; and that I 
 have you, M. de Tignonville. And through you I 
 look to obtain the other." 
 
 "What other?" Tignonville cried. 
 
 "A minister," Tavannes answered, smiling. "A 
 minister. There are not many left in Paris — of your 
 faith. But you met one this morning, I know ! " 
 
 "I? I met one?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, you ! And can lay your hand on 
 him in five minutes, you know. " 
 
 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 boots not 
 how I know. It is my business to make the most of 
 my knowledge — and of 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 an- 
 swered. "Carry your mind back two days, M. de 
 Tignonville. Had I gone to Mademoiselle de Vrillac 
 last Saturday and said to her ' Marry me, or promise 
 to marry me, ' what answer 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!" Tavan- 
 nes said. "Suffice it that she would have answered 
 as you suggest. Yet to-day she has given me her 
 promise." 
 
 "Yes," the young man retorted, "in circumstances 
 in which no man of honour " 
 
THE DUEL. 183 
 
 "Let us say in peculiar circumstances." 
 
 "WeU?" 
 
 "Which still exist! Mark me, M. de Tignonville, " 
 Count Hannibal continued, leaning forward and eye- 
 ing the young man -with meaning, "which still 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 measured tramp 
 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 the President La 
 Place this morning ! And they are searching ! They 
 are still searching ! The river is not yet full, nor the 
 gibbet glutted! I have but to open that window 
 and denounce you, and your life would hang by no 
 stronger thread than the life of a mad dog which they 
 chase through the streets ! " 
 
 The younger man had risen also. He stood con- 
 fronting Tavannes, the cowl fallen back from his face, 
 his eyes dilated. "You think to frighten me!" he 
 cried. "You think that I am craven enough to sac- 
 rifice her to save myself. You " 
 
 "You were craven enough to draw back yester- 
 day, when you stood at this window and waited for 
 death!" Count Hannibal answered brutally. "You 
 flinched then, and may flinch again ! " 
 
 "Try me!" Tignonville retorted, trembling with 
 passion. "Try me!" And then, as the other stared 
 at him and made no movement, "But you dare not! " 
 he cried. "You dare not ! " 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No! For if I die you lose her ! " Tignonville re- 
 plied in a voice of triumph. " Ha, ha ! I touch you 
 
184 COUNT HAJ^TNIBAL. 
 
 there ! " he contimied. " You dare not, for my 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 to the window" 
 — and he mocked, with a disdainful mimicry, the 
 other's gesture — "but my safety is more to you than 
 to me ! And 'twill end there ! " 
 
 "You believe that?" 
 
 "I know it!" 
 
 In two strides Count Hannibal was at the window. 
 He seized a great piece of the boarding which closed 
 one half of the opening ; he wrenched it away. A 
 flood of evening light burst in through the aperture, 
 and fell on and heightened the flushed passion of his 
 features, as he turned again to 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 road is open! If you would 
 save your mistress, behold the way ! If you would 
 save her from the embrace she abhors, from the eyes 
 under which she trembles, from the hand of a master, 
 there lies the way ! And it is not her glove only you 
 will save, but herself, her soid, her body! So," he 
 continued with a certain wildness and in a tone 
 wherein contempt and bitterness were mingled, "to 
 the lions, brave lover! Will you your life for her 
 honour? Will you death that she may live a maid? 
 Will you your head to save her finger? Then, leap 
 down! leap down! The lists are open, the sand is 
 strewed ! Out of your own mouth I have it that if 
 you perish she is saved ! Then out, monsieur ! Cry 
 • I am a Huguenot ! ' And God's will be done ! " 
 
THE DUEL. 185 
 
 Tignonville was livid. "Eatitier, your wUll" he 
 panted. "Your will, you devil! Nevertheless " 
 
 " You win 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 of hate at 
 the tempter ; he caught his breath, and laid his hand 
 on the edge of the shuttering as if he would leap out. 
 
 But it goes hard with him who has once turned 
 back from the foe. The evening light, glancing cold 
 on the burnished pike-points of a group of archers 
 who stood near, caught his eye and went chiU to his 
 heart. Death, not in the arena, not in the sight of 
 shouting thousands, but in this darkening street, with 
 an enemy laughing from the window, death with no 
 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 child for a parent, of a 
 parent for a child, of a man for the one woman in the 
 world ! 
 
 He recoiled. "You would not spare her!" he 
 cried, his face damp with sweat — 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 to you? " 
 
 But Tignonville recoiled another step and was 
 silent. 
 
 "No? O preux chevalier, O gallant knight! I 
 knew it! Do you think that I did not know with 
 whom I had to deal?" And Count Hannibal burst 
 into harsh laughter, turning his back on the other, 
 as if he no longer counted. "You will neither die 
 
186 COUNT HAIOnBAL. 
 
 with her nor for her ! You were better in her petti- 
 coats and she in your breeches ! Or no, you are best 
 as you are, good father ! Take my advice, M. de Tig- 
 nonville, have done with arms ; and with 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 all like my cousin, a flouting, 
 gibing, jeering woman — you had poor fortune there, 
 I fear?" 
 
 "If I had a sword!" Tignonville hissed, his face 
 Uvid with rage. "You call me coward, because I 
 wUl not die to please you. But give me a sword, and 
 I wUl show you if I am a coward ! " 
 
 Tavannes stood still. "You are there, are youl" 
 he said in an altered tone. "I " 
 
 "Give me a sword," Tignonville repeated, hold- 
 ing out his open trembling hands. "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 voice quivering with eagerness. "It is 
 you who are the coward ! " 
 
 Count Hannibal stared at him. "And what am I 
 to get by fighting you? " he reasoned slowly. "You 
 are in my power. I can do with you as I please. I 
 can call from this window and denounce you, or I 
 can summon my men " 
 
 " Coward ! Coward ! " 
 
 "Ay? Well, I will teU you what I will do," with 
 a subtle smile. "I will give you a sword, M. de Tig- 
 nonville, and I will meet you foot to foot here, in 
 this room, on a condition." 
 
 "What is it? What is it?" the young man cried 
 with incredible eagerness. "Name your condition! " 
 
THE DUEL. 187 
 
 "That if I get the better of you, you find me a min- 
 ister." 
 
 "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. 
 
 "Tou know where to find one." 
 
 "Never! Never!" 
 
 "You can lay your hand on one in five minutes, 
 you know." 
 
 "I wiU not." 
 
 "Then I shall not fight you! " Count Hannibal an- 
 swered coolly; and he turned from him, and back 
 again. "You wQl pardon me if I say, M. de Tignon- 
 ville, 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 you may kill me, in which case the condition 
 will not help me much. Or I — which is more like- 
 ly — " he added with a harsh smile, "may kill you, and 
 again I am no better placed." 
 
 The young man's pallid features betrayed the con- 
 flict in his breast. To do him justice, his hand itched 
 for the sword-hilt — he was brave enough for that ; he 
 hated, and only so could he avenge himself. But the 
 penalty if he had the worse! And yet what of it? 
 He was in hell now, in a hell of hiuniliation, shame, 
 defeat, tormented by this fiend ! 'Twas only to risk 
 a lower hell. 
 
 At last, "I wUl do it! " he cried hoarsely. "Give 
 me a sword and look to yourself." 
 
 "You promise?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I promise ! " 
 
188 COUNT HAKNIBAL. 
 
 "Good," Count Hannibal answered suavely; "but 
 we cannot fight so, we must have more light," and 
 striding to the door he opened it, and calling the Nor- 
 man bade him move the table and bring candles — a 
 dozen candles ; for in the narrow streets the light was 
 waning, and in the half -shuttered room it was grow- 
 ing dusk. Tignonville, listening with a throbbing 
 brain, wondered that the attendant expressed no sur- 
 prise and said no word — until Tavannes added to his 
 orders one for a pair of swords. 
 
 Then, "Monsieur's sword is here," Bigot answered 
 in his half -intelligible patois. "He left it here jes- 
 ter morning." 
 
 "Tou are a good fellow. Bigot," Tavannes an- 
 swered, with a gaiety and good-humour which aston- 
 ished Tignonville. "And one of these days you shall 
 marry Suzanne." 
 
 The Norman smiled sourly and went in search of 
 the weapon. 
 
 "You have a poniard? " Count Hannibal continued 
 in the same tone of unusual good temper, which had 
 already struck Tignonville. "Excellent! Will you 
 strip, then, or — as we are? Very good, monsieur; in 
 the unlikely event of fortune declaring for you, you 
 will be in a better condition to take care of yourself. 
 A man running through the streets in his shirt is ex- 
 posed to inconveniences ! " And he laughed gaUy. 
 
 While he laughed the other listened ; and his rage 
 began to give place to wonder. A man who regarded 
 as a pastime a sword and dagger conflict between four 
 walls, who, having his adversary in his power, was 
 ready to discard the advantage, to descend into the 
 lists, and to risk life for a whim, a fancy — such a 
 man was outside his experience, though in Poitou in 
 
THE DUEL. 189 
 
 those days of war were men reckoned brave. For 
 what, he asked himself as he waited, had Tavannes to 
 gain by fighting? The possession of Mademoiselle? 
 But Mademoiselle, If his passion for her overwhelmed 
 him, was in his power ; and if his promise were a bar- 
 rier — which seemed inconceivable 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, 
 and without 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 find pleasure in such utmost ventures. 
 Nevertheless the recklessness to which Tavannes' ac- 
 tion bore witness had its effect upon him. By the 
 time the young man's sword arrived something of his 
 passion for the conflict had evaporated ; and though 
 the touch of the hilt restored his determination, the 
 locked door, the confined space, and the unaccus- 
 tomed light went a certain distance towards substitut- 
 ing despair for courage. 
 
 The use of the dagger in the duels of that day, 
 however, rendered despair itself formidable. And 
 Tignonville, when he took his place, appeared any- 
 thing but a mean antagonist. He had removed his 
 robe and cowl, and lithe and active as a cat he stood 
 as it were on springs, throwing his weight now on 
 this foot and now on that, and was continually in 
 motion. The table bearing the candles had been 
 pushed against the window, the boarding 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 more difficult to 
 follow. 
 
190 COUNT HAXNIBAI;. 
 
 Count Hannibal did not seem to notice this, how- 
 ever. "Are yon ready'? " he asked. And then, 
 
 "On guard! " he cried, and he stamped the echo to 
 the word. But, that done, instead of bearing the 
 other down with a headlong rush characteristic of 
 the man — as Tignonville feared — he held off warily, 
 stooping low ; and when his slow opening was met by 
 one as cautious, he began to taunt his antagonist. 
 
 "Come!" he cried, and feinted half-heartedly. 
 " Come, monsieur, are we going to fight, or play at 
 fighting?" 
 
 "Fight yourself, then!" TignonviUe answered, his 
 breath quickened by excitement and growing hope. 
 " 'Tis not I hold back! " And he lunged, but was put 
 aside. 
 
 " ^a ! ga ! " Tavannes retorted ; and he lunged and 
 parried in his turn, but loosely and at a distance. 
 After which the two moved nearer the door, their 
 eyes glittering as they watched one another, their 
 knees bent, the sinews of their backs straining for the 
 leap. Suddenly Tavannes thrust, and leapt away, 
 and as his antagonist thrust in return the Count 
 swept the blade aside with a strong parry, and for a 
 moment seemed to be on the point of falling on Tig- 
 nonville with the poniard. But Tignonville retired 
 his right foot nimbly, which brought them front to 
 front again. And the younger man laughed. 
 
 "Try again, M. le Comte!" he said. And, with 
 the word, he dashed in himself quick as light ; for a 
 second the blades ground on one another, the daggers 
 hovered, the two suffused faces glared into one anoth- 
 er ; then the pair disengaged again. The blood trick- 
 led from a scratch on Count Hannibal's neck ; half an 
 inch to the right and the point had found his throat. 
 
THE DUEL. 191 
 
 And Tignonville, elated, laughed anew, and swaying 
 from side to side on his hips, watched with growing 
 confidence for a second chance. Lithe as one of the 
 leopards Charles kept at the Louvre, he stooped lower 
 and lower, and more and more with each moment 
 took the attitude of the assailant, watching for an 
 opening; while Count Hannibal, his face dark and 
 his eyes vigilant, stood increasingly on the defence. 
 The light was waning a little, the wicks of the candles 
 were burning long ; but neither noticed it or dared to 
 remove his eyes from the other's. Their laboured 
 breathing found an echo on the farther side of the 
 door, but this again neither 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 eyes seeming 
 to grow smaller and smaller. Gradually a smile had 
 birth on Tignonville's lips. He thrust! It was par- 
 ried! He thrust again — ^parried! Tavannes, grown 
 still more cautious, gave a yard. Tignonville pushed 
 on, but did not allow confidence to master caution. 
 He began, indeed, to taunt his adversary ; to flout and 
 jeer him. But it was with a motive. 
 
 For suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he re- 
 peated the peculiar thrust which had been successful 
 before. This time, however, Tavannes was ready. 
 He put aside the blade with a quick parade, and in- 
 stead of making a riposte sprang within the other's 
 guard. The two came face to face 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, 
 
192 COUNT HAIOnBAL. 
 
 but glanced off the metalwork of the other's hilt ; Ta- 
 vannes' fell swift and hard between the young man's 
 eyes. The Huguenot flung up his hands and stag- 
 gered back, falling his length on the floor. 
 
 In an instant Count Hannibal was on his breast, 
 and had knocked away his dagger. Then, "You own 
 yourself vanquished? " he cried. 
 
 The young man, blinded by the blood which trick- 
 led down his face, made a sign with his hands. 
 Count Hannibal rose to his feet again, and stood a 
 moment looking at his foe without speaking. Pres- 
 ently he seemed to be satisfied. He nodded, and 
 going to the table dipped a napkin in water. He 
 brought it, and carefully supporting Tignonville's 
 head, laved his brow. "It is as I thought," he said, 
 when he had stanched the blood. "You are not hurt, 
 man. You are stunned. It is no more than a 
 bruise." 
 
 The young man was coming to himself. "But I 
 
 thought " he muttered, and broke off to pass his 
 
 hand over his face. Then he got up slowly, reeling a 
 little, "I thought it was the point," he muttered. 
 
 "No, it was the pommel," Tavannes answered 
 drily. "It would not have served me to kiU you. 
 I could have done that ten times." 
 
 Tignonville groaned, and, sitting down at the table, 
 held the napkin to his aching head. One of the can- 
 dles had been overturned in the struggle and lay on 
 the floor, flaring in a little pool of grease. Tavannes 
 set his heel upon it ; then, striding to the farther end 
 of the room, he picked up Tignonville's dagger and 
 placed it beside his sword on the table. He looked 
 about to see if aught else remained to do, and, finding 
 nothing, he returned to Tignonville's side. 
 
THE DUEL. 193 
 
 "IsTow, monsieur," he said in a voice hard and con- 
 strained, "I must ask you to perform your part of 
 the bargain." 
 
 A groan of anguish broke from the unhappy man. 
 And yet he had set his life on the cast ; what more 
 could he have done? "You mil 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 picked up the other's robe and cowl, 
 which had fallen from a chair — so that as he spoke 
 his eyes were averted. "She shall never know 
 through me," he said. 
 
 And Tignonville, his face hidden in his hands, told 
 him. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTEE XVni. 
 
 ANDEOMEDA, PEESEUS BEING ABSENT. 
 
 Little by little — while they fought below — ^the 
 gloom had thickened, and night had fallen in the 
 room above. But Mademoiselle would not have can- 
 dles brought. Seated in the darkness, on the upper- 
 most step of the stairs, her hands clasped about her 
 knees, she listened and listened, as if by that action 
 she could avert misfortune ; or as if, by going so far 
 forward to meet it, she could turn aside the worst. 
 The women shivering in the darkness about her 
 would fain have struck a light and drawn her back 
 into the room, for they felt safer there. But she was 
 not to be moved. The laughter and chatter of the 
 men in the guard-room, the coming and going of 
 Bigot as he passed, below but out of sight, had no 
 terrors for her ; nay, she breathed more freely on the 
 bare open landing of the staircase than in the close 
 confines of a room which her fears made hateful to 
 her. Here at least she could listen, her face 'unseen ; 
 and listening she bore the suspense more easUy. 
 
 A turn in the staircase, with the noise which pro- 
 ceeded from the guard-room, rendered it difficult to 
 hear what happened in the closed room below. But 
 she thought that if an alarm were raised there she 
 must hear it ; and as the moments passed and nothing 
 happened, she began to feel confident that her lover 
 had made good his escape by the window. 
 
AJTOEOMEDA, PEESEUS BEEfTG ABSENT. 195 
 
 Presently she got a fright. Three or four men came 
 from the guard-room and went, as it seemed to her, 
 to the door of the room with the shattered casement. 
 She told herself that she had rejoiced too soon, and 
 her heart stood stUl. She waited for a rush of feet, 
 a cry, a struggle. But except an uncertain muffled 
 sound which lasted for some minutes, and was fol- 
 lowed by a dull shock, she heard nothing more. And 
 presently the men went back whispering, the noise in 
 the guard-room which had been partially hushed 
 broke forth anew, and perplexed but relieved she 
 breathed again. Surely he had escaped by this time. 
 Surely by this time he was far away, in the Arsenal, 
 or in some place of refuge! And she might take 
 courage, and feel that for this day the peril was over- 
 past. 
 
 "Mademoiselle will have the lights now V one of 
 the women ventured. 
 
 "No! no!" she answered feverishly, and she con- 
 tinued to crouch where she was on the stairs, bathing 
 herself and her burning face in the darkness and cool- 
 ness of the stairway. The air entered freely through 
 a window at her elbow and the place was fresher, 
 were that all, than the room she had left. Javette 
 began to whimper, but she paid no heed to her; a 
 man came and went along the passage below, and she 
 heard the outer door unbarred, and the jarring tread 
 of three or four men who passed through it. But all 
 without disturbance; and afterwards the house was 
 quiet again. And as on this Monday evening the 
 prime virulence of the massacre had begun to abate 
 — ^^though it held after a fashion to the end of the 
 week — Paris without was quiet also. The sounds 
 which had chilled her heart at intervals during two 
 
196 COXnsTT HAJOflBAL. 
 
 days were no longer heard. A feeling almost of 
 peace, almost of comfort — a drowsy feeling, that was 
 three parts a reaction from excitement — took posses- 
 sion of her. In the darkness her head sank lower 
 and lower on her knees. And half an hour passed, 
 while Javette whimpered, 'and Madame Carlat slum- 
 bered, her broad back propped against the wall. 
 
 Suddenly Mademoiselle opened her eyes, and saw, 
 three steps below her, a strange man whose upward 
 way she barred. Behind him came Oarlat, and be- 
 hind him Bigot, lighting both; and in the confusion 
 of her thoughts as she rose to her feet the three, aU 
 staring at her in a common amazement, seemed a 
 company. The air entering through the open win- 
 dow beside her blew the flame of the candle this way 
 and that, and added to the nightmare character of the 
 scene ; for by the shifting light the men seemed to 
 laugh one moment and scowl the next, and their 
 shadows were now high and now low on the wall. In 
 truth they were as much amazed at coming on her in 
 that place as she at their appearance ; but they were 
 awake, and she newly roused from sleep ; and the ad- 
 vantage 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 said courteously. 
 
 "But — what is it? " She was frightened. 
 
 "If Mademoiselle " 
 
 Then she turned without more and went back into 
 the room, and the three followed, and her woman and 
 Madame Carlat. She stood resting one hand on the 
 table while Javette with shaking fingers lighted the 
 candles. Then, "Now, monsieur," she said in a hard 
 voice, "if you will tell me your business! " 
 
AZTOEOMEDA, PEESEUS BEING ABSENT. 197 
 
 "You do not know me?" The stranger's eyes 
 dwelt kindly and pitifully on her. 
 
 She looked at him steadily, crushing down the 
 fears which knocked at her heart. "No," she said. 
 "And yet I think I have seen you." 
 
 "You saw me a week last Sunday," the stranger 
 answered sorrowfully. "My name is La Tribe. I 
 preached that day, Mademoiselle, before the King of 
 Navarre. I believe that you were there." 
 
 For a moment she stared at him in silence, her lips 
 parted. Then she laughed, a laugh which set the 
 teeth on edge. "Oh, he is clever!" she cried. "He 
 has the wit of the priests ! Or the devil ! But you 
 come too late, monsieur ! You come too late ! The 
 bird has flown." 
 
 " Mademoiselle " 
 
 "I tell you the bird has flown!" she repeated ve- 
 hemently. And her laugh of joyless triumph rang 
 through the room. "He is clever, but I have out- 
 witted him ! I have " 
 
 She paused and stared about her wildly, struck by 
 the silence ; struck, too, by something solemn, some- 
 thing pitiful in the faces that were turned on her. 
 And her lip began to quiver. "What?" she mut- 
 tered. "Why do you look at me so? He has not" 
 — she turned fromone 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 she only groped blindly for a chair 
 and sat. And for a moment there was silence in the 
 
198 COUNT HAlOTBAIi. 
 
 room. It was the Huguenot minister who broke it in 
 a tone formal and solemn. 
 
 "Listen, all present! " he said slowly. "The ways 
 of God are past finding out. For two days in the 
 midst of great perils I have been preserved by His 
 hand and fed by His bounty, and I am told that I 
 shall live if, in this matter, I do the will of those who 
 hold me in their power. But be assured — and heark- 
 en all," he continued, lowering his voice to a sterner 
 note. "Eather than marry this woman to this man 
 against her wUl — if indeed in His sight such marriage 
 can be — ^rather than save my life by such base com- 
 pliance, I will die not once but ten times ! See. I 
 am ready! I will make no defence!" And he 
 opened his arms as if to welcome the stroke. "If 
 there be trickery here, if there has been practising 
 below, where they told me this and that, it shall not 
 avail ! Until I hear from Mademoiselle's own lips 
 that she is willing, I will not say over 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 sec- 
 onds earlier, and had taken his stand within the 
 door. 
 
 "She is willing ! " Tavannes repeated quietly. And 
 if, in this moment of the fruition of his schemes, he 
 felt his triumph, he masked it under a face of sombre 
 purpose. "Do you doubt me, man? " 
 
 "From her own lips! " the other replied, undaunted 
 — and few could say as much — ^by that harsh pres- 
 ence. "From no other's! " 
 
 "Sirrah, you " 
 
 "I can die. And you can no more, my lord! " the 
 
AimEOMEDA, PEESEUS BEING ABSENT. 199 
 
 minister answered bravely. "You have no threat 
 can move me." 
 
 "I am not sure of that," Tavannes answered, more 
 blandly. "But had you listened to me and been less 
 anxious to be brave, M. La Tribe, where no danger 
 is, you had learned that here is no call for heroics! 
 Mademoiselle is willing, and will tell you so." 
 
 "With her own lips? " 
 
 Count Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "With her 
 own Ups, if you wiU," he said. And then, advanc- 
 ing a step and addressing her, with unusual gravity, 
 "Mademoiselle de VriUac," he said, "you hear what 
 this gentleman requires. WUl you be pleased to con- 
 firm what I have said? " 
 
 She did not answer, and in the intense silence 
 which held the room in its freezing grasp a woman 
 choked, another broke into weeping. The colour 
 ebbed from the cheeks of more than one; the men 
 fidgeted on their feet. 
 
 Count Hannibal looked round, his head high. 
 "There is no caU for tears," he said; and whether he 
 spoke in irony or in a strange obtuseness was known 
 only to himself. "Mademoiselle is in no hurry — and 
 rightly — to answer a question so momentous. Under 
 the pressure of utmost peril, she passed her word; 
 the more reason that, now the time has come to re- 
 deem it, she should do so at leisure and after thought. 
 Since she gave her promise, monsieur, she has had 
 more than one opportunity of evading its fulfilment. 
 But she is a VriUac, and I know that nothing is far- 
 ther from her thoughts." 
 
 He was silent a moment; and then "Mademoi- 
 selle," he said, "I would not hurry you." 
 
 Her eyes were closed, but at that her lips moved. 
 
200 COTINT HAimiBAL. 
 
 "I am — williiig," slie whispered. And a fluttering 
 sigli, 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 Hanni- 
 bal dropped the mask. In two strides he was at the 
 minister's side, his hand gripped his shoulder; his 
 face, flushed with passion, glared into his. "Will 
 you play with lives'?" he hissed. "If you do not 
 value your own, have you no thought of others'? Of 
 these'? Look and count! Have you no bowels? If 
 she will save them, will not you? " 
 
 "My own I do not value." 
 
 "Curse your own!" Tavannes cried in furious 
 scorn. And he shook the other to and fro. "Who 
 thought of your life? Will you doom these? WiU 
 you give them to the butcher? " 
 
 "My lord," La Tribe answered, shaken in spite of 
 himself, "if she be willing " 
 
 "She is willing." 
 
 "I have nought to say. But I caught her words 
 indistinctly. And without her consent- " 
 
 " She shall speak more plainly. Mademoiselle- 
 
 She anticipated him. She had risen, and stood 
 looking straight before her, 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 her chin dropped on her breast. 
 Then, abruptly, suddenly — it was a strange thing to 
 see — she looked up. A change as complete as the 
 change which had come over Count Hannibal a min- 
 
AlsTDEOMEBA, PEBSEUS BEING ABSENT. 201 
 
 ute before came over her. She sprang to 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, her 
 voice grown suddenly shrill and defiant, "You have 
 not! You are deceiving me! He has escaped, and 
 you have lied to me ! " 
 
 "Yes, you have lied to me! " It was the last fierce 
 flicker of hope when hope seemed dead: the last 
 clutch of the drowning at the straw that floated be- 
 fore the eyes. 
 
 He laughed harshly. "You will be my wife in 
 five minutes," he said, "and you 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," he continued, turning to La Tribe, "do you, 
 sir, teU her that the gentleman is below. Perhaps 
 she will believe you. For you know him." 
 
 La Tribe looked at her sorrowfully ; his heart bled 
 for her. "I have seen M. de Tignonville," he said. 
 "And M. le Comte says truly. He is in the same 
 case with ourselves, a prisoner." 
 
 "You have seen him? " she wailed. 
 
 "I left bim in the room below, when I mounted the 
 stairs." 
 
 Count Hannibal laughed, the grim mocking laugh 
 which seemed to revel in the pain it inflicted. "WiU 
 you have him for a witness?" he cried. "There 
 could not be a better, for he will not forget. Shall I 
 fetch him?" 
 
 She bowed her head, shivering. "Spare me that," 
 she said. And she pressed her hands to her eyes 
 
202 COUNT HAimEBAL. 
 
 while an uncontrollable shudder passed over her 
 frame. Then she stepped forward: "I am ready," 
 she whispered. "Do with me as you will ! " 
 
 When they had all gone out and closed the door 
 behind them, and the two whom the minister had 
 joined were left together, Count Hannibal continued 
 for a time to pace the room, his hands clasped at his 
 back, and his head sunk somewhat on his chest. His 
 thoughts appeared to run in a new channel, and one, 
 strange to say, widely diverted from his bride and 
 from that which he had just done. For he did not 
 look her way, or, for a time, speak to her. He stood 
 once to snuff a candle, doing it with an absent face ; 
 and once to look, but still absently, as if he read no 
 word of it, at the marriage writing which lay, the ink 
 still wet, upon the table. After each of these inter- 
 ruptions he resumed his steady pacing to and fro, to 
 and fro, nor did his eye wander once in the direction 
 of her chair. 
 
 And she waited. The conflict of emotions, the 
 strife between hope and fear, the final defeat had 
 stunned her; had left her exhausted, almost apa- 
 thetic. Yet not quite, nor wholly. For when in his 
 walk he came a little nearer to her, a chill perspira- 
 tion broke out on her brow, and shudderings crept 
 over her ; and when he passed farther from her— and 
 then only, it seemed — she breathed again. But the 
 change lay beneath the surface, and cheated the eye. 
 Into her attitude, as she sat, her hands clasped on 
 her lap, her eyes fixed, came no apparent change or 
 shadow of movement. 
 
 Suddenly, with a dull shock, she became aware 
 that he was speaking. 
 
AITOEOMEDA, PEESEUS BEING ABSENT. 203 
 
 " There was need of haste," he said, his tone 
 strangely low and free from emotion, "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 no one with whom I could leave you. I 
 trust Bigot ; he is faithful, and you may trust him, 
 Madame, fair or foul ! But he is not quick-witted. 
 Badelon also you may trust. Bear it in mind. Your 
 woman Javette is not faithful ; but as her life is guar- 
 anteed she must stay with us until she can be securely 
 placed. Indeed, I must take all with me — with one 
 exception — ^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, "You ought to know how we, Tavan- 
 nes, stand. It is by Monsieur and the Queen-Mother ; 
 and contra the Guises. We have all been in this mat- 
 ter ; but the latter push and we are pushed, and the 
 old crack will reopen. As it is, I cannot answer for 
 much beyond the reach of my arm. Therefore, we 
 take all with us except M. Tignonville, who desires 
 to be conducted to the Arsenal." 
 
 She had begun to listen with averted eyes. But as 
 he continued to speak surprise awoke in her, and 
 something stronger than surprise — amazement, stupe- 
 faction. 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 the words with 
 dififtculty. 
 
 "Because it behoves you to know them," he an- 
 swered, thoughtfully tapping the table. "I have no 
 one, save my brother, whom I can trust." 
 
 She woidd not ask him why he trusted her, nor why 
 
204 COTW'r HANNIBAL. 
 
 he thioiiglit he could trust her. For a moment or two 
 she watqhed him, while he, with his eyes lowered, 
 stood in deep thought. At last he looked up and his 
 eyes met hers. " Come ! " he said abruptly and in a 
 different tone, "we must end this! Is it 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, "from you! " 
 
 He wondered at her courage, but he hid his won- 
 der. "So be it!" he answered. And before she 
 knew what he would be at, he struck her sharply 
 across the cheek with the glove which he held in his 
 hand. She recoiled with 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 you will come to me daily for the one or the 
 other. If I cannot be lover, Madame, I will be mas- 
 ter. And by this sign I will have you know it, dally, 
 and daily remember it." 
 
 She stared at him, her bosom rising and falling, 
 in an astonishment too deep 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 through it, he closed it behind him. And 
 she was alone. 
 
CHAPTBE XrS. 
 
 IN THE OELiiANNAIS. 
 
 "But you fear him? " 
 
 "Fear himV 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 fear him 
 no more than the puppy leaping at old Sancho's 
 bridle fears his tall playfellow! Or than the cloud 
 you see above us fears the wind before which 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 in the blue summer 
 sky. "Fear him'? Not I!" And, laughing gaily, 
 she jiut her horse at a narrow rivulet which crossed 
 the grassy track on which they rode. 
 
 "But he is hard?" the Countess murmured in a 
 low voice, as she regained her companion's side. 
 
 "Hard?" Madame St. Lo rejoined with a gesture 
 of pride. "Ay, hard as the stones in my jewelled 
 ring ! Hard as flint, or the nether millstone — ^to his 
 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 subject of their discussion ; a solitary 
 figure, riding some fifty paces in fi'ont of them. 
 
 "Because he counts no cost!" her companion an- 
 swered. " Because he killed Savillon in the court of 
 the Louvre, though he knew his life the forfeit. He 
 
206 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 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 had whipped his 
 dog, you see. Then he killed the Chevalier de Mil- 
 laud, but 'twas in fair fight, in the snow, in their 
 shirts. For that, Millaud's son lay in wait for him 
 with two, in the passage under the Ch^telet; but 
 Hannibal wounded one, and the others saved them- 
 selves. Undoubtedly he is feared ! " 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 left Paris at daybreak two days 
 before, by the Porte St. Jacques. Moving steadily 
 south-westward by the lesser roads and bridle-tracks 
 — for Count Hannibal seemed averse from the great 
 road — they had lain the second night in a village 
 three leagues from Bonneval. A journey of two 
 days on fresh horses is apt to change scenery and eye 
 alike; but seldom has an alteration — in themselves 
 and all about them — as great as that which blessed 
 this little company, been wrought in so short a time. 
 From the stifling wynds and evil-smelling lanes of 
 Paris, they had passed to the green uplands, the 
 breezy woods and babbling streams of the upper Or- 
 16annais ; from sights and sounds the most appalling, 
 to the solitude of the sandy heath, haunt of the great 
 bustard, or the sunshine of the hillside, vibrating 
 with the songs of larks ; from an atmosphere of terror 
 and gloom to the freedom of God's earth and sky. 
 Numerous enough — they numbered a score of armed 
 men — to defy the lawless bands which had their lairs 
 in the huge forest of Orleans, they halted where they 
 pleased : at mid-day under a grove of chestnut-trees, 
 or among the willows beside a brook; at night, if 
 
IN THE OEL^AIJWAIS. 207 
 
 they willed it, under God's heaven. Par, not only 
 from Paris, but from the great road, with its gibbets 
 and pillories — ^the great road which at that date ran 
 through a waste, no peasant living willingly within 
 sight of it — ^they rode in the morning and in the even- 
 ing, resting in the heat of the day. And though they 
 had left Paris with much talk of haste, they rode 
 more at leisure with every league. 
 
 Por whatever Tavannes' motive, it was plain that 
 he was in no hurry to reach his destination. Nor for 
 that matter were any of his company. Madame St. 
 Lo, who had seized the opportunity of escaping from 
 the capital under her cousin's escort, was in an ill- 
 humour with cities, and declaimed much on the joys 
 of a cell in the woods. Por the time the coarsest na- 
 ture and the dullest rider had had enough of alarums 
 and conflicts. 
 
 The whole company, indeed, though it moved in 
 some fashion of array with an avant and a rear- 
 guard, the ladies riding together, and Count Hanni- 
 bal proceeding solitary in the midst, formed as peace- 
 ful a band, and one as innocently diverted, as if no 
 man of them had ever grasped pike or blown a 
 match. There was an old rider among them who had 
 seen the sack of Eome, and the dead face of the great 
 Constable, the idol of the Free Companies. But he 
 had a taste for simples and much skill in them ; and 
 when Madame had once seen Badelon on his knees in 
 the grass searching for plants,- she lost her fear of 
 him. Bigot, with his low brow and matted hair, was 
 the abject slave of Suzanne, Madame St. Lo's woman, 
 who twitted him mercilessly on his Norman patois, 
 and poured the vials of her scorn on him a dozen 
 times a day. In all, with La Tribe and the Carlats, 
 
208 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 Madame St. Lo's servants, and the Countess's foUow- 
 ing, they ntunbeted not far short of two score ; and 
 when they halted at noon, and under the shadow of 
 some leafy tree, ate their mid-day meal, or drowsed 
 to the tinkle of Madame St. Lo's lute, it was difa- 
 cult to believe that Paris existed, or that these same 
 people had so lately left its blood-stained pavements. 
 
 They halted this morning a little earlier than 
 usual. Madame St. Lo had barely answered her com- 
 panion's question before the subject of their discus- 
 sion swung himself from old Sancho's back, and stood 
 waiting to assist them to dismount. Behind him, 
 where the green valley through which the road passed 
 narrowed to a rocky gate, an old mill stood among 
 willows at the foot of a mound. On the mound be- 
 hind it a ruined castle which had stood siege in the 
 Hundred Years' War raised its grey walls; and be- 
 yond this the stream which turned the mill poured 
 over rocks with a cool rushing sound that proved 
 irresistible. The men, their horses watered and hob- 
 bled, went off, shouting like boys, to bathe below the 
 falls ; and after a moment's hesitation Count Hanni- 
 bal rose from the grass on which he had flung hitnself . 
 
 "Guard that for me, Madame," he said. And he 
 dropped a packet, bravely sealed and tied with a silk 
 thread, into the Countess's lap. "'Twill be safer 
 than leaving it in my. clothes. Oh6!" And he 
 turned to Madame St. Lo. "Would you fancy a life 
 that was all gipsylng, cousin?" And if there was 
 irony in his voice, there was desire in his eyes. 
 
 "There is only one happy man in the world," she 
 answered, with conviction. 
 
 "Byname?" 
 
 "The hermit of Compi6gne." 
 
DT THE OEL^ANHAIS. 209 
 
 "And in a week you would be wild for a masque ! " 
 he said cynically. And turning on his heel he fol- 
 lowed the men. 
 
 Madame St. Lo sighed complacently. "Heigho!" 
 she said. "He's right! We are never content, ma 
 mie ! When I am trifling in the Gallery my heart is 
 in the greenwood. And when I have eaten black 
 bread and druni spring water for a fortnight 1 do 
 nothing but dream of Zamet's, and white mulberry 
 tarts! And you are in the same case. You have 
 saved your round white neck, or it has been saved 
 for you, by not so much as the thickness of Zamet's 
 pie-crust — 1 declare my mouth is beginning to water 
 for it! — and instead of being thankful and making 
 the best of things, you are thihking 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 — ^began to 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 not given 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 
 murmxu-ed. "I thought so! But there, my dear, if 
 you don't put that packet in your gown you'll wash 
 out the address! Moreover, if you ask me, 1 don't 
 think the young man is worth it. It is only that 
 which we have not got — ^we want ! " 
 
 But the young Cotintess had borne to the limit of 
 her powers. With an incoherent word she rose to 
 her feet, and walked hurriedly away. The thought 
 of what was and of what might have been, the 
 thought of the lover who still — though he no longer 
 14 
 
210 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 seemed, even to her, the perfect hero — ^held a place 
 in her heart, filled her breast to overflowing. She 
 longed for some spot where she could weep unseen, 
 where the sunshine and the blue sky would not mock 
 her grief; and seeing in front of her a little clump of 
 alders, which grew beside the stream, in a bend that 
 in winter was marshy, she hastened towards it. 
 
 Madame St. Lo saw her figure blend with the 
 shadow of the trees — " Quite d, la Eonsard, I give my 
 word!" she murmured. "And now she is out of 
 sight ! La, la ! I could play at the game myself, and 
 carve sweet sorrow on the barks of trees, if it were 
 not so lonesome ! And if I had a man ! " 
 
 And gazing pensively at the stream and the wil- 
 lows, my lady tried to work herself into a proper 
 frame of mind; now murmuring the name of one 
 gallant, and now, finding it unsuited, the name of 
 another. But the soft inflection would break into a 
 giggle, and finally into a yawn ; and, tired of the at- 
 tempt, she began to pluck grass and throw it from 
 her. By-and-by she discovered that Madame Carlat 
 and the women, who had their place a Lotle apart, 
 had disappeared ; and affrighted by the solitude and 
 silence — for neither of which she was made — she 
 sprang up and stared about her, hoping to discern 
 them. Eight and left, however, the sweep of hillside 
 curved upward to the skyline, lonely and untenanted ; 
 behind her the castled rock frowned down on the 
 rugged gorge and filled it with dispiriting shadow. 
 Madame St. Lo stamped her foot on the turf. 
 
 " The little fool ! " she murmured, pettishly. " Does 
 she think that I am to be murdered that she may fat- 
 ten on sighs? Oh, come up, Madame, you must be 
 dragged out of this!" And she started briskly to- 
 
m THE OEL:eANKAIS. 211 
 
 wards the alders, intent on gaining company as quick- 
 ly as possible. 
 
 She had gone about fifty yards, and had as many 
 more to traverse when she halted. A man, bent 
 double, was moving stealthily along the farther side 
 of the brook a little in front of him. Now she saw 
 him, now she lost him ; now she caught a glimpse of 
 him again, through a screen of willow branches. He 
 moved with the utmost caution, as a man moves 
 who is pursued or in danger ; and for a moment she 
 deemed him a peasant whom the bathers had dis- 
 turbed and who was bent on escaping. But when he 
 came opposite to the alder -bed she saw that that was 
 his point, for he crouched down, sheltered by a wil- 
 low, and gazed eagerly among the trees, always with 
 his back to her ; and then he waved his hand to some- 
 one in the wood. 
 
 Madame St. Lo drew in her breath. As if he had 
 heard the sound — which was impossible — ^the man 
 dropped down where he stood, crawled a yard or two 
 on his face, and disappeared. 
 
 Madame stared a moment, expecting to see him or 
 hear him. Then, as nothing happened, she screamed. 
 She was a woman of quick impulses, essentially femi- 
 nine ; and she screamed three or four times, standing 
 where she was, her eyes on the edge of the wood. 
 "If that does not bring her out, nothing will!" she 
 thought. 
 
 it brought her. An instant, and the Countess ap- 
 peared, and hurried in dismay to her side. "What 
 is it?" the younger woman asked, glancing over 
 her shoulder; for aU the valley, all the hills were 
 peaceful, and behind Madame St. Lo — but the lady 
 had not discovered it — ^the servants #ho had re- 
 
212 COUNT HAISTNIBAL. 
 
 turned were laying tlie meal. " Wiat is iti " she re- 
 peated anxiously. 
 
 " Who was if? " Madame St. Lo asked curtly. She 
 was quite calm now. 
 
 "Who was— who?" 
 
 "The man in the wopd? " 
 
 The Countess stared a moment, then laughed. 
 "Only the old soldier they call 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 a younger man, who crept 
 along the other side of the brook, keeping under 
 cover. When I first saw him he was there," she con- 
 tinued, pointing to the place. " And he crept on and 
 on until he came opposite to you. Then he 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 sudden soft- 
 ened the other's eyes ; and the same thought occurred 
 to her. And having a mind to punish her companion 
 for her reticence — for she did not doubt that the girl 
 knew more than she acknowledged — she proposed 
 that they 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 mis- 
 
m THE OEL^AJSWAIS. 213 
 
 chievously. '*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 a moment she was tongue-tied. 
 Then, "Have we not had enough of seeking and being 
 sought?" she cried; more bitterly than befitted the 
 occasion. "Why should we hunt him? I am not 
 timid, and he did me no harm. I beg, Madame, that 
 you will do me the favour 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 answered vehemently. "I fail, there- 
 fore, to understand why we should harass him, who- 
 ever he be. Besides, M. de Tavannes is waiting for 
 us." 
 
 "And M. de Tignonville — is following us!" 
 Madame St. Lo muttered — under her breath. And 
 she made a face at the other's back. 
 
 She was silent, however; they returned to the 
 others; and nothing of import, it would seem, had 
 happened. The soft summer air played on the meal 
 laid under the willows as it had played on the meal 
 of yesterday laid under the chestnut-trees. The 
 horses grazed within sight, moving now and again, 
 with a jingle of trappings or a jealous neigh; the 
 women's chatter vied with the unceasing sound of the 
 mill-stream. After dinner, Madame St. Lo touched 
 the lute, and Badelon — Badelon who had seen the 
 sack of the Colonna's Palace, and been served by 
 cardinals on the ]?nee — fed a water-rat, which had its 
 home in one of the willow-stumps, with carrot-par- 
 ings. One by one the men laid themselves to sleep 
 with their faces on- their arms ; and to the eyes all 
 
214 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 was as all had been yesterday in this camp of armed 
 men living peacefully. 
 
 But not to the Countess! She had accepted her 
 life, she had resigned herself, she had marvelled that 
 it was no worse. After the horrors of Paris 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; without thought, almost without 
 emotion, save for the feeling, half fear, half curi- 
 osity, 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, so shallow — grave; 
 and dead hopes and dead forebodings, strive as she 
 might, thrust out hands to plague and torment her. 
 If the man who sought to speak with her by stealth, 
 who dogged her footsteps and hung on the skirts of 
 her party, were Tignonville — ^her lover, who at his 
 own request had been escorted to the Arsenal before 
 their departure from Paris — then her plight was a 
 sorry one. For what woman, wedded as she had 
 been wedded, could think otherwise than indulgently 
 of his persistence? And yet, lover and husband! 
 What peril, what shame the words had often spelled ! 
 At the thought only she trembled and her colour 
 ebbed. She saw, as one who stands on the brink of 
 a precipice, the depth which yawned before her. 
 She asked herself, shivering, if she would ever sink 
 to thai. 
 
 All the loyalty of a strong nature, all the virtue of 
 a good woman revolted against the thought. True, 
 her husband — ^husband she must call him — ^had not 
 deserved her love ; but his bizarre magnanimity, the 
 
IN THE OELilAimAIS. 215 
 
 gloomy, disdainful kindness with whicli he had 
 crowned possession, even the unity of their interests, 
 which he had impressed upon her in so strange a 
 fashion, claimed a return in honour. 
 
 To be paid — ^how? howl That was the crux which 
 perplexed, which frightened, which harassed her. 
 For, if she told her suspicions, she exposed her lover 
 to capture by one who had no longer a reason to be 
 merciful. And if she sought occasion to see Tignon- 
 ville and so to dissuade him, she did it at deadly risk 
 to herself. Yet what other course lay open to her if 
 she would not stand by? If she would not play the 
 traitor? If she 
 
 "Madame," — it washer husband, and he spoke to 
 her suddenly, — "are you not well?" And, looking 
 up guUtily, she found his eyes fixed curiously on hers. 
 
 Her face turned red and white and red again, and 
 she faltered something and looked from him, but only 
 to meet Madame St. Lo's eyes. My lady laughed 
 softly in sheer mischief. 
 
 "What is it? " Count Hannibal asked sharply. 
 
 But Madame St. Lo's answer was a line of Eonsard. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ON THE CASTLE HILL. 
 
 Theioe she hummed it, bland and smiling. Then 
 from the neighbouring group came an interruption. 
 The wine he had drunk had put it into Bigot's head 
 to snatch a kiss from Suzanne; and Suzanne's mod- 
 esty, which was very nice in company, obliged her to 
 squeal. The uproar which ensued, the men backing 
 the man and the women the woman, brought Ta- 
 vannes to 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. "You had better go now, but 
 not alone." He cast his eyes over the company, and 
 summoned La Tribe, who was seated with the Carlats. 
 "Go with Madame," he said curtly. "She has a 
 mind to climb the hill. Bear in mind, we start at 
 three, and do not venture out of hearing." 
 
 "I understand, M. le Comte," the minister an- 
 swered. 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 her interest in the expedition was gone 
 — had borne her a hundred paces from the company. 
 Then, "Who knoweth our thoughts and forerun- 
 neth all our desires," he murmured. And when she 
 
O^ THE CASTLE HILL. 217 
 
 turned to him, astonislied, "Madame," he continued, 
 "I have prayed, ah, how I have prayed, for this op- 
 portunity of speaking to you ! And it has come. I 
 would it had come this morning, but it has come. 
 Do not start or look round ; many eyes are on us, and 
 alas ! I have that to say to you which it will move you 
 to hear, and that to ask of you which it must task 
 your courage to perform." 
 
 She began to tremble, and stood, looking up the 
 green slope to the broken grey wall which crowned 
 its snmmit. "What is it?" she whispered, com- 
 manding herself with an effort. "What is it? If it 
 have aught to do with M. Tignonville " 
 
 "It has not!" 
 
 In her surprise — for although she had put the ques- 
 tion she had felt no doubt of the answer — she started 
 and turned to him. "It has not?" she exclaimed 
 almost incredulously. 
 
 "Ko." 
 
 "Then what is it, monsieur?" she replied, a little 
 haughtily. "What can there be that should move 
 me so ? " 
 
 "Life or death, Madame," he answered solemnly. 
 "l^ay, more; for since Providence has given me this 
 chance of speaking to you, a thing of which I de- 
 spaired, I know that the burden is laid on us, and 
 that it is guilt or it is innocence, according as we re- 
 fuse 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 stalk- 
 ing me before dinner? " 
 
 "It was." 
 
218 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 She clasped her hands and heaved a sigh of relief. 
 "Thank God, monsieur!" she replied. "You have 
 lifted a weight from me. I fear nothing in compari- 
 son of that. Nothing ! " 
 
 "Alas," he answered sombrely, "there is much to 
 fear, for others if not for ourselves ! Do you know 
 what that is which M. de Tavannes bears always in 
 his belt? What it is he carries with such care? 
 What it was he 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 minister exclaimed, his face kindling. 
 "They should scorch the hands that hold them and 
 blister the eyes that read them. They are the fire and 
 the sword! They are the King's order to do at An- 
 gers as they have done in Paris. To slay all of the 
 religion who are found there — and they are many! 
 To spare none, to have mercy neither on the old man 
 nor the unborn child ! See yonder hawk ! " he con- 
 tinued, pointing with a shaking hand to a falcon 
 which hung light and graceful above the valley, the 
 movement of its wings invisible. "How it disports 
 itself in the face of the sun ! How easy its way, how 
 smooth its flight ! But see, it drops upon its prey in 
 the rushes beside the brook, and the end of its beauty 
 is slaughter ! So is it with yonder company ! " His 
 finger sank until it indicated the little camp seated 
 toy -like in the green meadow four hundred feet below 
 them, with every man and horse, and the very camp- 
 kettle, clear-cut and visible, though diminished by 
 distance to fairy-like proportions. "So it is with 
 
OK" THE CASTLE HILL. 219 
 
 yonder company! " he repeated sternly. "They play 
 and are merry, and one fishes and another sleeps! 
 But at the end of the journey is death. Death for 
 their victims, and for them the judgment ! " 
 
 She stood, as he spoke, in the ruined gateway, a 
 walled grass-plot behind her and at her feet the 
 stream, the smiling vaUey, the alders, and the little 
 camp. The sky was cloudless, the scene drowsy with 
 the stillness of an August afternoon. But his words 
 went home so truly that the sunlit landscape before 
 the eyes added one more horror to the picture he 
 called up before the mind. 
 
 The Countess turned white and sick. "Are you 
 surel! " she whispered at last. 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 "Ah, God!" she cried, "are we never to have 
 peace 1" And turning from the valley, she walked 
 some distance into the grass court, and stood. After 
 a 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 
 can I do?" 
 
 "Were the letters he bears destroyed " 
 
 "The letters?" 
 
 "Yes, were the letters destroyed," La Tribe an- 
 swered relentlessly, "he could do nothing! Ifothing! 
 Without that authority the magistrates of Angers 
 would not move. He could do nothing. And men 
 and women and children — men and women and chil- 
 dren whose blood will otherwise cry for vengeance, 
 perhaps for vengeance on us who might have saved 
 them — will live ! Will live ! " he repeated with a soft- 
 ening eye. And with an all-embracing gesture he 
 seemed to call to witness the open heavens, the sun- 
 
220 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 shine and the summer breeze which wrapped them 
 round. "Will live!" 
 
 She drew a deep breath. "And you have brought 
 me here," she said, "to ask me tff 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 colour- 
 less. "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 op- 
 portunity of doing this." 
 
 She gazed at him in astonishment. "And it is you 
 who say that?" she faltered, after a pause. "You 
 who made us one, who now bid me betray him, whom 
 I have sworn to love? To ruin him whom I have 
 sworn to honour? " 
 
 "I do! " he answered solemnly. "On my head be 
 the guilt, and on yours the merit." 
 
 " Nay, but — " she cried quickly, and her eyes glit- 
 tered with passion — "do you take both guilt and 
 merit! You are a man," she continued, her words 
 coming quickly in her excitement, "he is but a man! 
 Why do you not call him aside, trick him apart on 
 some pretence or other, and when there are but you 
 two, man to man, wrench the warrant from him? 
 Staking your life against 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 
 not my husband ! Surely you, you who are a man, 
 and young " 
 
 "Am no match for him in strength or arms," tJie 
 minister answered sadly. "Else would I do it.' 
 
ON THE CASTLE HILL. 221 
 
 Else would I stake my life, Heaven knows, as gladly 
 to save their lives as I sit down to meat! But I 
 should fail, and if I faUed all were lost. Moreover," 
 he continued solemnly, " I am certified that this task 
 has been set for you. It was not for nothing, Ma- 
 dame, nor to save one poor household that you were 
 joined to this man; but to ransom all these lives and 
 this great city. To be the Judith of our faith, the 
 saviour of Angers, the " 
 
 " Fool ! Fool ! " she cried. " Will you be silent ? " 
 And she stamped the turf passionately, while her eyes 
 blazed in her white face. "I am no Judith, 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 free from this ! " 
 And, turning, she walked a little way from him with 
 the gesture of one under a crushing burden. 
 
 He waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, 
 and still she did not return. At length she came 
 back, her bearing more composed ; she looked at him 
 and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would 
 read his soul. "Are you sure," she said, "of what 
 you have told me? Will you swear that the 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 repeated slowly and piteously. 
 
 "Of none, Madame, of none, I swear." 
 
 She sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought. 
 Then, "When do we reach Angers?" she asked 
 heavily. 
 
 "The day after to-morrow." 
 
 "J have — ^until the day after to-morrow?" 
 
222 COUNT HANOTBAL. 
 
 "Yes. To-night we lie near Venddme." 
 
 "And to-morrow night? " 
 
 "Near a place called La Pl^che. It is possible," he 
 went on with hesitation — 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 
 sought speech 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 — " he faltered 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, I will meet you and destroy the 
 letter. That done — and would God it were done al- 
 ready — ^I wUl take to flight as best I can, and you 
 will raise the alarm 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 wUl not lie to him ! And no other shall pay 
 the price ! If I ruin him it shall be between him and 
 me, and no other shall have part in it ! " 
 
 He shook his head. "I do not know," he mur- 
 mured, "what he may do to you ! " 
 
 "Nor I," she said proudly. "That will be for 
 him." 
 
 Curious eyes had watched the two as they climbed 
 the hill. For the path ran up the slope to the gap 
 which served for gate, much as the path leads up to 
 the Castle Beautiful in old prints of the Pilgrim's 
 journey; and Madame St. Lo had marked the first 
 
ON THE CASTLE HILL. 223 
 
 halt and the second, and, noting every gesture, had 
 lost nothing of the interview save the words. But 
 until the two, after pausing a moment, passed out of 
 sight she made no sign. Then she laughed. And as 
 Count Hannibal, at whom the laugh was aimed, did 
 not heed her, she laughed again. And she hummed 
 the line of Eonsard. 
 
 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 with- 
 out 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's inclination to hide a 
 woman's secret ; and she had not intended, when she 
 laughed, to do more than play with the formidable 
 man with whom so few dared to play. Ifow, stung 
 by his tone and his assurance, she must needs show 
 him that his trustfulness had no base. And, as so 
 often happens in the circumstances, she went a little 
 farther than the facts bore her. "Any way, he has 
 followed us so far ! " she cried viciously. 
 
 "M. deTignonville?" 
 
 "Yes. I saw him this morning while you were 
 bathing. She left me and went into the little cop- 
 pice. 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," she said. "He scared him. 
 And he crawled away." 
 
224 COUNT HAJmiBAL. 
 
 "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 of women ! " 
 
 "Of women generally, not much," he answered, 
 grimly polite. " Of this woman 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 than dis- 
 liked the Countess ; but she was of the lightest, and 
 the least opposition drove her out of her course. 
 "And you think you know her! And she, if she 
 could save you from death by opening an eye, would 
 go with a patch on it till her dying day ! Take my 
 word for it, monsieur, between her and her lover you 
 will come to harm." 
 
 Count Hannibal's swarthy face darkened a tone, 
 and his eyes grew a very little 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 other women otherwise. There 
 are women who, if they are well frightened, will not 
 deceive you. And there are others who will not de- 
 ceive you though they 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 about M. TignonvUle which would 
 
ON THE CASTLE HILL. 225 
 
 have surprised her, you will go on waiting and wait- 
 ing and waiting until one fine day you'll wake up and 
 
 find Madame gone, and " 
 
 "Then I'll take a wife I can whip! " he answered, 
 with a look which apprised her how far she had car- 
 ried it. "But it will not be you, sweet cousin. For 
 I have no whip heavy enough for your case." 
 15 
 
CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 SHE "WOULD, AND WOULD NOT. 
 
 We noted some way back the ease with which women 
 use one concession as a stepping-stone to a second; 
 and the lack of magnanimity, amounting almost to 
 unscrupulousness, which the best display in their 
 dealings with a retiring foe. But there are conces- 
 sions which touch even a good woman's conscience ; 
 and Madame de Tavannes, free by the tenure of a 
 blow, and with 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 movement on her part might save 
 men, women, and children from death, and a whole 
 city 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 the only 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, not devotion only, but a hardness 
 proof against reproaches as well as against punish- 
 ment. And the Countess was no fanatic. No haze 
 of bigotry glorified the thing she contemplated, or 
 dressed it in colours other than its own. Even while 
 she acknowledged the necessity of the act and its 
 ultimate righteousness, even while she owned the ob- 
 ligation which lay upon her to perform it, she saw it 
 
SHE WOULD, AND WOULD NOT. 227 
 
 as he would see it, and saw herself as he would see 
 her. 
 
 True, he had done her a great wrong ; and this in 
 the eyes of some might pass for punishment. But he 
 had saved her life where many had perished; and, 
 the wrong done, he had behaved to her with fantastic 
 generosity. In return for which she was to ruin him ! 
 It was not hard to imagine what he would say of her, 
 and of the reward with which she had requited him. 
 
 She pondered over it as they rode that evening, 
 with the westering sun in their eyes and the lengthen- 
 ing shadows of the oaks falling athwart the bracken 
 which fringed the track. Across breezy heaths and 
 over downs, through green bottoms and by hamlets, 
 from which every human creature fled at their ap- 
 proach, they ambled on by twos and threes ; riding in 
 a world of their own, so remote, so different from 
 the real world — ^from which they came and to which 
 they must return — ^that she could have wept in an- 
 guish, cursing God for the wickedness of man which 
 lay so heavy on creation. The gaunt troopers riding 
 at ease with swinging legs and swaying stirrups — and 
 singing now a refrain from Eonsard, and now one of 
 those verses of Marot's psalms which all the world 
 had sung three decades before — ^wore their most lamb- 
 like aspect. Behind them Madame St. Lo chattered 
 to Suzanne of a riding mask which had not been 
 brought, or planned expedients, if nothing sufficiently 
 in the mode could be found at Angers. And the 
 other women talked and giggled, screamed when they 
 came to fords, and made much of steep places, where 
 the men must help them. In time of war death's 
 shadow covers but a day, and sorrow out of sight is 
 out of mind. Of all the troop whom the sinking sun 
 
228 COUFT HAimiBAL. 
 
 left within sight of the lofty towers and vine-clad 
 hills of Vendome, three only wore faces attuned 
 to the cruel August week just ending; three only, 
 like dark beads strung far apart on a gay nun's ros- 
 ary, rode, brooding and silent, in their places. The 
 Countess was one ; the others were tLs two men whose 
 thoughts she filled, and whose eyes now and again 
 sought her. La Tribe's with sombre fire in their 
 depths. Count Hannibal's fraught with a gloomy 
 speculation, which belied his brave words to Madame 
 St. Lo. 
 
 He, moreover, as he rode, had other thoughts; 
 dark ones, which did not touch her. And she, too, 
 had other thoughts at times, dreams of her young 
 lover, spasms of regret, a wild revolt of heart, a cry 
 out of the darkness which had suddenly whelmed her. 
 So that of the three only La Tribe 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 the squirrels 
 made angry faces at them from the lower branches. 
 Night was hard upon them when they reached the 
 southern edge of the forest, and looked across the 
 dusky open slopes to a distant light or two which 
 marked where Venddme stood. "Another league," 
 Count Hannibal muttered ; and he bade the men light 
 fires where they were, and unload the packhorses. 
 "'Tis pure and dry here," 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 r' 
 
 "I prefer this," she answered in a low voice. 
 
 "Houses are for monks and nuns!" he rejoined 
 heartily. "Give me God's heaven." 
 
SHE WOULD, AOT) WOULD NOT. 229 
 
 "The earth is His, but we deface it," she nmrmured, 
 reverting to her thoughts, and unconscious that it was 
 to him she spoke. 
 
 He looked at her sharply, but the fire was not yet 
 kindled ; and in the gloaming her face was a pale blot 
 undecipherable. He stood a moment, but she did not 
 speak again; and Madame St. Lo bustUng up, he 
 moved away to give an order. By-and-by the fires 
 burned up, and showed the pillared aisle in which 
 they sat, small groups dotted here and there on the 
 floor of Nature's cathedral. Through the shadowy 
 Gothic vaulting, the groining of many boughs which 
 met overhead, a rare star twinkled, as through some 
 clerestory window ; and from the dell below rose in 
 the night, now the monotonous chanting of the frogs, 
 and now, as some great bull-frog took the note, a 
 diapason worthy of a Brescian organ. The darkness 
 waUed all in; the night was still; a falling caterpillar 
 sounded. Even the rude men at the farthest fire 
 stilled their voices at times; awed, they knew not 
 why, by the silence and vastness of the night. 
 
 The Countess long remembered that vigil — ^for she 
 lay late awake ; the cool gloom, the faint wood-rus- 
 tlings, the distant cry of fox or wolf, the soft glow of 
 the expiring fires that at last left the world to dark- 
 ness and the stars ; above all, the silent wheeling of 
 the planets, which spoke indeed of a supreme Euler, 
 but crushed the heart under a sense of its insignifi- 
 cance, and of the insignificance of all human revo- 
 lutions. "Yet, I believe!" she cried, wrestling up- 
 wards, 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 tiiat from which her soul dirank ! The wo- 
 
230 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 man, indeed, within her continued to cry out against 
 this tragedy ever renewed in her path, against this 
 necessity for choosing evil or good, ease for herself or 
 life for others. But the moving heavens, pointing 
 onward to a time when good and evil alike should be 
 past, strengthened a nature essentially noble ; and be- 
 fore she slept no shame and no suffering seemed — for 
 the moment at least — ^too great a price to pay for the 
 lives of little children. Love had been taken from 
 her life ; the pride which would fain answer generos- 
 ity with generosity — that must go, too ! 
 
 She felt no otherwise when the day came, and the 
 bustle of the start and the common round of the jour- 
 ney put to flight the ideals of the night. But things 
 fell out in a manner she had not pictured. They 
 halted before noon on the north bank of the Loir, in 
 a level meadow with lines of poplars running this 
 way and that, and filling all the place with the soft 
 shimmer of leaves. Blue succory, tiny mirrors of the 
 summer sky, flecked the long grass, and the women 
 picked bunches of them, or, Italian fashion, twined 
 the blossoms in their hair. A road ran across the 
 meadow to a ferry, but the ferryman, alarmed by 
 the aspect of the party, had conveyed his boat to the 
 other side and hidden himself. 
 
 Presently Madame St. Lo espied the boat, clapped 
 her hands and must have it. The poplars threw no 
 shade, the flies teased her, the life of a hermit — ^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 were swim- 
 
SHE WOULD, Am) WOULD NOT. 231 
 
 ming across, amid the laughter and shouts of their 
 fellows. In five minutes the boat was brought. 
 
 It was not large and would hold no more than four. 
 Tavannes' eye fell on Carlat. "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. He took from his belt the 
 packet of letters, and as Carlat held the boat for 
 Madame St. Lo to enter, he gave it to the Countess, 
 as he had given it to her yesterday. "Have a care of 
 it, Madame," he said in a low voice, "and do not let 
 it pass out of your hands. To lose it may be to lose 
 my head." 
 
 The colour ebbed from her cheeks. In spite of 
 herself her shaking hand put back the packet. "Had 
 you not better then — ^give it to Bigot?" she fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "He is bathing." 
 
 "Let him bathe afterwards." 
 
 "No," he answered almost harshly; he found a 
 species of pleasure in showing 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 turned towards the boat. La Tribe 
 stood beside the stern, holding it for her to enter, and 
 as her fingers rested an instant on his arm their eyes 
 met. His were alight, his arm even quivered; and 
 she shuddered. 
 
232 COUNT HAliWIBAL. 
 
 She avoided looking at him a second time, and 
 this was easy, since he took his seat in the bows be- 
 yond Carlat, who handled the oars. Silently the boat 
 glided out on the surface of the stream, and floated 
 downwards, Carlat now and again touching an oar, 
 and Madame St. Lo chattering gaily in a voice which 
 carried far on the water. Now it was a flowering 
 rush she must have, now a green bough to shield her 
 face from the sun's reflection ; and now they must lie 
 in some cool, shadowy pool under fern-clad banks, 
 where the fish rose heavily, and the trickle of a rivu- 
 let fell down over stones. 
 
 It was idyllic. But not to the Countess. Her face 
 burned, her temples throbbed, her fingers gripped 
 the side of the boat in the vain attempt to steady her 
 pulses. The packet within her dress scorched her. 
 The great city and its danger, Tavannes and his faith 
 in her, the need of action, the irrevocableness of ac- 
 tion hurried through her brain. The knowledge that 
 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 ride in 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. He was beckoning to her be- 
 hind Carlat's back, pointing imperiously to the water, 
 making signs to her to drop the packet over the side. 
 When she did not obey — she felt sick and faint — she 
 saw through a mist his brow grow dark. He men- 
 aced her secretly. And stUl the packet scorched her ; 
 
SHE WOTJLD, hj^-D WOULD l^TOT. 233 
 
 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 stream was beginning to rise more 
 boldly above the water, and at the head of the steep 
 thus formed she had espied a late rose-bush in bloom ; 
 nothing would now serve but she must land at once 
 and plunder it. The boat was put in therefore, she 
 jumped ashore, and began to scale the bank. 
 
 "Go with Madame ! " La Tribe cried, roughly nudg- 
 ing Carlat in the back. "Do you 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 on her lips ; and when the 
 steward looked at her, uncertain what she had said, 
 she nodded. "Yes, go!" she muttered. She was 
 pale. 
 
 "Yes, man, go!" cried the minister, his eyes burn- 
 ing. And he almost pushed the other out of the boat. 
 
 The next second the craft floated from the bank, and 
 began to drift downwards. La Tribe waited until a 
 tree interposed and hid them from the two whom they 
 had left ; then he leaned forward. "Ifow, 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. 
 
 "Pool!" he returned rocking himself to and fro 
 and fairly beside himself with impatience. "Why 
 steal it? It is in your hands! You have it! It is 
 
234 COUIJfT HANNIBAL. 
 
 Heaven's own opportunity, it is God's opportunity 
 given to you ! " 
 
 For he could not read her mind nor comprehend 
 the scruple which held her hand. He was single- 
 minded. He had but one aim, one object. He saw 
 the haggard faces of brave men hopeless; he heard 
 the dying cries of women and children. Such an 
 opportunity of saving God's elect, of redeeming the 
 innocent, was in his eyes a gift from Heaven. And 
 having these thoughts and seeing her hesitate — hesi- 
 tate when every movement caused him agony, so 
 imperative was haste, so precious the opportunity — 
 he could bear the suspense no longer. When she 
 did not answer he stooped forward, until his knees 
 touched the thwart on which Carlat had sat; then 
 without a word he flung himself forward, and, with 
 one hand far extended, grasped the packet. 
 
 Had he not moved, she would have done his wQl; 
 almost certainly she would have done it. But, thus 
 attacked, she resisted instinctively ; she clung to the 
 letters. "No ! " she cried. "No ! Let go, monsieur! " 
 And she tried to drag the packet from him. 
 
 "Give it me!" 
 
 "Let go, monsieur! Do you hear?" she repeated. 
 And with a vigorous jerk she forced it from him — he 
 had caught it by the edge only — and held it 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, glared into hers, and it was clear that 
 the man, possessed by one idea only, was no longer 
 master of himself. " Go back to your place ! " 
 
SHE WOULD, ANT> WOULD IfTOT. 235 
 
 "Give it me," lie gasped, "or I will upset the 
 boat ! " And seizing her by the shoulder he reached 
 over her, striving to take hold of the packet which 
 she held behind her. The boat rocked ; and as much 
 in rage as fear she screamed. 
 
 A cry uttered wholly in rage answered hers; it 
 came from Carlat. La Tribe, 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 farther bank ; and the Huguenot, 
 recognising Count Hannibal's voice, involuntarily de- 
 sisted and stood erect. A moment the boat rocked 
 perilously under him; then — for unheeded it had 
 been drifting that way — ^it softly touched the bank on 
 which Carlat stood staring and aghast. 
 
 La Tribe's chance was gone; he saw that the 
 steward must reach him before he could succeed in 
 a second attempt. On the other hand, the under- 
 growth on the bank was thick, he could touch it with 
 his hand, and if he fled at once he might escape. 
 
 He hung an instant irresolute; then, with a look 
 which went to the Countess's heart, he sprang ashore, 
 plunged among the alders, and in a moment was gone. 
 
 "After him! After him!" thundered Count Han- 
 nibal. "After him, man!" and Carlat, stumbling 
 down the steep slope and through the rough briars, 
 did his best to obey. But in vain. Before he reached 
 the water's edge, the noise of the fugitive's retreat had 
 grown faint. A few seconds and it died away. 
 
CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 PLAYING WITH PIEE. 
 
 The impulse of La Tribe's foot as he landed had 
 driven the boat into the stream. It drifted slowly 
 downward, and if naught intervened woxild take the 
 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 the 
 Countess sat motionless, crouching in the stern of the 
 craft, her fingers strained about the fatal packet. 
 The slow glide of the boat, as almost imperceptibly it 
 approached the low bank ; the stillness of the mirror- 
 like surface on which it moved, leaving only the 
 faintest ripple behind it ; the silence — ^f or under the 
 influence of emotion Count Hannibal too was mute — 
 all were in tremendous contrast with the storm which 
 raged in her breast. 
 
 Should she — should she even now, with his eyes on 
 her, drop the letters over the side? It needed but a 
 movement. She had only to extend her hand, to re- 
 lax the tension of her fingers, and the deed was done. 
 It needed only that ; but the golden sands of oppor- 
 tunity were running out — ^were running out fast. 
 Slowly and more slowly, silently and more silently, 
 the boat slid in towards the bank on which he stood, 
 and still she hesitated. The stillness, and the waiting 
 figure, and the watching eyes now but a few feet dis- 
 tant, weighed on her and seemed to paralyse her wiU. 
 
PLAYING WITH FIRE. 237 
 
 A foot, another foot ! A moment and it would be too 
 late, the last of the sands would have run out. The 
 bow of the boat rustled softly through the rushes; 
 it kissed the bank. And her hand still held the 
 letters. 
 
 "You are not hurt! " he asked curtly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The scoundrel might have drowned you. 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 his tone. 
 "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? " 
 
 "K I could sit down a minute," she faltered. She 
 was swaying on her feet. 
 
 He supported her across the belt of meadow which 
 fringed the bank, and made her recline against a 
 tree. Then as his men began to come up — ^for the 
 alarm had reached them — ^he would have sent two of 
 them in the boat to fetch 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," she repeated, her face averted; 
 and believing this he sent the men away, and, taking 
 the boat himself, he crossed over, took in Madame St. 
 Lo and Carlat, and rowed them to the ferry. Here 
 the wildest rumours were current. One held that the 
 Huguenot had gone out of his senses ; another, that 
 he had watched for this opportunity of avenging his 
 brethren; a third, that his intention had been to 
 carry off the Countess and hold her to ransom. Only 
 
238 COUNT HANOTBAL. 
 
 Tavannes himself, from his position on the farther 
 bank, had seen the packet of letters, and the hand 
 which withheld them; and he said nothing. Nay, 
 when some of the men would have crossed to search 
 for the fugitive, he forbade them, he scarcely knew 
 why, save that it might please her; and when the 
 women would have hurried to join her and hear the 
 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 cu- 
 riosity. "You'll find her dead, 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 his brow. "Oh, does she?" she 
 sneered. "Then I understand! Have a care, have 
 a care, or one of these days, monsieur, when you 
 leave her alone, you'll find them together ! " 
 
 "Be silent!" 
 
 "With pleasure," she returned. "Only when it 
 happens don't say that you were 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 
 by herself, and all but drown by herself, and you ask 
 how she hears from her lover? You leave her old 
 servants about her, and you ask how she communi- 
 cates with him?" 
 
 " You know nothing ! " he snarled. 
 
 "I know this," she retorted. "I saw her sitting 
 this morning, and smiling and weeping at the same 
 
PLATING WITH FIEE. 239 
 
 time! Was she tMnking of you, monsieur'! Or of 
 himl She was looking at the hills through tears ; a 
 blue mist hung over them, and I'll wager she saw 
 some one's eyes gazing and some one's hand beckon- 
 ing out of the blue ! " 
 
 " Curse you ! " he cried, tormented in spite of him- 
 self. "You love to make mischief! " 
 
 "IsTo!" she answered swiftly. "For 'twas not I 
 made the match. But go your way, go your way, 
 monsieur, and see what kind of a welcome you'll 
 get!" 
 
 "I will," Count Hannibal growled. And he started 
 along the bank to rejoin his wife. 
 
 The light in his eyes had died down. Yet would 
 they have been more sombre, and his face more harsh, 
 had he known the mind of the woman to whom 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 the packet. She had 
 fulfilled her trust. But only to experience, the mo- 
 ment it was too late, the full poignancy of remorse. 
 Before the act, while the choice had lain with her, the 
 betrayal of her husband had loomed large ; now she 
 saw that to treat him as she had treated him was the 
 true betrayal, and that even for his own sake, and to 
 save him from a fearful sin, it had become her to 
 destroy the letters. 
 
 Kow, it was no longer her duty to him which 
 loomed large, but her duty to the 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 and children whose death-warrant she 
 had preserved. Now, she perceived that a part more 
 divine had never fallen to woman, nor a responsibil- 
 
240 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 ity so heavy been laid upon woman. Nor guilt more 
 dread! 
 
 She writhed in misery, thinking of it. What had 
 she done? She could hear afar off the sounds of the 
 camp; an occasional outcry, a snatch of laughter. 
 And the cry and the laughter rang in her ears, a bit- 
 ter mockery. This summer camp, to what was it the 
 prelude? This forbearance on her husband's part, in 
 what would it end? Were not the one and the other 
 cruel make-believes? Two days, and the men who 
 laughed beside the water would slay and torture with 
 equal zest. A little, and the husband who now chose 
 to be generous would show himself in his true colours. 
 And it was for the sake of such as these that she had 
 played the coward. That she had laid up for herself 
 endless remorse. That henceforth the cries of the 
 innocent would haunt her dreams. 
 
 Backed by such thoughts she did not hear his step, 
 and it was his shadow falling across her feet which 
 first warned her of his presence. She looked up, saw 
 him, and involuntarily recoiled. Then, seeing the 
 change in 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 drily. 
 
 " I am not quite — myself yet, " she murmured. His 
 look told her that her start had betrayed her feelings. 
 
 Alas, the plan of taking a woman by force has 
 drawbacks, and among others this one : that he must 
 be a sanguine husband who deems her heart his, and 
 a husband without jealousy, whose suspicions are not 
 aroused by the faintest flush or the lightest word. 
 He knows that she is his unwillingly, a victim, not a 
 
PLAYDTG WITH FIEE. 241 
 
 mistress ; and behind every bnsh beside the road and 
 behind every mask in the crowd he espies a rival. 
 
 Moreover, where women are in question, who is 
 always strong? Or who can say 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 and deliberately chosen ; knowing — ^and he 
 still knew — that if he abandoned it he had little to 
 hope, if the less to fear. But the proof of fidelity 
 wMch the Countess had just given him had blown to 
 a white heat the smouldering flame in his heart, and 
 Madame St. Lo's gibes, which should have fallen as 
 cold water alike on his hopes and his passion, had 
 but fed the 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, that look, 
 which of all things should have silenced him and 
 warned him that the time was not yet, stung him out 
 of patience. Suddenly the man in him carried him 
 away. 
 
 "You still fear me, then?" he said, in a voice 
 hoarse and unnatural. "Is it 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, were on her, and the blood had 
 mounted to his brow. "For neither! I do not hate 
 you, monsieur ! " 
 
 "You fear me then? I am right in that." 
 
 "I fear — ^that which you carry with you," she stam- 
 mered, speaking on impulse and scarcely knowing 
 what she said. 
 
 He started, and his expression changed. "So? " he 
 exclaimed. "So? You know what I carry, do you? 
 
242 COUNT HAIOTCBAL. 
 
 And from whom? From whom?" he continued in a 
 tone of menace, "if you please, did you get that 
 knowledge?" 
 
 "From M. La Tribe," she muttered. She had not 
 meant to tell him. Why had 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 you saved them. That, too, I 
 know." 
 
 She did not answer or protest ; and when he had 
 waited a moment in vain expectation of her protest, 
 a cruel look crept into his eyes. "Madame," he said 
 slowly, "do you never reflect that you may push the 
 part you play too far? That the patience, even of 
 the worst of men, does not 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 the face, her eyes full of the 
 courage of her race. 
 
 The lines of his mouth hardened as he met her look. 
 "And what have I of yours? " 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 craved 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. 
 "Tour gratitude?" Then for a minute — ^f or so long 
 a time that she began to wonder and to quake — ^he 
 
PLATIKG WITH FIRE. 243 
 
 was silent. At last, "A fig for your gratitude," 
 he said. "I want your love! I suppose — cold as 
 you are, and a Huguenot — ^you can love like other 
 women ! " 
 
 It was the first, the very first time he had used the 
 word to her ; and though it fell from his lips like a 
 threat, though he used it as a man presents a pistol, 
 she flushed anew from throat to brow. But she did 
 not quail. "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 iron grasp. There was pas- 
 sion in his tone. His eyes burned her. 
 
 Whether it was that set her on another track, or 
 pure despair, or the cry in her ears of little children 
 and of helpless women, something in a moment in- 
 spired her, flashed in her eyes and altered her voice. 
 She raised 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." 
 
 "Away!" 
 
 "If you wUl!" As she spoke she rose slowly to 
 her feet ; for in his surprise he had released her wrist. 
 He rose with her, and they stood confronting one an- 
 other on the strip of grass between the river and the 
 poplars. 
 
 "If I wiU?" His form seemed to dilate, his eyes 
 devoured her. " If I wiU ? " 
 
244 COUNT HANNIBAL, 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "If you -will give me the let- 
 ters that are in your belt, the packet which I saved 
 to-day — ^that I may destroy them — I will be yours 
 freely and willingly. " 
 
 He drew a deep breath, still devouring her with his 
 eyes. "You mean if? " he said at last. 
 
 "I do." She looked him in the face as she spoke, 
 and her cheeks were white, 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 rose and dyed her cheeks. " Only God 
 can give love, " she said, her tone lower, 
 
 "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 will give 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 
 might have 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 could not trust 
 himself to gaze on her. Count Hannibal walked a 
 dozen paces from her and returned, and again a dozen 
 paces and returned; and again a third time, with 
 something fierce and passionate in his gait. At last 
 he stopped before her. 
 
PLAYING WITH FIRE. 245 
 
 "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, nothing that I cannot 
 take at my will. My word? " he. continued, seeing 
 her about to interrupt him. "True, Madame, you 
 have it, you had it. But why need I 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 her breast — she seemed dazed by 
 the shock of his contempt, dazed by his reception of 
 her offer. 
 
 "You saved the letters'?" he continued, interpret- 
 ing 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 her cynically, "you surprise me! 
 You, whose modesty and virtue are so great, would 
 corrupt your husband, would sell yourself, would 
 dishonour the love of which you boast so loudly, the 
 love that only God gives ! " He laughed derisively as 
 he quoted her words. "Ay, and, after showing at 
 how low a price you hold yourself, you still look, I 
 doubt not, to me to respect you, and to keep my 
 word. Madame!" in a terrible voice, "do not play 
 with fire! You saved my letters, it is true! And 
 for that, for this time, you shall go free, if God will 
 help me to let you go ! But tempt me not ! Tempt 
 me not!" he repeated, turning from her and turning 
 back again with a gesture of despair, as if he mis- 
 trusted the strength of the restraint 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 what love is— <jould love ! could love ! " 
 
246 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 He stopped on that word as if the word choked him 
 — stopped, struggling with his passion. At last, with 
 a half -stifled oath, he flung away from her, halted 
 and hung a moment, then, with a swing of rage, went 
 off again violently. His feet as he strode along the 
 river-bank trampled the flowers, and slew the pale 
 water forget-me-not, which grew among the grasses. 
 
CHAPTEE XXni. 
 
 A MIND, AND NOT A MIND. 
 
 La Teibis tore through the thicket, imagining Car- 
 lat and Count Hannibal hot on his heels. He dared 
 not pause even to listen. The underwood tripped 
 him, the lissom branches of the alders whipped 
 his face and blinded him; once he fell headlong 
 over a moss-grown stone, and picked himself up 
 groaning. But the hare hard-pushed takes no ac- 
 count of the briars, nor does the fox heed the mud 
 through which it draws itself into covert. And for 
 the time he was naught but a hunted beast. With 
 elbows pinned to his sides, or with hands extended to 
 ward off the boughs, with bursting lungs and crimson 
 face, he plunged through the tangle, now slipping 
 downwards, now leaping upwards, now all but pros- 
 trate, now breasting a mass of thorns. On and on he 
 ran, until he came to the verge of the wood, saw be- 
 fore him an open meadow devoid of shelter or hiding- 
 place, and with a groan of despair cast himself flat. 
 He listened. How far were they behind him? 
 
 He heard nothing. Nothing, save the common 
 noises of the wood, the angry chatter of a disturbed 
 blackbird as it flew low into hiding, or the harsh 
 notes of a flock of starlings as they rose from the 
 meadow. The hum of bees filled the air, and the 
 August flies buzzed about his sweating brow, for he 
 
248 COUNT HANKIBAIi. 
 
 had lost his cap. But behind him — nothing. Al- 
 ready the stillness of the wood had closed upon his 
 track. 
 
 He was not the less panic-stricken. He supposed 
 that Tavannes' people were getting to horse, and cal- 
 culated that if they surrounded and beat the wood, 
 he must be taken. At the thought, though he had 
 barely got his breath, he rose, and keeping within the 
 coppice crawled down the slope towards the river. 
 Gently, when he reached it, he slipped into the wa- 
 ter, and stooping below the level of the bank, his 
 head and shoulders hidden by the bushes, he waded 
 down stream until he had put another hundred and 
 fifty yards between himself and pursuit. Then he 
 paused and listened. StiU he heard nothing, and he 
 waded on again, until the water grew deep. At this 
 point he marked a little below him a clump of trees 
 on the farther side ; and reflecting that that side — ^if 
 he could reach it unseen — ^would be less suspect, he 
 swam across, aiming for a thorn bush which grew 
 low to the water. Under its shelter he crawled out, 
 and, worming himself like a snake across the few 
 yards of grass which intervened, he stood at length 
 within the shadow of the trees. A moment he 
 paused to shake himself, and then, remembering that 
 he was still within a mile of the camp, he set off, 
 now walking, and now running in the direction of 
 the hills which his party had crossed that morning. 
 
 For a time he hurried on, thinking only of escape. 
 But when he had covered a mile or two, and escape 
 seemed probable, there began to mingle with his 
 thankfulness a bitter — a something which grew more 
 bitter with each moment. Why had he fled and left 
 the work undone? Why had he given way to un- 
 
A MIND, Am) NOT A MIND. 24=9 
 
 worthy fear, when the letters were within his grasp? 
 True, if he had lingered a few seconds longer, he 
 would have failed to make good his escape ; but what 
 of that if in those seconds he had destroyed the let- 
 ters, he had saved Angers, he had saved his brethren? 
 Alas ! he had played the coward. The terror of Ta- 
 vannes' voice had unmanned him. He had saved 
 himself and left the flock to perish ; he, whom God 
 had set apart by many and great signs for this work ! 
 
 He had commonly courage enough. He could 
 have died at the stake for his convictions. But he 
 had not the presence of mind which is proof against a 
 shock, nor the cool judgment which, in the face of 
 death, sees to the end of two roads. He was no 
 coward, but now he deemed himself one, and in an 
 agony of remorse he flung himself on his face in the 
 long grass. He had 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 feU on the text "Thou art Peter, and on 
 
 this rock " and he sat up. Peter had betrayed 
 
 his trust through cowardice — as he had. But Peter 
 had not been held unworthy. Might it not be so 
 with him? He rose to his feet, a new light 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 the letters. And then — ^not 
 the fear of Count Hannibal, not the fear of instant 
 death, should turn him from his duty. 
 
 He had cast himself down in a woodland glade 
 which lay near the path along which he had ridden 
 that morning. But the mental conflict from which 
 he rose had shaken hiTn so violently that he could not 
 
250 COIWT HANNIBAL. 
 
 recall the side on which he had entered the clearing, 
 and he turned himself about, endeavouring to re- 
 member. At that moment the light jingle of a bridle 
 struck his ear ; he caught through the green bushes 
 the flash and sparkle of harness. They had tracked 
 him then, they were here! So had he clear proof 
 that this second chance was to be his. In a happy 
 fervour he stood forward where the pursuers coidd 
 not fail to see him. 
 
 Or so he thought. Yet the first horseman, riding 
 carelessly with his face averted and his feet dangling, 
 would have gone by and seen nothing if his horse, 
 more watchful, had not shied. The man turned then ; 
 and for a moment the two stared at one another be- 
 tween the pricked ears of the horse. At last, 
 
 "M. de TignonviUe! " 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 the clouds and the birds to witness. 
 "Now," he cried, "I know that I am chosen! And 
 that we were instruments to do this thing from the 
 day when the hen saved us in the hay-cart in Paris ! 
 Now I know that all is forgiven and all is ordained, 
 and that the faithful of Angers shall to-morrow live 
 and not die ! " And with a face radiant, yet solemn, 
 he walked to the young man's stirrup. 
 
 An instant TignonvQle looked sharply before him. 
 "How far ahead are theyV he asked. His tone, 
 hard and matter-of-fact, was little in harmony with 
 the other's enthusiasm. 
 
 "They are resting a league before you, at the ferry. 
 You are in pursuit of them? " 
 
A MDTD, AND NOT A MIND. 251 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "IJTot alone?" 
 
 "No." The young man's look as he spoke was 
 grim. "I have five behind me — of your kidney, 
 M. La Tribe. They are from the Arsenal. They 
 have lost one his wife, and one his son. The three 
 others " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Sweethearts," Tignonville answered drily. And 
 he cast a singular look at the minister. 
 
 But La Tribe's mind was so full of oue matter, he 
 could think only of that. "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 
 htm?" he asked. 
 
 "Why?" Tignonville echoed, a look of hate dark- 
 ening his face. "Do you ask why we follow " 
 
 But on the najne he seemed to choke and was si- 
 lent. 
 
 By this time his men had come up, and one an- 
 swered for htm. "Why are we following Hannibal 
 de Tavannes? " he said sternly. "To do to him as he 
 has done to us! To rob him as he has robbed us 
 — of more than gold ! To kill him as he has kiUed 
 ours, foully and by surprise ! In his bed 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 his eyes glowed and burned, as his 
 fellows growled assent. 
 
 "'Tis simple why we follow," a second put in. 
 "Is there a man of our faith who wiU not, when he 
 
252 COTniTT HAJmiBAL. 
 
 hears the tale, rise up and stab the nearest of this 
 black brood — ^though it be his brother? If so, God's 
 curse on him ! " 
 
 " 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 light died out of his eyes. La Tribe 
 looked at him curiously, then at the others. Last of 
 all at Tignonville, on whose face he fancied that he 
 surprised a faint smile. Yet Tignonville's tone when 
 he spoke was grave enough. "You have heard," he 
 said. "Do you blame us? " 
 
 "I cannot," the minister answered, shivering. "I 
 cannot." He had been for 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. Yet he could not blame men who had suffered 
 as these had suffered ; who were maddened, as these 
 were maddened, by the gravest wrongs which it is 
 possible for one man to inflict on another. "I dare 
 not," he continued sorrowfully. "But in God's name 
 I offer you a higher and a nobler errand." 
 
 "We need none," Tignonville muttered impatiently. 
 
 "Yet may others need you," La Tribe answered in 
 a tone of rebuke. "You are not aware that the man 
 you follow bears a packet from the King for the 
 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 
 
A MIND, Am) NOT A MIND. 253 
 
 shall not see Angers! " they swore. "The blood that 
 he has shed shall choke him by the way ! And as he 
 would do to others it shall be done to him." 
 
 La Tribe shuddered as he listened, as he looked. 
 Try as he would, the thirst of these men for ven- 
 geance 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 Fllche ? That is so ? " 
 
 "It was his intention this morning." 
 
 "At the old King's Inn at the meeting of the great 
 roads 1" 
 
 "It was mentioned," La Tribe admitted, with a re- 
 luctance he did not comprehend. "But if the night 
 be fair he is as like as not to lie in the fields." 
 
 One of the men pointed to the sky. A dark bank 
 of cloud fresh risen from the ocean, and big with 
 tempest, hung low in the west. "See! God will de- 
 liver him into our hands ! " he cried. 
 
 TignonvUle nodded. "If he lie there," he said, 
 "He will." And then to one of his followers, as he 
 dismounted, "Do you ride on," he said, "and stand 
 guard that we be not surprised. And do you, Perrot, 
 teU, monsieur. Perrot here, as God wills it, " he added 
 with a faint smile which did not escape the minister's 
 eye, "married his wife from the great inn at La 
 Fl^che, and he kno;ws the place." 
 
 "None better," the man growled. He was a sullen, 
 brooding knave, whose eyes when he looked up sur- 
 prised by their savage fire. 
 
 La Triple shook his head. "I know it, too," he 
 said. " 'Tis strong as a fortress, with a walled court, 
 and aU. the windows look inwards. The gates are 
 
254 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 closed an hour after sunset, no matter who is with- 
 out. If you think, M. de Tignonville, to take him 
 there " 
 
 "Patience, monsieur, you have not heard me," 
 Perrot interposed. " I know it after another fashion. 
 Do you remember a rill of water which runs through 
 the great yard and the stables? " 
 
 La Tribe nodded. 
 
 "Grated with iron at either end, and no passage for 
 so much as a dog? You do? WeU, monsieur, I have 
 hunted rats there, and where the water passes under 
 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 man can remove — and the 
 man is in ! " 
 
 "Ay, in! But where?" La Tribe asked, his eye- 
 brows 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 a snorer on 
 every truss? 'So, but in a fairway between two 
 stables where the water at its entrance runs clear in 
 a stone channel; a channel deepened in one place 
 that they may draw for the chambers above with a 
 rope and a bucket. The rooms above are the best in 
 the house, four in one row, opening all on the gallery; 
 which was uncovered, in the common fashion, until 
 Queen-Mother Jezebel, passing that way to Nantes, 
 two years back, found the chambers draughty; and 
 that end of the gallery was closed in against her re- 
 turn. Now, monsieur, he and his madame wiU lie 
 there ; and he wiU feel safe, for there is but one way 
 to those four rooms — ^through the door which shuts off 
 the covered gallery from the open part. But " 
 
A MIND, AKD NOT A MIND. 255 
 
 he glanced up an instant and La Tribe caught the 
 smouldering 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 fourth door. There shall he fall 
 into the pit which he dug for others, and the evil 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 an- 
 swered. 
 
 "No more than that? " 
 
 "No more until I have eaten." 
 
 " Get him something ! " Tignonville replied in a 
 surly tone. "And we may as well eat, ourselves. 
 Lead the horses into the wood. And do you, Perrot, 
 call Tuez-les-Moines, who is forward. Two hours' 
 riding should bring us to La Fl^che. We need not 
 leave here, therefore, until the sun is low. To din- 
 ner ! To dinner ! " 
 
 Probably he did not feel the indifference he affected, 
 for his face as he ate grew darker, and from time to 
 time he shot a glance, barbed with suspicion, at the 
 minister. La Tribe on his side remained silent, al- 
 though the men ate apart. He was in doubt, indeed, 
 as to his own feelings. His instinct and his reason 
 were at odds. Through all, however, a single pur- 
 pose, the rescue of Angers, held good, and gradually 
 other things fell into their places. When the meal 
 was at an end, and Tignonville challenged him, he 
 was ready. 
 
 "Your enthusiasm seems to have waned," the 
 younger man said with a sneer, "since we met, mon- 
 
256 COUNT HAIfWIBAL. 
 
 sieur ! May I ask now if you find any fault witli the 
 plan?" 
 
 "With the plan, none." 
 
 "If it was Providence brought us together, was it 
 not Providence furnished me with Perrot who knows 
 La Fl§che? If it was Providence brought the danger 
 of the faithful in Angers to your knowledge, was it 
 not Providence set us on the road — without whom 
 you had been powerless? " 
 
 "I believe it!" 
 
 "Then, in His name, what is the matter? " Tignon- 
 ville rejoined with a passion of which the other's 
 manner seemed an inadequate cause. "What will 
 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 to avenge? " he cried. "Is it noth- 
 ing to lose my mistress, to be robbed of my wife, to 
 see the woman I love dragged off to be a slave and a 
 toy? Are these no wrongs? " 
 
 "He spared your life, if he did not save it," the 
 minister said solemnly. "And hers. And her ser- 
 vants." 
 
 "To suit himself." 
 
 La Tribe spread out his hands. 
 
 "To suit himself ! And for that you wish him to 
 go free?" Tignonville cried in a voice half -choked 
 
A MIND, AJm ISOT A MDTD. 257 
 
 with rage. "Do you know that this man, and this 
 man alone, stood forth in the great Hall of the 
 Louvre, and when even the King flinched, justified 
 the murder of our people? After that is he to gO 
 free?" 
 
 "At your hands," La Tribe answered quietly. 
 "You alone of our people must not pursue him." 
 He would have added more, but Tignonville would 
 not listen. 
 
 Brooding on his wrongs behind the wall of the 
 Arsenal, he had let hatred eat away his more gener- 
 ous instincts. Vain and conceited, he fancied that 
 the world laughed at the poor figure he had cut ; and 
 the wound ia his vanity festered until nothing would 
 serve but to see the downfall of his 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 bet- 
 ter. But vanity is a potent motive: and his con- 
 science, even when supported by La Tribe, struggled 
 but weakly. From neither would he hear more. 
 "You have travelled with htm, until you side with 
 him!" he cried violently. "Have a care, monsieur, 
 have a care lest we think you papist ! " And walking 
 over to the men he bade them saddle ; adding a sour 
 word which tujned 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 which the men had foreseen be- 
 gan to rumble in the west, his distaste for the busi- 
 ness waxed. The summer lightning which presently 
 began to play across the sky revealed not only the 
 17 
 
258 COUNT HAJOflBAL. 
 
 broad gleaming stream, between wMcli and a wooded 
 hill tbeir road ran, but the faces of his companions ; 
 and these in their turn shed a grisly light on the 
 bloody enterprise towards which they were set. Ner- 
 vous and ill at ease, the minister's mind dwelt on 
 the stages of that enterprise; the stealthy entrance 
 through the waterway, the ascent through the trap, 
 the surprise, the slaughter in the sleeping-chamber. 
 And either because he had lived for days in the vic- 
 tim's company, or was swayed by the arguments he 
 had addressed 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 his eyes. And 
 when the rider, behind whom he sat, pointed to a 
 faint spark of 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 best Catholic 
 of them all, "Inter pontem et fontem, Domine!" 
 Nay, some such words did pass his lips. 
 
 For the man before him turned half-way in his 
 saddle. "What?" he asked. 
 
 But the Huguenot did not explain. 
 
CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 AT THE king's INN. 
 
 The Countess sat up in the darkness of the chamber. 
 She had writhed since noon under the stings of re- 
 morse; she could bear them no longer. The slow 
 declension of the day, the evening light, the signs of 
 coming tempest which had driven her company to the 
 shelter of the inn at the cross-roads, all had racked 
 her, by reminding her that the hours were flying, and 
 that soon the fault she had committed would be irrep- 
 arable. One impulsive attempt to redeem it she had 
 made, we know; but it had failed, and, by render- 
 ing her suspect, had made reparation more difficult. 
 StiU, by daylight it had seemed possible to rest con- 
 tent with the trial made ; not so now, when night had 
 fallen, and the cries of little children and the hag- 
 gard 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 less easy, for the night was oppressively 
 hot, and behind the clo^k the casement was open. 
 Gradually, too, another sound, the hissing fall of 
 heavy rain, began to make itself heard, and to min- 
 
260 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 gle with the regular breathing which proved that 
 Madame St. Lo slept. 
 
 Assured of this fact, the Countess presently heaved 
 a sigh, and slipped from the bed. She groped in the 
 darkness for her cloak, found it, and donned 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, she felt her way across the 
 floor to the door, and after passing her hands a dozen 
 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 the sound went no far- 
 ther, for the roofed gallery outside, which looked b^ 
 two windows on the courtyard, was full of outdoor 
 noises, the rushing of rain and the running of spouts 
 and eaves. One of the windows stood wide, admit- 
 ting the rain and wind, and as she paused, holding 
 the door open, the draught blew the cloak from her. 
 She stepped out quickly and shut the door behind 
 her. On her left was the blind end of the passage ; 
 she turned to the right. She took one step into the 
 darkness and stood motionless. 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 held her breath, and pressed herself against the 
 wall. 
 
 She listened. Perhaps some of the servants — ^it 
 was a common usage — ^had made their beds on the 
 floor. Perhaps one of the women had stirred in the 
 room against the wall of which she crouched. Per- 
 haps — ^but, even while 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 
 
AT THE KING'S IMf. 261 
 
 showed it empty. It lit up the row of doors on her 
 right and the small windows on her left ; and discov- 
 ered facing her, the door which shut off the rest of 
 the house. She could have thanked — nay, she did 
 thank God for that light. If the sound she had 
 heard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the 
 thimder which followed hard on the flash, crashed 
 overhead and rolled heavily eastwards, she felt her 
 way boldly along the passage, touching first one door, 
 and then a second, and then a third. 
 
 She groped for the latch of the last, and found it, 
 but, with her hand on it, paused. In order to summon 
 up her courage, she strove to hear again the cries of 
 misery and to see again the haggard eyes which had 
 driven her hither. And if she did not wholly suc- 
 ceed, other reflections came to her aid. This storm, 
 which covered all smaller noises, and opened, now 
 and again, God's lantern for her use, did it not prove 
 that He was on her side, and that she might count on 
 His protection? The thought at least was timely, 
 and with a better heart she gathered her wits. Wait- 
 ing until the thunder burst over her head, she opened 
 the door, slid within it, and closed it. She would 
 fain have left it ajar, that in case of need she might 
 escape the more easily. But the wind, which beat into 
 the passage through the open window, rendered the 
 precaution too perilous. 
 
 She went forward two paces into the room, and as 
 the roll of the thunder died away she stooped for- 
 ward and listened with painful intensity for the sound 
 of Count Hannibal's breathing. But the window was 
 open, and the hiss of the rain persisted; she could 
 hear nothing through it, and fearfully she took an- 
 other step forward. The window should be before 
 
262 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 her ; the bed in the corner to the left. But nothing of 
 either could she make out. She must wait for the 
 lightning. 
 
 It came, and for a second or more the room shone. 
 The window, the low truckle-bed, the sleeper, she 
 saw all with dazzling clearness, and before the flash 
 had well passed she was crouching low, with the hood 
 of her cloak 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 open 
 eyes, staring at her. 
 
 Or had the light tricked her? The light must have 
 tricked her, for in the interval between the flash and 
 the thunder, while she crouched quaking, he did not 
 move or caU. The light must have deceived her. 
 She felt so certain of it that she found courage to re- 
 main where she was until another flash came and 
 showed him sleeping with closed eyes. 
 
 She drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to 
 her feet. But she dared not go forward until a third 
 flash had confirmed the second. Then, while the 
 thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept on 
 until she stood beside the pillow, and stooping, could 
 hear the sleeper's breathing. 
 
 Alas ! the worst remained to be done. The packet, 
 she was sure of it, lay under his pillow. How was 
 she to find it, how remove it without rousing himi 
 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 had tortured her 
 through the long hours of the day, it must be done, 
 and done now. 
 
 She knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, 
 blenching before the manual act, listening to the 
 
AT THE KING'S INK 263 
 
 persistent rush and downpour of the rain. Then a 
 second time she drew courage from the storm. How 
 timely had it broken! How signally had it "aided 
 her! How slight had been her chance without it! 
 And so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she 
 slid her fingers between the pillow and the bed, 
 slightly pressing down the latter with her other hand. 
 For an instant she fancied that the sleeper's breathing 
 stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. But the 
 breathing went on the next instant — if it had stopped 
 — and dreading the return of the lightning, shrinking 
 from being revealed so near him, and in that act — 
 for which the darkness seemed more fitting — she 
 groped farther, and touched something. And then, 
 as her fingers closed upon it and grasped it, and his 
 breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew that 
 the real danger lay in the withdrawal. 
 
 At the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and 
 moved, throwing out his hand. She thought that he 
 was going to awake, and had hard work to keep her- 
 self where she was ; but he did not move, and she 
 began again with so infinite a precaution that the 
 perspiration ran down her face and her hair within 
 the hood hung dank on her neck. Slowly, oh so 
 slowly, she drew back the hand, and with it the 
 packet ; so slowly, and yet so resolutely, being put to 
 it, that when the dreaded fiash surprised her, and she 
 saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in the mysterious 
 aloofness of 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, of exultation, she stood erect. She 
 realised that it was done, and that here in her hand 
 
264 COUNT HAimiBAIi. 
 
 she held the packet. A deep gasp of relief, of joy, 
 of thankfulness, and she glided towards the door. 
 
 She groped for the latch, and in the act fancied 
 his breathing was changed. She paused and bent 
 her head to listen. But the patter of the rain, 
 drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, 
 persuaded her that she was mistaken, and, finding the 
 latch, she raised it, slipped like a shadow into the 
 passage, and closed the door behind her. 
 
 That done she stood arrested, all the blood in 
 her body running to her heart. She must be dream- 
 ing! The passage in which she stood — the passage 
 which she had left in black darkness — ^was alight; 
 was so far lighted, at least, that to eyes fresh from 
 the night, the figures of three men, grouped at the 
 farther end, stood out against the glow of the lantern 
 which they appeared to be trimming — for the two 
 nearest were stooping 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 her 
 heart. He ended at the waist! It was only after a 
 few seconds, it was only when she had gazed at him 
 awhile in speechless horror, that he rose another foot 
 from the fioor, and she saw that he had paused in 
 the act of ascending through a trapdoor. What the 
 scene meant, who these men were, or what their en- 
 trance portended, with these questions her brain re- 
 fused at the moment to grapple. It was much that — 
 still remembering who might hear her, and what she 
 held — she did not shriek aloud. 
 
 Instead, she stood in the gloom at her end of the 
 passage, gazing with all her eyes until she had seen 
 the third man step clear of the trap. She could see 
 him ; but the light intervened and blurred his view 
 
AT THE KING'S INS". 265 
 
 of her. He stooped, almost as soon as he had cleared 
 himself, to help up a fourth man, who rose with a 
 naked knife between his teeth. She saw then that all 
 were armed, and something stealthy in their bearing, 
 something cruel in their eyes as the light of the lan- 
 tern fell now on one dark face and now on another, 
 went to her heart and chUled it. Who were they, 
 and why were they here? What was their purpose ? 
 As her reason awoke, as she asked herself these ques- 
 tions, the fourth man stooped in his turn, and gave 
 his hand to a fifth. And on that she lost her self- 
 control and cried out. For the last man to ascend 
 was La Tribe ! La Tribe, from whom she had parted 
 that morning ! 
 
 The sound she uttered was low, but it reached the 
 men's ears, and the two whose backs were towards her 
 turned as if they had been pricked. He who held the 
 lantern 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 lantern high that he might view her, was 
 Tignonville, was her lover ! 
 
 "Mon Bieu ! " she whispered. "What is it? What 
 is m " 
 
 Then, not tiU then, did he know her. Until then 
 the light of the lantern had revealed only a cloaked 
 and cowled figure, a gloomy phantom which shook 
 the heart of more than one with superstitious terror. 
 But they knew her now — two of them ; and slowly, 
 as in a dream, Tignonville came forward. 
 
 The mind has its moments of crisis, in which it 
 acts upon instinct rather than upon reason. The girl 
 never knew why she acted as she did; why she 
 asked no questions, why she uttered no exclama- 
 
266 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 tions, no remonstrances. Why, with a finger on 
 her lips and her eyes on his, she put the packet into 
 his hands. 
 
 He took it from her, too, as mechanically as she 
 gave it — ^with the hand which held his bare blade. 
 That done, silent as she, with his eyes set hard, he 
 would have gone by her. The sight of her there, 
 guarding the door 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 raised she pointed to the trapdoor. 
 " Go now ! " she whispered, her tone stem 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." And still she held her hand ex- 
 tended ; still without faltering she faced the five men, 
 while the thunder, growing more distant, rolled sul- 
 lenly eastward, and the midnight rain, pouring from 
 every spout and dripping eave about the house, 
 wrapped the passage in its sibilant hush. Gradually 
 her eyes dominated his, gradually her nobler nature 
 and nobler aim subdued his weaker parts. For she 
 understood now ; and he saw that she did, and had he 
 been alone he would have slunk away, and said no 
 word in his defence. 
 
 But one of the men, savage and out of patience, 
 thrust himself between them. "Where is he?" he 
 muttered. " What is the use of this ? Where is he % " 
 And his bloodshot eyes — it was Tuez-les-Moines — 
 questioned the doors, while his hand, trembling 
 and shaking on the haft of his knife, bespoke his 
 eagerness. "Where is he? Where is he, woman? 
 Quick, or " 
 
AT THE KING'S INN. 267 
 
 "I shall not tell you," she answered. 
 
 "You lie," he cried, grinning like a dog. "You 
 will tell us ! Or we will kill you, too ! Where is he? 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "I shall not tell you," she repeated, standing before 
 him in the fearlessness of scorn. "Another step and 
 I rouse the house! M. de Tignonville, to you who 
 know me, I swear that if this man does not retire- " 
 
 "He is in one of these rooms'?" was Tignonville's 
 answer. "In which? In which?" 
 
 "Search them!" she answered, her voice low, but 
 biting in its contempt. "Try them. Eouse my 
 women, alarm the house ! And when you have his 
 people at your throats — five as they will be to one of 
 you — ^thank your own mad folly ! " 
 
 Tuez-les-Moines' eyes glittered. "You wUl not tell 
 us?" he cried. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Then " 
 
 But as the fanatic sprang on her. La Tribe flung his 
 arms round him and dragged him back. "It would 
 be madness," he cried. "Are you mad, fool? Have 
 done ! " he panted, struggling with him. " If madame 
 gives the alarm — and he may be in any one of these 
 four rooms, you cannot be sure which — we are un- 
 done." He looked for support to Tignonville, whose 
 movement to protect the girl he had anticipated, and 
 who had since listened sullenly. "We have obtained 
 what we need. Will you requite madame, who has 
 gained it for us at her own risk " 
 
 "It is monsieur I would requite," Tignonville mut- 
 tered grimly. 
 
 "By using violence to her?" the minister retorted 
 passionately. He and Tuez were still gripping one 
 
268 COUNT HAIOIBAL. 
 
 another. " I tell you, to go on is to risk what we have 
 got ! And I for one " 
 
 "Am chicken-hearted!" the young man sneered. 
 "Madame — " he seemed to choke 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 — all their words were sunk to that 
 stealthy note. " Go ! if you have not stayed too long 
 already. Go! Or see!" And she pointed to the 
 trapdoor, from which the face and arms of a sixth 
 man had that moment risen — ^the face dark with per- 
 turbation, so that her woman's wit told her at once 
 that something was amiss. "See, what has come of 
 your delay already ! " 
 
 "The water is rising," the man muttered ear- 
 nestly. "In God's name come, whether you have 
 done it or not, or we cannot pass out again. It is 
 within 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! Wliat matter afterwards?" 
 And he tried to shake off La Tribe's grasp. 
 
 But the minister held him desperately. "Are you 
 mad? Are you mad?" he answered. "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 side hitherto. "The luck is against 
 us! 'Tis no use to-night, man!" And he turned 
 with an air of sullen resignation. Letting his legs 
 drop through the trap he followed the bearer of the 
 tidings out of sight. Another made up his mind to 
 go, and went. Then only Tignonville holding the 
 
AT THE KING'S INN. 269 
 
 lantern, and La Tribe, who feared to release Tuez- 
 les-Moines, remained with the fanatic. 
 
 The Countess's eyes met her old lover's, and 
 whether old memories overcame her, or, now that the 
 danger was nearly past, she began to give way, she 
 swayed a little on her feet. But he did not notice it. 
 He was sunk 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 ! WUl you never 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 resist that appeal, and he turned si- 
 lently. Seizing Tuez-les-Moines by the other 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 strug- 
 gling silence, with now and then an audible rap, or a 
 ring of metal, the two forced the desperado to de- 
 scend. 
 
 La Tribe followed hastily. Tignonville was the last 
 to go. In the act of disappearing he raised his lantern 
 for a last glimpse of the Countess. To his astonish- 
 ment the passage was empty ; she was gone. Hard by 
 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 not guess how nicely 
 she had calculated her strength ; how nearly exhaus- 
 tion had overcome her ; or that even while he paused — 
 a fatal pause had he known it — eyeing the dark open- 
 
270 COUNT HANOTBAL. 
 
 ing of the door, slie lay as one dead, on the bed within. 
 She had fallen in a swoon, from which she did not 
 recover until the sun had risen, and marched across 
 one quarter of the heavens. 
 
 Nor did he see another thing, or he might have 
 hastened his steps. Before the yellow light of his 
 lantern faded from the ceiling of the passage, the door 
 of the room farthest from the trap slid open. A 
 man, whose eyes, untU darkness swallowed him, shone 
 strangely in a face extraordinarily softened, came out 
 on tip-toe. This man stood awhile, listening. At 
 length, hearing those below utter a cry of dismay, 
 he awoke to sudden activity. He opened with a 
 turn of the key the door which stood at his elbow, 
 the door which led to the other part of the house. 
 He vanished through it. A second later a sharp 
 whistle pierced the darkness of the courtyard and 
 brought a dozen sleepers to their senses and their 
 feet. A moment, and the courtyard hummed with 
 voices, above which one voice rang clear and insis- 
 tent. "With a startled cry the inn awoke. 
 
CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 THE COMPANY OF THE BLEEDING- HBAET. 
 
 "But why," Madame St. Lo asked, sticking her 
 arms akimbo, " wliy stay in this forsaken place a day 
 and a night, when six hours in the saddle would set 
 us in Angers?" 
 
 "Because," Tavannes replied coldly — he and his 
 cousin were walking before the gateway of the inn — 
 "the Countess is not well, and wUl be the better, 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 
 
 I^ame of Heaven!" madame resumed, after 
 
 breaking off abruptly, and shading her eyes with her 
 hand, "what comes here? Is it a funeral? Or a pil- 
 grimage? If all the priests about here are as black, 
 no wonder M. Eabelais fell out with them ! " 
 
 The inn stood without the walls for the conven- 
 ience of those who wished to take the road early: a 
 little also, perhaps, because food and forage were 
 cheaper, and the wine paid no town-dues. Four great 
 roads met before the house, along the most easterly of 
 which the sombre company which had caught Madame 
 St. Lo's attention could be seen approaching. At 
 first Count Hannibal supposed with his companion that 
 the travellers were conveying to the grave the corpse 
 
272 COUNT HANOTBAL. 
 
 of some person of distinction ; for the corUge consisted 
 mainly of priests and the like mounted on mules, and 
 clothed for the most part in black. Black also was 
 the small banner which waved above them, and bore 
 in place of arms the emblem of the Bleeding Heart. 
 But a second glance failed to discover either litter 
 or bier; and a nearer approach showed that the 
 travellers, whether they wore the tonsure or not, bore 
 weapons of one kind or another about them. 
 
 Suddenly Madame St. Lo clapped her hands, and 
 proclaimed in great astonishment that she knew them. 
 " Why, there is Father Boucher, the Cur6 of St. Be- 
 noist! " she said, "and Father Pezelay of St. Magloire. 
 And there is another I know, though I cannot remem- 
 ber his name! They are preachers from Paris! That 
 is who they are! But what can they be doing here? 
 Is it a pUgrimage, think youl " 
 
 "Ay, a pilgrimage of Blood! " Count Hannibal an- 
 swered between his teeth. And, turning to him to 
 learn what moved him, she saw the look in his eyes 
 which portended a storm. Before she could ask a 
 question, however, the gloomy company, which had 
 first appeared in the distance, moving, an inky blot, 
 through the hot sunshine of the summer morning, had 
 drawn near and was almost abreast of them. Stepping 
 from her side, he raised his hand and arrested the 
 march. 
 
 "Who is master here? " he asked haughtily. 
 
 "I am the leader," answered a stout pompous 
 Churchman, whose small malevolent eyes belied the 
 sallow fatuity of his face. "I, M. de Tavannes, by 
 your leave. " 
 
 "And you, by your leave," Tavannes sneered, 
 "are " 
 
COMPAlinr OF THE BLEEDING HEAET. 273 
 
 "Archdeacon and Vicar of the Bishop of Angers 
 and Prior of the Lesser Brethren of St. Germain, 
 M. le Comte. Visitor also of the Diocese of Angers," 
 the dignitary continued, pnffing out his cheeks, " and 
 Chaplain to the Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, 
 whose unworthy brother I am." 
 
 "A handsome glove, and well embroidered!" Ta- 
 vannes retorted in a tone of disdain. "The hand I 
 see yonder!" He pointed to the lean parchment 
 mask of Father Pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, 
 but held his peace under the sneer. "You are bound 
 for Angers? " Count Hannibal continued. "For what 
 purpose. Sir Prior?" 
 
 "His Grace the Bishop is absent, and in his ab- 
 sence " 
 
 "You go to fill his city with strife! I know 
 you ! Not you ! " he continued, contemptuously turn- 
 ing from the Prior, and regarding the third of the 
 principal figures of the party. "But you ! You were 
 the Cur6 who got the mob together last All Souls'." 
 
 "I speak the words of Hitn Who sent me!" an- 
 swered the third Churchman, whose brooding face 
 and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fits of 
 frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous 
 in Paris. 
 
 " Then Ball and Burn are His alphabet ! " Tavannes 
 retorted, and heedless of the start of horror which a 
 saying so near blasphemy excited among the Church- 
 men, he turned to Father Pezelay. "And you! 
 You, too, I know ! " he continued. " 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 befall you. These good persons, whom you 
 have moved, unless I am in error, to take this jour- 
 18 
 
274 COTINT HANNIBAL. 
 
 ney, may not know me; but you do, and can tell 
 them. If they will to Angers, they must to Angers. 
 But if I find trouble in Angers 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 to provoke the exclamation. "Some one, and 
 it shall not be a bare patch on the crown will save his 
 windpipe from squeezing ! " 
 
 A murmur of indignation broke from the preach- 
 ers' attendants ; one or two made a show of drawing 
 their weapons. But Count Hannibal paid no heed to 
 them, and had already turned on his heel when 
 Father Pezelay spurred his mule a pace or two for- 
 ward. Snatching a heavy brass cross from one of the 
 acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which 
 had often thrilled the heated congregation of St. 
 Magloire, he called on Tavannes to pause. 
 
 "Stand, my lord! " he cried. "And take warning! 
 Stand, reckless and profane, 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 of the Lord is gone out against this city, even 
 against Angers, for the unbelief thereof! Her place 
 shall be left unto her desolate, and her children shall 
 be dashed against the stones ! "Woe unto you, there- 
 fore, if you gainsay it, or fall short of that which is 
 commanded ! You shall perish as Achan, the son of 
 Charmi, and as Saul ! The curse that has gone out 
 against you shall not tarry, nor your days continue ! 
 For the Canaanitish woman that is in your house, and 
 for the thought that is in your heart, the place that 
 was yours is given to another! Yea, the sword is 
 even now drawn that shall pierce your side ! " 
 
 "You are more like to split my ears!" Count 
 
COMPANY OF THE BLEEDING HEAET. 275 
 
 Hannibal answered sternly. "And now mark me! 
 Preach as you please here. But a word in Angers, 
 and though you be shaven twice over, I will have you 
 silenced after a fashion which 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 lifted to heaven, he gazed after 
 the procession as it moved on under its swaying ban- 
 ner, now one and now another of the acolytes looking 
 back and raising his hands to invoke the bolt of 
 Heaven on the blasphemer. As the cortSge passed 
 the huge watering-troughs, and the open gateway of 
 the inn, the knot of persons congregated there fell on 
 their knees. In answer the Churchmen raised their 
 banner higher, and began to sing the Eripe me, 
 Drnnine ! and to its strains, now vengeful, now de- 
 spairing, now rising on a wave of menace, they passed 
 slowly into the distance, slowly towards Angers and 
 the Loire. 
 
 Suddenly Madame St. Lo twitched his sleeve. 
 "Enough for me! " she cried passionately. "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 seen 
 horrors enough. I will take my people, and go to my 
 aunt by Tours and the east road. For you, I foresee 
 what will happen. You will perish between the ham- 
 mer and the anvil." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 "You play too fine a game," she continued, her 
 
276 COUNT HAXNTBAL. 
 
 face quivering. "Give over the girl to her lover, and 
 send away her people with her. And wash your 
 hands of her and hers. Or you will see her fall, and 
 fall beside her ! Give her to him, I say — give her to 
 him!" 
 
 "My wife?" 
 
 "Wife?" she echoed, for, fickle, and at all times 
 swept away by the emotions of the moment, she was 
 in earnest now. "Is there a tie," and she pointed 
 after the vanishing procession, "that they cannot un- 
 loose? That they will not unloose? Is there a life 
 which escapes if they doom it? Did the Admiral 
 escape? Or Eochefoucauld? Or Madame de Luns in 
 old days? I tell you they go to rouse Angers against 
 you, and I see beforehand what will happen. She 
 will perish, and you with her. Wife? A pretty 
 wife, at whose door you took her lover last night." 
 
 "And at your door!" he answered quietly, un- 
 moved by the gibe. 
 
 But she did not heed. "I warned you of that!" 
 she cried. "And you would not believe me. I told 
 you he was following. And I warn you of this. 
 Tou are between the hammer and the anvil, M. le 
 Comte ! If Tignonville does not murder you in your 
 bed " 
 
 " 'Tis not likely while I hold him in my power." 
 
 "Then Holy Church will faU on you and crush you. 
 For me, I have seen enough 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 who played fast and loose at such 
 a time. The game was too fine for her, its danger too 
 
COMPAKY OF THE BLEEDING HEAET. 277 
 
 apparent, the gain too small. She had, too, a wo- 
 man's dread of 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 peo- 
 ple were gathered, and she departed by the eastward 
 road, three of Tavannes' riders reinforcing her ser- 
 vants for a part of the way. Count Hannibal stood 
 to watch them start, and noticed Bigot riding by the 
 side of Suzanne's mule. He smiled ; and presently, 
 as he turned away, he did a thing rare with him — ^he 
 laughed outright. 
 
 A laugh which reflected a mood rare as itself. 
 Few had seen Count Hannibal's eye sparkle as it 
 sparkled now ; few had seen him laugh as he laughed, 
 walking to and fro in the sunshine before the inn. 
 His men watched him, and wondered, and liked it lit- 
 tle, for one or two who had overheard his altercation 
 with the Churchmen had reported it, and there was 
 shaking of heads over it. The man who had singed 
 the Pope's beard and chucked Cardinals under the 
 chin was growing old, and the most daring of the 
 others had no mind to fight with foes whose weapons 
 were not of this world. 
 
 Count Hannibal's gaiety, however, was well 
 grounded, had they known it. He was gay, not be- 
 cause he foresaw peril, and it was his nature to love 
 perU; nor — ^in the main, though a little, perhaps — 
 because he knew that the woman whose heart he de- 
 sired to win had that night stood between him and 
 death; nor, though again a little, perhaps, because 
 she had confirmed his choice by conduct which a 
 small man might have deprecated, but which a great 
 man loved; but chiefly, because the events of the 
 night had placed in his grasp two weapons by the aid 
 
278 COUNT HAMTEBAL. 
 
 of wMch he looked to recover all the ground he had 
 lost — ^lost by his impulsive departure from the path of 
 conduct on which he had started. 
 
 Those weapons were Tignonville, taken like a rat 
 in a trap by the rising of the water ; and the knowl- 
 edge that the Countess had stolen the precious packet 
 from his pillow. The knowledge — for he had lain 
 and felt her breath 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 al- 
 most more than he could tame! He had lain and 
 suffered her to go, to pass out safely as she had 
 passed in. And then he had received his reward in 
 the knowledge that, if she robbed him, she robbed 
 him not for herself ; and that where it was a question 
 of his life she did not fear to risk her own. 
 
 When he came, indeed, to that point, he trembled. 
 How narrowly had he been saved from misjudging 
 her ! Had he not lain and waited, had he not pos- 
 sessed himself in patience, he might have been led to 
 think her in collusion with the old lover whom he 
 found at her door, and with those who came to slay 
 him. Either he might have perished unwarned ; or 
 escaping that danger, he might have detected her 
 with Tignonville and lost for all time the ideal of a 
 noble woman. 
 
 He had escaped that peril. More, he had gained 
 the weapons we have indicated; and the sense of 
 power, in regard to her, almost intoxicated him. 
 Surely if he wielded those weapons to the best advan- 
 tage, if he strained generosity to the uttermost, the 
 citadel of her heart must yield at last. 
 
 He had the defect of his courage and his nature, 
 a tendency to do things after a flamboyant fashion. 
 
COMPANY OF THE BLEEDING HEAET. 279 
 
 He knew that her act would plunge him in perils 
 which he had not foreseen. If the preachers roused 
 the Papists of Angers, if he arrived to find men's 
 swords whetted for the massacre and the men them- 
 selves awaiting the signal, then if he did not give that 
 signal there woidd be trouble. There would be trou- 
 ble of the kind in which the soul of Hannibal de Ta- 
 vannes revelled, trouble about the ancient 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 the flood 
 of peril which she had unloosed ristag round them, 
 he would say, " Go ! " to the man who had aimed at 
 his life; he would say to her, "I know, and I for- 
 give! " That, that only, would fitly crown the policy 
 on wiiich he had decided from the first, though, he 
 had not hoped to conduct it on lines so splendid as 
 those which now dazzled him. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 TEMPER. 
 
 It was his gaiety, tliat strange unusual gaiety, still 
 continuing, which on the following day began by per- 
 plexing and ended by terrifying the Countess. She 
 could not doubt that he had missed the packet on 
 which so much hung and of which he had indicated 
 the importance. But if he had missed it, why, she 
 asked herself, did he not speak? Why did he not 
 cry the alarm, search and question and pursue? 
 Wliy did he not give her the opening to tell the truth, 
 without which even her courage failed, her resolution 
 died within her? 
 
 Above all, what was the secret of his strange mer- 
 riment? Of the snatches of song which broke from 
 him, only to be hushed by her look of astonishment? 
 Of the parades which his horse, catching the infec- 
 tion, made under him, as he tossed his riding-cane 
 high in the air and caught it? 
 
 Ay, what? Why, when he had suffered so great a 
 loss, when he had been robbed of that of which he 
 must give account — ^why did he cast off his melancholy 
 and ride like the youngest? She wondered what 
 the men thought, and looking, saw them stare, saw 
 that they watched him stealthily, saw that they laid 
 their heads together. What were they thinking of 
 it? She could not tell; and slowly a terror, more in- 
 
TEMPEE. 281 
 
 sistent than any to which the extremity of violence 
 would have reduced her, began to grip her heart. 
 
 Twenty hours of rest had lifted her from the state 
 of collapse into which the events of the night had 
 cast her ; still her limbs at starting had shaken under 
 her. But the cool freshness of the early summer 
 morning, and the sight of the green landscape and 
 the winding Loir, beside which their road ran, had 
 not failed to revive her spirits ; and if he had shown 
 himself merely gloomy, merely sunk in revengeful 
 thoughts, or darting hither and thither the glance of 
 suspicion, she felt that she could have faced him, and 
 on the first opportunity could have told him the 
 truth. 
 
 But this strange mood veiled she knew not what. 
 It seemed, if she comprehended it at all, the herald 
 of some bizarre, some dreadful vengeance, in har- 
 mony with his fierce and mocking spirit. Before it 
 her heart 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 it was writ- 
 ten in her face, in her shrinking figure, in the eyes 
 which now guiltily sought and now avoided his. 
 And feeling sure that he did read it and know it, she 
 fancied that he licked his lips, as the cat which plays 
 with the mouse ; she fancied that he gloated on her 
 terror and her perplexity. 
 
 This, though the day and the road were warrants 
 for all cheerful thoughts. On one side vineyards 
 clothed the warm red slopes, and rose in steps from 
 the river to the white buildings of a convent. On the 
 other the stream wound through green flats where 
 the black cattle stood knee-deep in grass, watched by 
 wild-eyed and half -naked youths. Again the travel- 
 
282 COUNT HAiraiBAL. 
 
 lers lost sight of the Loir, and crossing a shoulder, 
 rode through the dim aisles of a beech-forest, through 
 deep rustling drifts of last year's leaves. And out 
 again and down again they passed, and turning aside 
 from the gateway, trailed along beneath the brown 
 machicolated wall of an old town, from the crumbling 
 battlements of which faces half -sleepy, half -suspi- 
 cious, watched them as they moved below through 
 the glare and heat. Down to the river-level again, 
 where a squalid anchorite, 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 
 the hour of Nones. 
 
 And still he said nothing, and she, cowed by his 
 mysterious gaiety, yet spurning herself for her cow- 
 ardice, was silent also. He hoped to arrive at Angers 
 before nightfall. What, she wondered, shivering, 
 would happen there? 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 and anticipation got upon them ; and his silence 
 — ^his silence which must mean a thing worse than 
 words ! 
 
 And then on a sudden, piercing all, a new thought. 
 Was it possible that he had other letters? If his 
 bearing were consistent with anything, it was consis- 
 tent with that. Had he other genuine letters, or had 
 he duplicate letters, so that he had lost nothing, but 
 instead had gained the right to rack and torture her, 
 to taunt and despise her? 
 
 That thought stung her into sudden self -betrayal. 
 They were riding along a broad dusty track which 
 bordered a stone causey raised above the level of win- 
 ter floods; impulsively she turned to Mm. "You 
 
TEMPER. 283 
 
 have other letters! " she cried. "You have other let- 
 ters ! " And freed for the moment from her terror, 
 she fixed her eyes on his and strove to read his face. 
 
 He looked at her, his mouth grown hard. "What 
 do you mean, madame? " he asked. 
 
 "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 his cherished plan ; and unreasona- 
 ble anger awoke in the man who had been more 
 than willing to forgive a real injury. "Will you 
 explain?" he said between his teeth. And his eyes 
 glittered unpleasantly. "What do you mean? " 
 
 "You have other letters," she persisted, "besides 
 those which I stole." 
 
 "Which you stole? " He repeated the words with- 
 . out passion. Enraged by this unexpected turn, he 
 hardly knew how to take it. 
 
 "Yes, I! " she cried. "I! I took them from under 
 your pillow ! " 
 
 He was sUent a minute. Then he laughed and 
 shook his head. "It will not do, madame," he said, 
 his lip curling. "You are clever, but you do not de- 
 ceive me." 
 
 "Deceive you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You do not believe that I took the letters?" she 
 cried in great amazement. 
 
 "1^0," he answered; "and for a good reason." He 
 had hardened his heart now. He had chosen his 
 line, and he would not spare her. 
 
 "Why, then?" she cried. "Why?" 
 
 "For the best of aU reasons," he answered, "Be- 
 
284 COTJNT HAlOflBAL. 
 
 cause the person wlio stole the letters was seized in 
 the act of making his escape, and is now in 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 sit her horse. With an effort she 
 pulled it up, and he stopped also. Their attendants 
 were some way ahead. "And you have the letters? " 
 she whispered, her eyes meeting his. "You have the 
 letters'?" 
 
 "1^0, but I have the thief!" Count Hannibal an- 
 swered with sinister meaning. "As I think you 
 knew, madame," he continued ironically, "a while 
 back before you spoke. " 
 
 "I? Oh, no, no!" and she swayed in her saddle. 
 " What — what are you — agoing to 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 re- 
 peated piteously. "Punish me!" 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? " 
 
 "Ko," he said. And then, in a tone which chilled 
 her, "If I did believe you," he continued, "I should 
 stiU punish him!" She was broken; but he would 
 
TEMPEE. 285 
 
 see if he could not break her farther. He would try 
 if there were no weak spot in her armour. He would 
 rack her now, since in the end she must go free. 
 "Understand, madame," he continued in his harshest 
 tone, "I have had enough of your lover. He has 
 crossed my path too often. You are my wife, I am 
 your husband. In a day or two there shaU be an end 
 of this farce and of him." 
 
 "He did not take them! " she waUed, her face sink- 
 ing lower on her breast. "He did not take them! 
 Have mercy ! " 
 
 "Any way, madame, they are gone!" Tavannes 
 answered. "You have taken them between you; and 
 as I do not choose that you should pay, he will pay 
 the price." 
 
 If the discovery that Tignonville had fallen into 
 her husband's hands had not suf&ced to crush her. 
 Count Hannibal's tone must have done so. The 
 shoot of new life which had raised its head after 
 those dreadful days in Paris, and — ^for she was young 
 — ^had supported her under the weight which the 
 peril of Angers had cast on her shoulders, died, 
 bruised under the heel of his brutality. The pride 
 which had supported her, which had won Tavannes' 
 admiration and exacted his respect, sank, as she sank 
 herself, bowed to her horse's neck, weeping bitter 
 tears before him. She abandoned herself to her mis- 
 ery, as she had once abandoned herself in the upper 
 room in Paris. 
 
 And he looked at her. He had willed to crush 
 her ; he had his will, and he was not satisfied. He 
 had bowed her so low that his magnanimity would 
 now have its full effect, would shine as the sun into 
 a dark world ; and yet he was not happy. He could 
 
286 COUNT HAlffNIBAL. 
 
 look forward to the morrow, and say, "She will un- 
 derstand me, she will know me ! " and lo, the thought 
 that she wept for her lover stabbed him, and stabbed 
 him anew; and he thought, "Eather would 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 he who fills her world." 
 
 The thought spurred him to farther cruelty, im- 
 pelled 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? 
 Or wounded or well? Would you not know, ma- 
 dame? And what message he sent you? 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 the key 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 has been 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 
 bring her to her knees. And he sought about for 
 a keener taunt. Their attendants were almost out 
 of sight before them; the sun, declining apace, was in 
 their eyes. "In two hours we shall be in Angers," 
 he said. "Mon Dieu, madame, it was a pity, when 
 you two were taking letters, you did not go a step 
 farther. Ton 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 such wonder in her eyes, such re- 
 proach in her tear-stained face, that his voice sank on 
 the last word. "You mean — that I would have mur- 
 
TEMPER 287 
 
 dered youl" she said. "I would have cut off my 
 hand first. What I did " — and now her voice was as 
 firm as it was low — "what I did, I did to save my 
 people. And if it were to be done again, I would do 
 it again ! " 
 
 "You dare to tell me that to my face?" he cried, 
 hiding feelings which almost 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 raised his whip. She thought 
 that he was going to strike her, and she flinched at 
 last. The whip fell smartly on her horse's quarters, 
 and it sprang forward. Count Hannibal swore be- 
 tween his teeth. 
 
 He had turned pale, she red as fire. "Get on! 
 Get on!" he cried harshly. "We are falling be- 
 hind ! " And riding at her heels, flipping her horse 
 now and then, he forced her to trot on until they 
 overtook the servants. 
 
CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 THE BLACK TOWN. 
 
 It was late evening when, riding wearily on jaded 
 horses, they came to the 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 
 last hues of day ; and against its opal light the huge 
 mass of the Angevin castle, which even in sunshine 
 rises dark and forbidding above the Mayenne, stood 
 up black and sharply defined. Below it, on both 
 banks of the river, the towers and spires of the city 
 soared up from a sombre huddle of ridge-roofs, 
 broken here by a round-headed gateway, crumbling 
 and pigeon-haunted, that dated from St. Louis, and 
 there by the gaunt arms of a windmill. 
 
 The city lay dark under a light sky, keeping well 
 its secrets. Thousands were out of doors enjoying 
 the evening coolness in alley and court, yet it be- 
 trayed the life which pulsed in its arteries only by 
 the low murmur which rose from it. Ifevertheless, 
 the Countess at sight of its roofs tasted the first mo- 
 ment of happiness which had been hers that day. 
 She might suffer, but she had saved. Those roofs 
 would thank her! In that murmur were the voices 
 of women and children she had redeemed! At the 
 sight and at the thought a wave of love and tender- 
 ness swept all bitterness from her breast. A pro- 
 found humility, a boundless thankfulness took pos- 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 289 
 
 session of her. Her head sank lower above her 
 horse's mane; but it sank in reverence, not in shame. 
 
 Could she have known what was passing beneath 
 those roofs which night was blending in a common 
 gloom — could she have read the thoughts which at 
 that moment paled the cheeks of many a stout burgh- 
 er, whose gabled house looked on the great square, 
 she had been still more thankful. For in attics and 
 back rooms women were on their knees at that hour, 
 praying with feverish eyes ; and in the streets men — 
 on whom their fellows, seeing the winding-sheet al- 
 ready at the chin, gazed askance — smiled, and showed 
 brave looks abroad, while their hearts were sick with 
 fear. 
 
 For darkly, no man knew how, the news had come 
 to Angers. It had been known, more or less, for 
 three days. Men had read it in other men's eyes. 
 The tongue of a scold, the sneer of an injured woman 
 had spread it, the birds of the air had carried it. 
 From garret window to garret window across the 
 narrow lanes of the old town it had been whispered 
 at dead of night ; at convent grilles, and in the tim- 
 ber-yards beside the river. Ten thousand, fifty thou- 
 sand, a hundred thousand, it was rumoured, had per- 
 ished in Paris. In Orleans, all. In Tours this man's 
 sister ; at Saumur that man's son. Through France 
 the word had gone forth that the Huguenots must 
 die; and in the bhsy town the same roof -tree Shel- 
 tered fear and hate, rage and cupidity. On one side 
 of the party -wall murder lurked fierce-eyed ; on the 
 other, the victim lay watching the latch, and shaking 
 at a step. Strong men tasted the bitterness of death, 
 and women clasping their babes to their breasts' 
 smiled sickly into children's eyes. 
 19 
 
290 COUNT HAI^TNIBAL. 
 
 The signal only was lacking. It would come, said 
 some, from Samnur, where Montsoreau, the Diike of 
 Anjou's Lieutenant-Governor and a Papist, had his 
 quarters. From Paris, said others, directly from the 
 King. It might come at any hour now, in the day or 
 in the night ; the magistrates, it was whispered, were 
 in continuous session, awaiting its coming. No won- 
 der that from lofty gable windows, and from dormers 
 set high above the tUes, haggard faces looked north- 
 ward and eastward, and ears sharpened by fear imag- 
 ined above the noises of the city the ring of the iron 
 shoes that carried doom. 
 
 Doubtless the majority desired — as the majority in 
 France have always desired — peace. But in the 
 purlieus about the cathedral and in the lanes where 
 the sacristans lived, in convent parlours and college 
 courts, among all whose livelihood the new faith 
 threatened, was a stir as of a hive deranged. Here 
 was grumbling against the magistrates — ^why wait? 
 There, stealthy plannings and arrangements; every- 
 where a grinding of weapons and casting of slugs. 
 Old grudges, new rivalries, a scholar's venom, a 
 priest's dislike, here was final vent for all. None 
 need leave this feast unsated ! 
 
 It was a man of this class, sent out for the pur- 
 pose, who first espied Count Haimibal's company 
 approaching. He bore the news into the town, and 
 by the time the travellers reached the city gate, the 
 dusky street within, on which lights were beginning 
 to twinkle from booths and casements, was alive with 
 figures ruiming to meet them and crying the news 
 as they ran. The travellers, weary and road-stained, 
 had no sooner passed under the arch than they found 
 themselves the core of a great crowd which moved 
 
THE BLACK TOWlf. 291 
 
 with them and pressed about them ; now unbonnet- 
 ing, and now calling out questions, and now shouting 
 "Vive le Eoi! Vive le Eoi! " Above the press, win- 
 dows burst into light ; and over all, the quaint lean- 
 ing gables of the old timbered houses looked down on 
 the hurry and tumult. 
 
 They passed along a narrow street in which the 
 rabble, hurrying at Count Hannibal's bridle, and 
 often looking back to read his face, had much ado to 
 escape harm ; along this street and before the yawn- 
 ing doors of a great church, whence a hot breath 
 heavy with incense and burning wax issued to meet 
 them. A portion of the congregation had heard the 
 tumult and struggled out, and now stood close-packed 
 on the steps under the double vault of the 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 a tall, lean man in 
 dusty black ; and though she did not know him she 
 seemed to have an equal attraction for him ; for as 
 their eyes met he seized the shoulder of the man next 
 him and pointed her out. And something in the 
 energy of the gesture, or in the thin lips and malevo- 
 lent eyes of the man who pointed, chilled the Coun- 
 tess's blood and shook her, she knew not why. 
 
 Until then, she had known no fear save of her 
 husband. But at that a sense of the force and 
 pressure of the crowd — as well as of the fierce pas- 
 sions, straining about her, which a word might un- 
 loose — ^broke upon her ; and looking to the stern men 
 on either side she fancied that she read anxiety in 
 their faces. 
 
 She glanced behind. Bridle to bridle the Count's 
 men came on, pressing round her women and shield- 
 
292 COUNT HAJOTIBAL. 
 
 ing tliem from the exuberance of the throng. In 
 their faces too she thought that she traced uneasi- 
 ness. 
 
 What wonder if the scenes through which she had 
 passed in Paris began to recur to her mind, and shook 
 nerves already overwrought? 
 
 She began to tremble. "Is there — danger?" she 
 muttered, speaking in a low voice to Bigot, who rode 
 on her right hand. "Will they do anything? " 
 
 The Norman snorted. "Not while he is in the sad- 
 dle, " he said, nodding towards 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, he will bring 
 you safe to the inn. Down with the Huguenots? " he 
 continued, turning from her and addressing a rogue 
 who, holding his stirrup, was shouting 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, in- 
 dicating the Count with his 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 an- 
 swered, rather it seemed for his own satisfaction than 
 the other's enlightenment. "You'll all bide it, you 
 dogs ! " he continued in his beard, as he cast his eye 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 293 
 
 over the weltering crowd. "Ha! so we are here, are 
 we? And not too soon, either." 
 
 He fell silent as they entered an open space, over- 
 looked on one side by the dark fagade of the cathe- 
 dral, on the other three sides by houses more or less 
 illumined. The rabble swept into this open space 
 with them and before them, filled much of it in an 
 instant, and for a while eddied and swirled this way 
 and that, thrust onward by the worshippers who had 
 issued from the church and backwards by those who 
 had been first in the square, 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 Eoi! " "Vive Anjou! " mingled with cries 
 against the Huguenots, might have fancied that the 
 whole city was arrayed before him. But he would 
 have been wide of the mark. The scum, indeed — 
 and a dangerous scum — frothed and foamed and spat 
 under Tavannes' bridle-hand; and here and there 
 among them, but not of them, the dark-robed figure 
 of a priest moved to and fro ; or a Benedictine, or 
 some smooth-faced acolyte egged on to the work he 
 dared not do. But the decent burghers were not 
 there. They lay bolted in their houses; while the 
 magistrates, with little heart to do aught except bow 
 to the mob — or other their masters for the time being 
 — shook in their council chamber. 
 
 There is not a city of Prance which has not seen it ; 
 which has not known the moment when the mass im- 
 pended, and it lay with one man to start it or stay its 
 course. Angers within its houses heard the clamour, 
 and from the child, clinging to its mother's skirt, and 
 wondering why she wept, to the Provost, trembled, 
 believing that the hour had come. The Countess 
 
294 COUNT HAJ5WIBAL. 
 
 heard it too, and iiijderstood it. She caught the sav- 
 age note in the voice of the mob — that note which 
 means danger — and her heart beating wildly she 
 looked to her husband. Then, fortunately for her, 
 fortunately for Angers, it was given to all to see that 
 in Count Hannibal's saddle sat a man. 
 
 He raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or 
 two — not at once, for the square was dusky — ^it was 
 obtained. He rose in his stirrups, and bared his 
 head. 
 
 "lam from the King!" he cried, throwing his 
 voice to all parts of the crowd. "And this is his 
 Majesty's pleasure and good will ! That every man 
 hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or 
 worse! And at noon his further pleasure will be 
 known ! Yive le Eoi ! " 
 
 And he covered his head again. 
 
 "Vive le Eoi!" cried a number of the foremost. 
 But their shouts were feeble and half-hearted, and 
 were quickly drowned in a rising murmur of discon- 
 tent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is 
 that all? Is there no more? Down with the Hugue- 
 nots ! " rose from aU parts. Presently these cries be- 
 came merged in a persistent call, which had its ori- 
 gin, as far as could be discovered, in the darkest 
 corner of the square. A call for "Montsoreau! 
 Montsoreau ! Give us Montsoreau ! " 
 
 "With another man, or had Tavannes turned or 
 withdrawn, or betrayed the least anxiety, words had 
 become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the 
 twinkling of an eye. But Count Hannibal, sitting 
 his horse, with his handful of riders behind him, 
 watched the crowd, as little moved by it as the 
 Armed Knight of Notre Dame. Only once did he 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 295 
 
 say a word. Then, raising his hand as before to gain 
 a hearing, "You ask for Montsoreau?" he thun- 
 dered. "You will have Montfaucon if you do 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, see- 
 ing that he had no intention of withdrawing, they 
 began to sneak away by ones and twos. Soon others 
 missed them and took the alarm, and followed. A 
 moment and scores were streaming away through 
 lanes and alleys and along the main street. At last 
 the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a 
 remnant. They glanced uneasily at one another and 
 at Tavannes, took fright in their turn, and plunging 
 into the current hastened away, raising now and then 
 as 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 nb more 
 than half a dozen groups remained in the open. Then 
 he gave the word to dismount ; so far, even the Coun- 
 tess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the 
 movement which their retreat into the inn must have 
 caused should be misread by the mob. Last of all he 
 dismounted himself, and with lights going before him 
 and behind, and preceded by Bigot, bearing his cloak 
 and pistols, he escorted the Countess into the house, 
 l^ot many minutes had elapsed since he called for 
 silence; but long before he reached the chamber 
 looking over the square from the first floor, in which 
 supper was being set for them, the news had flown 
 through the length and breadth of Angers that for 
 this night the danger was past. The hawk had come 
 to Angers, and lo ! it was a dove. 
 
296 COTOfT HA20IBAIi, 
 
 Count Hannibal strode to one of the open windows 
 and looked out. In the room, which was well lighted, 
 were people of the house, going to and fro, set- 
 ting out the table; to Madame, standing beside the 
 hearth — ^which held its summer dressing of green 
 boughs — ^while her woman held water for her to wash, 
 the scene recalled with painful vividness the meal at 
 which she had been present on the morning of the St. 
 Bartholomew — the meal which had ushered in her 
 troubles. K'aturally her eyes went to her husband, 
 her mind to the horror in which she had held him 
 then ; and with a kind of shock, perhaps because the 
 last few minutes had shown him in a new light, she 
 compared her old opinion of him with that which, 
 much as she feared him, she now entertained. 
 
 This afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, 
 if at all, he had acted in a way to justify that horror 
 and that opinion. He had treated her — ^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 point which she had once oc- 
 cupied that the old attitude was hard to understand. 
 Hardly could she believe that it was on this man, 
 much as she still dreaded 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 win- 
 dow. Absorbed in thought she had forgotten her 
 occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in her 
 half -dried hands. Before she knew what he was do- 
 ing he was at her side ; he bade the woman hold the 
 bowl, and he rinsed his hands. Then he turned, and 
 without looking at the Countess, he dried his hands on 
 the farther end of the towel which she was still using. 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 297 
 
 She blushed faintly. A something in the act, more 
 intimate and more familiar than had ever marked 
 their intercourse, set her blood running strangely. 
 When he turned away and bade Bigot unbuckle his 
 spur-leathers, she stepped forward. 
 
 "I will do it!" she murmured, acting on a sudden 
 and unaccountable impulse. And as she knelt, she 
 shook her hair about her face to hide its colour. 
 
 "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 the Nemesis he had provoked when he 
 took her by force from another — the Nemesis of jeal- 
 ousy, drove him to spoil all. "And for whose sake, 
 madame?" he added with a jeer — "mine or M. de 
 Tignonville'sl " And with a glance between jest and 
 earnest, he tried to read her thoughts. 
 
 She winced as if he had indeed struck her, and 
 the hot colour fled her cheeks. "For his sake! " she 
 said, with a shiver of pain. "That his life may be 
 spared ! " And she stood back humbly, like a beaten 
 dog. Though, indeed, it was for the sake of Angers, 
 in thankfulness for the past rather than in any des- 
 perate 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, and that the 
 Provost of the City, for whom M. le Comte had sent, 
 was in waiting below. "Let him come up!" Ta- 
 vannes answered, grave and frowning. " And see you, 
 
298 COIWT HAimiBAL. 
 
 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 ap- 
 proached him with many salutations. "How comes 
 it, M. le Pr6v6t — you are the Pr6v6t, 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 the city 
 gathered together? " 
 
 The Provost stared. "Eespect, M. le Comt«," he 
 said, "for His Majesty's letters, of which you are the 
 bearer, no doubt induced some to come together " 
 
 "Who said I brought letters? " 
 
 "Who " 
 
 "Who said I brought letters?" Count Hannibal 
 repeated in a strenuous voice. And he ground his 
 chair half about and faced the astonished magistrate. 
 "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," the magistrate added, in the hope of 
 clearing the great man's brow. 
 
 Count Hannibal laughed darkly. "My hand wiU 
 be better known by-and-by," he said. "See you, 
 sirrah, there is some practice here. What is this cry 
 of Montsoreau that I hear? " 
 
 "Your lordship knows that he is His Grace's Lieu- 
 tenant-Governor in Saumur." 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 299 
 
 "I know that, man. But is he here? " 
 
 "He was at Saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured 
 three days back that he was coming here to extirpate 
 the Huguenots. Then word came of your lordship 
 and of His Majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that 
 M. de Montsoreau would not come, his authority be- 
 ing 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 apologetically at 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 the town ! " Count Hanni- 
 bal cried, his face growing red. "Speak, man, is it 
 so ? 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 with a knave behind him, and a 
 knave who has no cause to love us! And the Castle'? 
 '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 usual impa- 
 tience. "Mon Dieu, you need not look at him!" he 
 cried. "He has sacked St. Peter's and singed the 
 
300 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 Pope's beard with a holy candle! He has been 
 served on the knee by Cardinals; and is Turk or 
 Jew, or monk or Huguenot as I please. And ma- 
 dame " — ^for the Provost's astonished eyes, after rest- 
 ing awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed 
 to her — "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 Count Hannibal. 
 
 "If I knew, my lord, what you — why, my own sis- 
 ter's son" — ^he paused, his face began to work, his 
 voice shook — "is a Huguenot! Ay, my lord, a Hu- 
 guenot ! And they know it ! " he continued, a flush 
 of rage augmenting the emotion which his counte- 
 nance betrayed. "Ay, they know it! And they 
 push me on at the Council, and grin behind my back ; 
 Lescot, who was Provost two years back and would 
 match his son with my daughter ; and Thuriot who 
 prints for the University ! They nudge one another, 
 and egg me 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 my girl at home white-faced for — for his sake." 
 
 Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "Perhaps 
 she is of the same way of thinking? " he said. 
 
 The Provost started, and lost one-half of his colour. 
 "God forbid!" he cried, "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, who prints for the University ! "Would 
 you 'scape them? You would? Then listen to me. 
 
THE BLACK TOWN. 301 
 
 I want but two things. First, how many men has 
 Montsoreau's fellow in the Castle? Few, I know, for 
 he is a niggard, and if 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 ! And now 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 let one be before this door. You understand? 
 Then let it be done! The rest," he added with a 
 ferocious smile, "you may leave to me." 
 
 The magistrate nodded rather feebly. "Doubt- 
 less," he said, his eye wandering here and there, 
 "there are rogues in Angers. And for rogues the 
 gibbet! But saving your presence, my lord, it is a 
 question whether " 
 
 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. "Cer- 
 tainly, my lord, certainly!" he muttered humbly. 
 "Certainly, I will!" And bowing frequently, but 
 saying no more, he backed himself out of the room. 
 
 Count Hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, 
 and doubtless thought that he had seen the last of 
 the magistrate for that night. Great was his wrath 
 therefore, when, less than a minute later — and before 
 Bigot had carved for him — ^the door opened and the 
 Provost appeared again. He slid in, and without 
 giving the courage he had gained on the stairs time to 
 cool, plunged into his trouble. 
 
 "It stands this way, M. le Comte," he bleated. "If 
 I put up the gibbets and a man is hanged, and you 
 
302 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 have letters from tlie King, 'tis a rogue the less 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 do not find a way to hang 
 me to right him." 
 
 Count Hannibal smiled grimly. "And your sis- 
 ter's son?" he sneered. "And your girl who is 
 white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same 
 bonfire 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 not in place by sunrise, I shall 
 hang you from this window. That is one way out ; 
 and you'll be wise to take the other ! For the rest 
 and for your comfort, if I have no letters, it is not 
 always to paper that the King commits 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 
 
 in foreboding he turned to the door. 
 
 At the last moment, when he was within a pace of 
 it, the Countess rose impulsively to her feet. She 
 called to him. "M. le Pr6v6t, a minute, if you 
 please, " she said. " There may be trouble to- morrow ; 
 your daughter may be in some peril. You will do well 
 to send her to me. My lord " — and on the word her 
 voice, timid before, grew full and steady — "will see 
 that I am safe. And she will be safe with me." 
 
THE BLACK TOWIS". 303 
 
 The Provost saw before him only a gracious lady, 
 moved by a thoughtfulness unusual in persons of her 
 rank. He was at no pains to explain the flame in 
 her cheek, or the soft light which glowed in her 
 eyes, as she looked at him, across her formidable hus- 
 band. He was only profoundly grateful — moved 
 even to tears. Humbly thanking her he accepted her 
 offer for his child, and withdrew wiping his eyes. 
 
 When he was gone, and the door had closed behind 
 him, Tavannes turned to the Countess, who still kept 
 her feet. "Tou are very confident this evening," he 
 sneered. "Gibbets do not frighten you, it seems, 
 madame. Perhaps if you knew for whom the one be- 
 fore the door is intended? " 
 
 She met his look with a searching gaze, and spoke 
 with a ring of defiance in her tone. "I do not be- 
 lieve it! " she said. "I do not believe it! Tou who 
 save Angers will not destroy him ! " And then her 
 woman's mood changing, with courage and colour 
 ebbing together, "Oh, no, you will not! You will 
 not!" she wailed. And she dropped on her knees 
 before him, and holding up her clasped hands, "God 
 will put it in your heart to spare him — and me ! " 
 
 He rose with a stifled oath, took two steps from 
 her, and in a tone hoarse and constrained, "Go! " he 
 said. "Go, or sit! Do you hear, madame ? Tou try 
 my patience too far ! " 
 
 But when she had gone his face was radiant. He 
 had brought her, he had brought all, to the point at 
 which he aimed. To-morrow his triumph awaited 
 him. To-morrow he who had cast her down would 
 raise her up. 
 
 He did not foresee what a day would bring forth. 
 
CHAPTER XXVin, 
 IN THE LITTLE CHAPTEE-HOTTSfi. 
 
 The sun was an hour high, and in Angers the shops 
 and booths, after the early fashion of the day, were 
 open or opening. Through all the gates country folk 
 were pressing into the gloomy streets of the Black 
 Town with milk and fruit ; and at doors and windows 
 housewives cheapened fish, or chaffered over the fowl 
 for the pot. For men must eat, though there be gib- 
 bets in the Place Ste. -Croix : gaunt gibbets, high and 
 black and twofold, each, with its dangling ropes, like 
 a double note of interrogation. 
 
 But gibbets must eat also ; and between ground and 
 noose was so small a space in those days that a man 
 dangled almost before he knew it. The sooner, 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 the market, therefore, was 
 hurrying. Men cried their wares in lowered voices, 
 and tarried but a little for the oldest customer. The 
 bargain struck, the more timid among the buyers hast- 
 ened to shut themselves into their houses again ; the 
 bolder, who ventured to the Place to confirm the ru- 
 mour with their eyes, talked in corners and in lanes, 
 avoided the open, and eyed the sinister preparations 
 from afar. The shadow of the things which stood 
 before the cathedral affronting the sunlight with their 
 gaunt black shapes lay across the length and breadth 
 
m THE LITTLE OHAPTBE-HOUSE. 305 
 
 of Angers. Even in tlie corners where men whis- 
 pered, eyen in the cloisters where men bit their 
 nails in impotent anger, the stillness of fear ruled 
 all. "Whatever Count Hannibal had it in his mind 
 to tell the city, it seemed unlikely — and hour by 
 hour it seemed less likely — ^that any would contra- 
 dict him. 
 
 He knew this as he walked in the sunlight before 
 the inn, his spurs ringing on the stones as he made 
 each turn, his movements watched by a hundred peer- 
 ing eyes. After all, it was not hard to rule, nor to 
 have one's way in this world. But then, he went on 
 to remember, not everyone had his self-control, or 
 that contempt for the weak and unsuccessful which 
 lightly took the form of mercy. He held Augers 
 safe, curbed by his gibbets. With M. de Montsoreau 
 he might have trouble; but the trouble would be 
 slight, for he knew Montsoreau, and what it was the 
 Lieutenant-Governor ' valued above profitless blood- 
 shed. 
 
 He might have felt less confident had he known 
 what was passing at that moment in a room off the 
 small cloister of the Abbey of St. Aubin, a room 
 known at Angers as the Little Chapter-House. It 
 was a long chamber with a groined roof and stone 
 walls, panelled as high as a tall man might reach with 
 dark chestnut wood. Gloomily lighted by three 
 grated windows, which looked on a small inner green, 
 the last resting-place of the Benedictines, the room 
 itself seemed at first sight no more than the last rest- 
 ing-place of worn-out odds and ends. Piles of thin 
 sheepskin folios, dog's-eared and dirty, the rejected 
 of the choir, stood against the walls ; here and there 
 among them lay a large brass-bound tome on which 
 20 
 
306 COHSTT HANOTBAL. 
 
 the chains that had fettered it to desk or lectern still 
 rusted. A broken altar cumbered one corner: a 
 stand bearing a curious — and rotting — map filled 
 another. In the other two corners a medley of faded 
 scutcheons and banners, which had . seen their last 
 Toussaint procession, mouldered slowly into dust — 
 into much dust. The air of the room was full of it. 
 
 In spite of which the long oak table that filled 
 the middle of the chamber 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 first 
 glance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded 
 as the rubbish behind them, it needed but a second 
 look at their lean jaws and hungry eyes to be sure of 
 their vitality. 
 
 He who sat in the great chair at the end of the 
 table was indeed rather plump than thin. His white 
 hands, gay with rings, were well cared for ; his peev- 
 ish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy 
 of a Cardinal. But though the Bishop's Vicar was 
 heard with deference, it was noticeable that when he 
 had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest 
 on his left, to Father Pezelay, and waited to hear his 
 opinion before they gave their own. The Father's 
 energy, indeed, had dominated the Angevins, clerks 
 and townsfolk alike, as it had dominated the Parisian 
 Mvotes who knew him well. The vigour which hate 
 inspires passes often for solid strength ; and he who 
 had seen with his own eyes the things done in Paris 
 spoke with an authority to which the more timid 
 quickly and easily succumbed. 
 
 Yet gibbets are ugly things ; and Thuriot, the print- 
 er, whose pride had been tickled by a summons to 
 the conclave, began to wonder if he had done wisely 
 
m THE LITTLE CHAPTEE-HOUSE. 307 
 
 in coming. Lescot, too, who presently ventured a 
 word. "But if M. de Tavannes' order be to do noth- 
 ing," he began doubtfully, "you would not, reverend 
 Father, have us resist His Majesty's will? " 
 
 "God forbid, my friend!" Father Pezelay an- 
 swered with unction. "But His Majesty's wiU is to 
 do — to do for the glory of God and the saints and His 
 Holy Church! How? Is that which was lawful at 
 Saumur unlawful here? Is that which was lawful at 
 Tours unlawftd here? Is that which the King did in 
 Paris — to the utter extermination of the unbelieving 
 and the purging of that Sacred City — against his will 
 here? Nay, his will is to do — to do as they have 
 done in Paris and in Tours and in Saumur ! But his 
 Minister is unfaithful! The woman whom he has 
 taken to his bosom has bewildered him with her 
 charms and her sorceries, and put it in his mind to 
 deny the mission he bears." 
 
 "You are sure, beyond chance of error, that he 
 bears letters to that effect, 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 an- 
 swered, drumming on the table with his fingers and 
 speaking somewhat sullenly, "I was in the Chancel- 
 lery and I saw them. They are duplicates of those 
 sent to Bordeaux." 
 
 "Then the preparations he has made must be 
 against the Huguenots," Lescot, the ex-Provost, said 
 with a sigh of relief. And Thuriot's face lightened 
 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 
 
308 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 shrill voice. "I tell you the woman has bewitched 
 him, and he will deny his letters ! " 
 
 For a moment there was silence. Then, "But dare 
 he do that, reverend Father?" Lescot asked slowly 
 and incredulously. "What? Suppress the King's 
 letters?" 
 
 "There is nothing he will not dare! There is noth- 
 ing he has not dared ! " the priest answered vehe- 
 mently; the recollection of the scene in the great 
 guard-room of the Louvre, when Tavannes had so 
 skilfully turned the tables on him, instilling venom 
 into his tone. "She who lives with him is the devil's. 
 She has bewitched him with her spells and her Sab- 
 baths ! She bears the mark of the Beast on her bo- 
 som, and for her the fire is even now kindling ! " 
 
 The laymen who were present shuddered. The two 
 canons who faced them crossed themselves, muttering 
 "Avaunt, Satan!" 
 
 "It is for you to decide," the priest continued, gaz- 
 ing on them passionately, "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 is none other holds the sword 
 here! Are you for him or against him? Are you 
 for him, or for the woman with the mark of the 
 Beast? Are you for God or against God? For the 
 hour draws near! The time is at hand! You must 
 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 the 
 Archdeacon last. 
 
 The Bishop's Vicar fidgeted in his chair, his face a 
 
IN THE LITTLE CHAPTER-HOUSE. 309 
 
 shade more sallow, his cheeks hanging a trifle more 
 loosely, than ordinary. " If my brother were here ! " 
 he muttered. "If M. de Montsoreau had arrived! " 
 
 But Father Pezelay knew whose will would prevail 
 if Montsoreau met Tavannes at his leisure. To force 
 Montsoreau's hand, to surround him on his first en- 
 trance with a howling mob already committed to vio- 
 lence, to set him at their head and pledge him before 
 he knew with whom 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 their shadows lay even on the chapter 
 table, and darkened the faces of his most forward 
 associates'? That for a moment staggered the priest; 
 and had" not private hatred, ever renewed by the 
 touch of the scar on his brow, fed the fire of bigotry 
 he had yielded, as the rabble of Angers were yield- 
 ing, reluctant and scowling, to the hand which held 
 the city in its grip. 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! To have dragged the Bishop's Vicar hither, 
 and fawned and cajoled and threatened by turns — 
 and for nothing ! These things were passing bitter — 
 passing bitter, when the morsel of vengeance he had 
 foreseen smacked so sweet on the tongue. 
 
 For it was no common vengeance, no layman's ven- 
 geance, coarse and clumsy, which the priest had 
 imagined in the dark hours of the night, when his 
 feverish brain kept him wakeful. To see Count 
 Hannibal roll in the dust had gone but a little way 
 towards satisfying him. 'No ! But to drag from his 
 arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject 
 her to shame and torture in the depths of some con- 
 
310 COUNT HAIOriBAL. 
 
 vent, and finally to burn her as a witch — it was that 
 which had seemed to the priest in the night hours a 
 vengeance sweet in the mouth. 
 
 But the thing seemed unattainable in the circum- 
 stances. The city was cowed ; the priest knew that 
 no dependence was to be placed on Montsoreau, 
 whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. 
 To the Archdeacon's feeble words, therefore, "We 
 must look," the priest retorted sternly, "not to M. 
 de Montsoreau, reverend Father, but to the pious of 
 Angers ! We must cry in the streets, ' They do vio- 
 lence to God! They wound God and His 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 dull eyes glowed awhile. "Amen! 
 Amen ! " Then his chin sank again upon his breast. 
 
 But the canons of Angers looked doubtfully at 
 one another, and timidly at the speakers; the meat 
 was too strong for them. And Lescot and Thuriot 
 shufiled in their seats. At length, "I do not know," 
 Lescot muttered timidly. 
 
 "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 f fil- 
 tered. And Thuriot nodded assent. Gibbets were 
 erected in those days rather for laymen than for the 
 Church. 
 
 "You doubt!" the priest cried. "You doubt!" 
 His baleful eyes passed from one to the other ; from 
 
m THE LITTLE CHAPTEE-HOUSE. 311 
 
 them to the rest of the company. He saw that with 
 the exception of the Cur6 of St. -Benoist all were of a 
 mind. "You doubt! Nay, but I see what it is ! It 
 is this," he continued slowly and in a different tone, 
 "the King's will goes for nothing in Angers! His 
 writ runs not here. And Holy Church cries in vain 
 for help against the oppressor. I tell you, the sorcer- 
 ess who has bewitched him has bewitched you 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 fear of witchcraft was great in An- 
 gers, the peril, if accused of it, enormous. Even the 
 canons looked startled. "If — if my brother were 
 here," the Archdeacon repeated feebly, "something 
 might be done ! " 
 
 "Vain is the help of man!" the priest retorted 
 sternly, and with a gesture of sublime dismissal. " I 
 turn from you to a mightier than you ! " And, lean- 
 ing his head on his hands, he covered his face. 
 
 The Archdeacon and the churchmen looked at him, 
 and from him their scared eyes passed to one another. 
 Their one desire now was to be quit of the matter, to 
 have done with it, to escape; and one by one with 
 the air of whipped curs they rose to their feet, and in 
 a hurry to be gone muttered a word of excuse shame- 
 facedly and got themselves out of the room. Lescot 
 and the printer were not slow to follow, and in less 
 than a minute the two strange preachers, the men 
 from Paris, remained the only occupants of the 
 chamber; save, to be precise, a lean official in rusty 
 black, who throughout the conference had sat by the 
 door. 
 
312 COUNT HAISTNIBAL. 
 
 TJntil the last shuffling footstep had ceased to 
 sound in the still cloister no one spoke. Then Father 
 Pezelay looked up, and the eyes of the 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 if the 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 go guarded," the Cure of St.- 
 Benoist continued in the same dull fashion. "He 
 cannot leave many in the house with the woman. If 
 it were attacked in his absence^ — " 
 
 "He would return, and " Father Pezelay shook 
 
 his head, his cheek turned a shade paler. Clearly, 
 he saw with his mind's eye more than he expressed. 
 
 "Hoc est corpus," the other muttered, his dreamy 
 gaze on the table. "If he met us then, on his way to 
 the house, and we had bell, book, and candle, 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 greedy ears, 
 failed to follow the meaning of his superior's words. 
 But that he spoke plainly enough for his hearer 
 ' Father Pezelay 's face was witness. Astonishment, 
 fear, hope, triumph, the lean pale face reflected all in 
 turn; and, underlying all, a subtle malignant mis- 
 
IN THE LITTLE CHAPTEE-HOUSE. 313 
 
 chief, as if a devil's eyes 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 mut- 
 tered. "But have you thought? He who bears 
 the " 
 
 "Brunt?" the other whispered with a chuclde. 
 "He may suffer? Yes, but it 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 for him the crown of martyrdom 
 is reserved?" The dull eyes flickered with unholy 
 amusement. 
 
 "And the alarm that brings him from the Council 
 Chamber?" 
 
 "Need not of necessity be real. The pinch will be 
 to jnake 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 support him." 
 
 Father Pezelay turned to the lean man who kept 
 the door, and, beckoning to him, conferred a while 
 with him in a low voice. 
 
 "A score or so I might get," the man answered 
 presently after some debate. "And well posted, 
 something might be done. But we are not in Paris, 
 good father, where the Quarter of the Butchers is to 
 be counted on, and men know that to kill Huguenots 
 is to do God service ! Here " — he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders contemptuously — "they are sheep." 
 
 "It is the King's will," the priest answered, frown- 
 ing on him darkly. 
 
 "Ay, but it is not Tavannes'," the man in black 
 
314 COUlfT HANNIBAL. 
 
 answered with a grimace. "And he rules here to- 
 day." 
 
 "Fool!" Pezelay retorted. "He has not twenty 
 with him. Do you do as I say, and leave the rest to 
 heaven ! " 
 
 "And to you, good master?" the other answered. 
 "For it is not all you are 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. Ste. 
 Genevieve is ever kind to her servants." 
 
CHAPTEE 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 nar- 
 row lane, and commanded no prospect more informing 
 than a blind wall, two men sat, fretting ; or, rather, 
 one man sat, his chin resting on his hand, while his 
 companion, less patient or more sanguine, strode 
 ceaselessly to and fro. In the first despair of capture 
 — for they were prisoners — ^they had made up their 
 minds to the worst, and the slow hours of two days 
 had passed over their heads without kindling more 
 than a faint spark of hope in their breasts. But 
 when they had been taken out and forced to mount 
 and ride — at first with feet tied to the horses' girths 
 — they had let the change, the movement, and the 
 open air fan the flame. They had muttered a word 
 to one another, they had wondered, they had rea- 
 soned. And though the silence of their guards — 
 from whose sour vigilance the keenest question drew 
 no response — seemed of ill-omen, and, taken with 
 their knowledge of the man into whose hands they 
 had fallen, should have quenched the spark, these 
 two, having special reasons, the one the buoyancy of 
 youth, the other the faith of an enthusiast, cherished 
 the flame. In the breast of one indeed it had blazed 
 into a confidence so arrogant that he now took all for 
 granted, and was not content. 
 
316 COUHT HAimiBAL. 
 
 "It is easy for you to say, ' Patience! ' " he cried, 
 as he walked the floor in a fever. "You stand to lose 
 no more than your life, and if you escape go free at 
 all points ! But he has robbed me of more than life ! 
 Of my love, and my self-respect, curse him ! He has 
 worsted me not once, but twice and thrice ! And if 
 he lets me go now, dismissing me with my life, I shall 
 — I shall Mil him ! " he concluded, through his teeth. 
 
 "You are hard to please! " 
 
 "I shall kill him!" 
 
 "That were to fall still lower!" the minister an- 
 swered, gravely regarding him. "I would, M. de 
 Tignonville, you remembered that you are not yet out 
 of jeopardy. Such a frame of mind as yours is no 
 good preparation for death, let me tell you ! " 
 
 "He will not kill us!" Tignonville cried. "He 
 knows better than most men how to avenge himself ! " 
 
 "Then he is above most! " La Tribe retorted. "For 
 my part I wish I were sure of the fact, and I should 
 sit here more at ease." 
 
 "If we could escape, now, of ourselves! " Tignon- 
 ville cried. "Then we should save not only life, but 
 honour ! Man, think of it ! If we could escape, not 
 by his leave but against it ! Are you sure that this is 
 Angers'? " 
 
 "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 — and 
 peering through the rough wooden lattice. "But if 
 we could escape we are strangers 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 a shrug of resignation, "'tis no use 
 to talk of it while yonder foot goes up and down 
 
THE ESCAPE. 317 
 
 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 1 " 
 
 " We could take up a board." 
 
 The minister raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "We could take up a board!" the younger man 
 repeated ; and he stepped the mean chamber from end 
 to end, his eyes on the floor. " Or — yes, mon Dieu .' " 
 with a change of attitude, "we might break through 
 the roof ! " And, throwing back his head, he scanned 
 the cobwebbed surface of laths which rested on the 
 uncoiled joists. 
 
 "TJmph!" 
 
 "Well, why not, monsieur? Why not break 
 through the ceiling "?" Tignonville repeated, and in 
 a fit of energy he seized his companion's shoulder 
 and shook him. "Stand on the bed, and you can 
 reach it." 
 
 "And the floor which rests on it! " 
 
 "Far 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 of a spur 
 through the laths. 
 
 La Tribe's expression changed. He rose slowly to 
 his feet. "Try again! " he said. 
 
 Tignonville, his face red, drove the spur again be- 
 tween the laths, and worked it to and fro until he 
 could pass his fingers into the hole he had made. 
 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 way and that. His 
 eyes, as he looked down at his companion through the 
 
318 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 ialling 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 tUes." And he 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 the floor ; 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 the window blocking much of the light, and Tig- 
 nonville laid sullenly on the bed. Even a suspicious 
 eye must have failed to detect what had been done ; 
 the three who looked in suspected nothing and saw 
 nothing. They went out, the key was turned again 
 on the prisoners, and the footsteps of two of the men 
 were heard descending the stairs. 
 
 "We have an hour, now!" Tignonville cried; and 
 leaping, with flaming eyes, on the bed, he fell to 
 hacking and jabbing and tearing at the laths amid a 
 rain of dust and rubbish. Fortunately the stuff, fall- 
 ing on the bed, made little noise ; and in five minutes, 
 working half- choked and in a frenzy of impatience, 
 he had made a hole through which he could thrust his 
 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 scarcely breathe, yet they 
 dared not pause. Mounting on La Tribe's shoulders 
 — who took his stand on the bed — ^the young man 
 thrust his head and arms through the hole, and, rest- 
 ing his elbows on the joists, dragged himself up, and 
 with a final effort of strength landed nose and knees 
 
THE ESCAPE. 319 
 
 on the timbers, which formed his supports. A mo- 
 ment to take breath, and press his torn and bleeding 
 fingers to his lips; then, reaching down, he gave a 
 hand to his companion and dragged him to the same 
 place of vantage. 
 
 They found themselves in a long narrow cockloft, 
 not more than six feet high at the highest, and insuf- 
 ferably hot. Between the tiles, which sloped steeply 
 on either hand, a faint light filtered in, disclosing the 
 giant rooftree running the length of the house, and at 
 the farther end of the loft the main tie-beam, from 
 which a network of knees and struts rose to the roof- 
 tree. 
 
 Tignonville, who seemed possessed by unnatural 
 energy, stayed only to put off his boots. Then 
 " Courage ! " he panted, " all goes well ! " and, carry- 
 ing his boots in his hands, he led the way, stepping 
 gingerly from joist to joist until he reached the tie- 
 beam. He climbed on it, and, squeezing himself 
 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 -frame lowered his hopes ; 
 but as he approached it, joy! Low down in the 
 corner where the roof descended, a small door, 
 square, and not more than two feet high, disclosed 
 itself. 
 
 The two crept to it on hands and knees and listened. 
 "It will lead to the leads, I doubt?" La Tribe whis- 
 pered. They dared not raise their voices. 
 
 "As well that way as another!" Tignonville an- 
 swered recklessly. He was the 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. 
 
320 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "Naught matters if we can escape Mm!" lie panted. 
 And he pushed the door recklessly. It flew open, the 
 two drew back their faces with a cry of alarm. 
 
 They were looking, not into the sunlight, but into 
 a grey dingy garret open to the roof, and occupying 
 the upper part of a gable-end somewhat higher than 
 the wing in which they had been confined. Filthy 
 truckle-beds and ragged pallets covered the floor, 
 and, eked out by old saddles and threadbare horse- 
 rugs, marked the sleeping quarters either of the ser- 
 vants or of travellers of the meaner sort. But the 
 dinginess was naught to the two who knelt looking 
 into it, afraid to move. Was the place 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 cloth- 
 ing, scanned each dubious shape. And slowly, as the 
 silence persisted, their heads came forward until the 
 whole floor lay within the field of sight. And still 
 no sound ! At last Tignonville stirred, crept through 
 the doorway, and rose 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 closed it below. 
 Tignonville signed to La Tribe to wait, and himself 
 crept down the stairs. He reached the door, and, 
 stooping, set his eye to the hole through which the 
 string of the latch passed. A moment he looked, and 
 then, turning on tiptoe, he stole up again, his face 
 fallen. 
 
 "You may throw the handle after the hatchet ! " he 
 muttered. "The man on guard is within four yards 
 
THE ESCAPE. 321 
 
 of the door." And in the rage of disappointment he 
 struck the air with his hand. 
 
 "Is he looking this way? " 
 
 "Ko. He is looking down the passage towards our 
 room. But it is impossible to pass him." 
 
 La Tribe nodded, and moved softly to one of the 
 lattices which lighted the room. It might be possi- 
 ble to escape that way, by the parapet and the 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 other window, in which a little wick- 
 et in the lattice stood open. He looked through it. 
 In the giddy void white pigeons were wheeling in the 
 dazzling sunshine, and gazing down he saw far below 
 him, in the hot square, a row of booths, and troops of 
 people moving to and fro like pigmies ; and — and a 
 strange thing, in the middle of aU! Involuntarily, 
 as if the persons below could have seen his face at 
 the tiny dormer, he drew back. 
 
 He beckoned to M. Tignonville to come to him; 
 and when the young man complied, 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 of dust 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 of prayer. The object which 
 had fixed his gaze was a gibbet : the only one of the 
 three which could be seen from their eyrie. 
 
 Tignonville, on the other hand, turned sharply 
 away, and with haggard eyes stared about the room. 
 21 
 
322 COTnSTT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "We might defend the staircase," he muttered. 
 "Two men might hold it for a time." 
 
 "We have no food." 
 
 "No." And then he gripped La Tribe's arm. "I 
 have it ! " he cried. " And it may do ! It must do ! " 
 he continued, his face working. " See ! " And lifting 
 from the floor one of the ragged pallets, from which 
 the straw protruded in a dozen places, he set it flat 
 on his head. It drooped at each comer — ^it had seen 
 much wear — and while it almost hid his face, it re- 
 vealed his grimy chin and mortar -stained shoulders. 
 He turned to his companion. 
 
 La Tribe's face glowed as he looked. " It may do ! " 
 he cried. "It's a chance! But you are right! It 
 may do ! " 
 
 Tignonville dropped the ragged mattress, and tore 
 off his coat ; then he rent 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 up his 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 his companion's example, and now 
 stood under a similar burden. With breeches rent 
 and whitened, and his upper garments in no better 
 case, he looked a sorry 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 they may enter 
 our room and find it empty ! Tou are ready"? Then, 
 not too softly, or it may rouse suspicion ! And mum- 
 ble something at the door." 
 
THE ESCAPE. 323 
 
 He began himself to scold, and, muttering incohe- 
 rently, stumbled down the staircase, the pallet on his 
 head rustling against the wall on each side. Arrived 
 at the door he fumbled clumsily with the latch, and, 
 when the door gave way, plumped out with an oath 
 — as if the awkward burden he bore were the only 
 thing on his mind. Badelon — ^he was on duty — 
 stared at the apparition; but the next moment he 
 sniffed the pallet, which was none of the freshest, 
 and, turning up his nose, he retreated a pace. He 
 had no suspicion ; the men did not come from the 
 part of the house where the prisoners lay, and he 
 stood aside to let them pass. In a moment, stagger- 
 ing, and going a little unsteadily, as if they scarcely 
 saw their way, they had passed by him, and were de- 
 scending the staircase. 
 
 So far well! Unfortunately, when they reached 
 the foot of that flight they came on the main passage 
 of the first-floor. It ran right and left, and Tignon- 
 ville did not know which way he must turn to reach 
 the lower staircase. Yet he dared not hesitate; in 
 the passage, waiting about the doors, were four or 
 five servants, and in the distance he caught sight of 
 three men belonging to Tavannes' company. At any 
 moment, too, an upper servant might meet them, ask 
 what they were doing, and detect the fraud. He 
 turned at random, therefore — ^to the left as it chanced 
 — and marched along bravely, until the very thing 
 happened which he had feared. A man came from 
 a room plump upon them, saw them, and held up his 
 hands in horror. 
 
 "What are you doing?" he cried in a rage and 
 with an oath. "Who set you on this? " 
 
 TignonviUe's tongue clave to the roof of his 
 
324 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 mouth. La Tribe from behind muttered something 
 about the stable. 
 
 "And time too!" the man said. "Faugh! But 
 how come you this way? Are you 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 through her ladyship's room at 
 once! If my lord had been in and met you! Now 
 then, do as I tell you! Are you drunk? " 
 
 With a sullen air Tignonville threw in his mattress. 
 La Tribe did the same. Fortunately the passage was 
 ill-lighted, and there were many helpers and strange 
 servants in the inn. The butler only thought them 
 ill-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, "Com- 
 ing ! Coming ! " he cried in answer to a distant sum- 
 mons ; and -he hurried away on the errand which 
 their appearance had interrupted. 
 
 Tignonville would have gone to work to recover the 
 pallets, for the man had left the key in the door. 
 But as he went to do so the butler looked back, and 
 the two were obliged to make a pretence of following 
 him. A moment, however, and he was gone; and 
 TignonviUe turned anew to regain them. A second 
 time fortune was adverse ; a door within a pace of 
 him opened, a woman came out. She recoiled from 
 the strange figure ; her eyes met 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 other end of the passage had caught her 
 cry, and were looking that way. With presence of 
 
THE ESCAPE. 325 
 
 mind Tignonville clapped his hand on her mouth, 
 and, huddling her by force into the room, followed 
 her, with La Tribe at his heels. 
 
 It was a large room, in which seven or eight peo- 
 ple, who had been at prayers when the cry startled 
 them, were rising from their knees. The first thing 
 they saw was Javette on the threshold, struggling in 
 the grasp of a wild man, ragged and begrimed ; they 
 deemed the city risen and the massacre upon them. 
 Carlat threw himself before his mistress, the Countess 
 in her turn sheltered a. young girl, who stood beside 
 her and from whose face the last trace of colour 
 had fled. Madame Carlat and a waiting-woman ran 
 shrieking to the window; another instant and the 
 alarm would 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 less than their alarm. The Coun- 
 tess tried twice to speak ; the third time, " Have you 
 escaped?" she muttered. 
 
 TignonvUle 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 Carlat answered, awaking suddenly 
 to the situation. " Through my closet ! Once in the 
 yard they may pass out through the stables." 
 
 "Which way?" Tignonville asked impatiently. 
 "Don't stand looking at me, but -" 
 
326 COUNT HAJraiBAL. 
 
 "Through this door!" Madame Carlat answered, 
 hurrying to it. 
 
 He was following when the Countess stepped 
 forward and interposed between him and the door. 
 "Stay!" she cried; and there was not one who did 
 not notice a new decision in her voice, a new dignity 
 in her bearing. "Stay, monsieur, we may be going 
 too fast. To go out now and in that guise — ^may it 
 not be to incur greater peril than you incur here? I 
 feel sure that you are in no danger of your life at 
 present. Therefore, why run the risk " 
 
 "In no danger, madame!" he cried, interrupting 
 her in astonishment. "Have you seen the gibbet in 
 the Square? Do you call that no danger? " 
 
 "It is not erected for you." 
 
 "Ifo?" 
 
 "1^0, monsieur," she answered firmly, "I swear it 
 is not. And I know of reasons, urgent reasons, why 
 you should not go. M. de Tavannes" — she named 
 her husband nervously, as conscious of the weak spot 
 — "before he rode abroad laid strict orders on all to 
 keep within, since the smallest matter might kindle 
 the city. Therefore, M. de Tignonville, I request, 
 nay I entreat," she continued with greater urgency, 
 as she saw his gesture of denial, "yoa 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 if she 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. Tignonville," 
 
THE ESCAPE. 327 
 
 she added desperately, seeing that he was about to 
 refuse, "to remain here." 
 
 "Once!" he retorted, lashing himself into ignoble 
 rage. "By the love I once had! Say, rather, the 
 love I have, madams — for I am no woman-weather- 
 cock to wed the winner, and hold or not hold, stay or 
 go, as he commands! You, it seems," he continued 
 with a sneer, "have learned the wife's lesson well! 
 You would practise on me now, as you practised on 
 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 what shall I 
 get nowf The same! 'No, madame," he continued 
 bitterly, addressing himself as much to the Carlats 
 and the others as to his old mistress. "I do not 
 change! I loved! I love! I was going and I go! 
 If death lay beyond that door " — and he pointed to it 
 — " and life at his will were certain here, I would pass 
 the threshold rather than take my life of Tiim ! " 
 And, dragging La Tribe with him, with a passionate 
 gesture he rushed by her, opened the door, and dis- 
 appeared in the next room. 
 
 The Countess took one pace forward, as if she 
 would have followed him, as it she would have tried 
 farther persuasion. But as she moved a cry rooted 
 her to the spot. . A rush of feet and the babel of 
 many voices filled the passage with a tide of sound, 
 which drew rapidly nearer. The escape was known ! 
 Would the fugitives have time to slip out below? 
 
 Someone knocked at the door, tried it, pushed and 
 beat on it. But the Countess and aU 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 ; as the Countess leaned from the 
 
328 COUNT HAlfOTBAL. 
 
 window, first one dusty figure and then a second 
 darted from a door below, and made for the nearest 
 turning out of the Place Ste. -Croix. Before they 
 gained it, four men, of whom Badelon, his grey locks 
 flying, was first, dashed out in pursuit, and the street 
 rang with cries of "Stop him! Seize him! Seize 
 him ! " Someone — one of the pursuers or another — 
 to add to the alarm let off a musket, and in a mo- 
 ment, as if the report had been a signal, the Place 
 was in a hubbub, people fiocked into it with mys- 
 terious quickness, and from a neighbouring roof — 
 whence, precisely, it was impossible to say — the 
 crackling fire of a 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 across the Place to- 
 wards St. -Maurice, seeking to lose themselves in the 
 gathering 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 La 
 Tribe stumbled over him and fell also. The four 
 riders flung themselves fiercely on their prey, secured 
 them, and. began to drag them with oaths and curses 
 towards the door of the inn. 
 
 The Countess had seen all from her window ; had 
 held her breath while they ran, had drawn it sharply 
 when they fell. Now " They have them ! " she mut- 
 tered, a sob choking her, "They have them!" And 
 she clasped her hands. K he had followed her ad- 
 vice ! If he had only followed her advice ! 
 
 But the issue proved less certain than she deemed 
 it. The crowd, which grew each moment, knew 
 
THE ESCAPE. 329 
 
 nothing of pursuers or pursued. On the contrary, a 
 cry went up that the riders were Huguenots, and 
 that the Huguenots were rising and slaying the Cath- 
 olics ; and as no story was too improbable for those 
 days, and this was one constantly set about, first one 
 stone flew, and then another, and another. A man 
 with a staff darted forward and struck Badelon on 
 the shoulder, two or three others pressed in and jos- 
 tled the riders; and if tiixee of Tavannes' following 
 had not run out on the instant and faced the mob 
 with their pikes, and for a moment forced them to 
 give back, the prisoners would have been rescued 
 at the very door of the inn. As it was they were 
 dragged in, and the gates were flung to and barred in 
 the nick of time. Another moment, almost another 
 second, and the mob had seized them. As it was, a 
 hail of stones poured on the front of the inn, and 
 amid the rising yells of the xabble there presently 
 floated heavy and slow over the city the tolling of the 
 great bell of St. Maurice. 
 
CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 SACRILEGE ! 
 
 M. DE MoNTSOEEATJ, Lieutenant-Governor of Sau- 
 mur, almost rose from his seat in his astonishment. 
 "What! No letters'? " he cried, a hand on either arm 
 of his 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 was unmoved. "No, "he said. "I 
 bear none." 
 
 M. de Montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his 
 corselet, had the second place of honour at the foot 
 of the table, frowned. "But — ^but, M. le Comte," he 
 said, "my instructions from Monsieur were to pro- 
 ceed to carry out his Majesty's will in co-operation 
 with you, who, I understood, would bring letters de 
 par le Boi." 
 
 "I had letters," Count Hannibal answered, negli- 
 gently. "But on the way I mislaid them." 
 ^ "Mislaid them?" Montsoreau cried, unable to be- 
 lieve his ears; while the smaller dignitaries of the 
 city, the magistrates and churchmen, who sat on 
 either side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. It was 
 incredible ! It was unbelievable ! Mislay the King's 
 letters! Who had ever heard of such a thing? 
 
SACEILEGE! 331 
 
 "Yes, I mislaid them. Lost them, if you like it 
 better." 
 
 "But you jest! " the Lieutenant-Governor retorted, 
 moving uneasily in his chair. 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. "You jest, surely, monsieur! Men do not 
 lose his Majesty's letters, by the way." 
 
 "When they contain his Majesty's will, no," Ta- 
 vannes answered, with a peculiar smile. 
 
 "You imply, then?" 
 
 Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders but had not 
 answered when Bigot entered and handed him his 
 sweetmeat box; he paused to open it and select a 
 prune. He was long in selecting ; but no change of 
 countenance led any of those at the table to suspect 
 that inside the lid of the box was a message — a scrap 
 of paper informing him that Montsoreau had left fifty 
 spears in the suburb without the Saumur gate, besides 
 those whom he had brought openly into the town. 
 Tavannes read the note slowly while he seemed 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 he does not mean to be carried out. 
 There are things which start up before the eye," Ta- 
 vannes continued, negligently tapping the box on the 
 table, "and there are things which do not; some- 
 times the latter are the more important. You, better 
 than I, M. de Montsoreau, know that the King in the 
 Gallery at the Louvre is one, and in his closet is 
 another. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
332 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 "And that being so " 
 
 "You do not mean to carry tlie letters into effect •? " 
 
 "Had I the letters, certainly, my friend. I should 
 be bound by them. But I took good care to lose 
 them," Tavannes added naively. "I am no fool." 
 
 "Umph!" 
 
 "However," Count Hannibal continued, with an 
 airy gesture, "that is my affair. If you, M. de Mont- 
 soreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence of my 
 letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so 
 — after midnight of to-day." 
 
 M. de Montsoreau breathed hard. "And why," 
 he asked, half sulkily and half ponder oasly, "after 
 midnight only, M. le Comte?" 
 
 "Merely that I may be clear of all suspicion of 
 having lot or part in the matter," Count Hannibal 
 answered pleasantly. "After midnight of to-night 
 by all means, do as you please. Until midnight, by 
 your leave, we wiU be quiet." 
 
 The Lieutenant-Governor moved doubtfully in his 
 chair, the fear — which Tavannes had shrewdly in- 
 stilled into his mind — that he might be disowned if 
 he carried out his instructions, struggling with his 
 avarice and his self-importance. He was rather 
 crafty than bold ; and such things had been, he knew. 
 Little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, 
 the notion of dealing with one or two and holding the 
 body of the Huguenots to ransom — a notion which, in 
 spite of everything, was to bear good fruit for An- 
 gers — began to form in his mind. The plan suited 
 him : it left him free to face either way, and it would 
 fill his pockets more genteelly than would open rob- 
 bery. On the other hand, he would offend his 
 brother and the fanatical party, with whom he com- 
 
SACEILBGEI 333 
 
 monly acted. They were looking to see him assert 
 himself. They were looking to hear him declare him- 
 self. And 
 
 Harshly Count Hannibal's voice broke in on his 
 thoughts; harshly, a something sinister in its tone. 
 "Where is your brother?" he said. And it was 
 evident that he had not noted his absence until then. 
 "My lord's Vicar of all people should be here!" he 
 continued, leaning forward and looking round the 
 table. His brow was stormy. 
 
 Lescot squirmed under his eye, Thuriot turned pale 
 and trembled. It was one of the canons of St. -Mau- 
 rice who at length took on himself to answer. "His 
 Lordship requested, M. le Comte," he ventured, "that 
 you would excuse him. His duties " 
 
 "Is he ill?" 
 
 "He " 
 
 "Is he ill, sirrah?" Tavannes roared. And while 
 aU bowed before the lightning of his eye, no man at 
 the table knew what had roused the sudden tempest, 
 ^ut Bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose 
 ear, keen as his master's, had caught the distant re- 
 port of a musket shot. "If he be not ill," Tavannes 
 continued, rising and looking round the table in 
 search of signs of guUt, " and there be foul play here, 
 and he the player, the Bishop's own hand shall not 
 save him ! By heaven it shall not ! Nor yours ! " he 
 continued, looking fiercely at Montsoreau, "Nor 
 your 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 or not ! 
 All I say is, if there be foul play here " 
 
 "If!" Tavannes retorted. "At least, if there be, 
 
334 COUNT HAIJWIBAL. 
 
 there be gibbets too ! And I see necks ! " be add- 
 ed, leaning forward. "Kecks!" And then, with a 
 look of flame, "Let no man leave this table until I 
 return," he cried, "or he will have to deal with me. 
 liTay," he continued, changing his tone abruptly, as 
 the prudence which never entirely left him — and per- 
 haps the remembrance of the other's fifty spearmen 
 — sobered him in the midst of his rage, "I am hasty. 
 I mean not you, M. de Montsoreau ! Eide where you 
 will, 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 all staring after him, strode down 
 the room. An instant he paused on the threshold 
 and looked back ; then he passed out, and clattered 
 down the stone stairs. His horse and riders were 
 waiting, but, his foot in the stirrup, 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 Tavannes from the 
 old Town Hall — now abandoned — see the Place Ste. - 
 Croix. But that he could cure. He struck spurs to 
 his horse, and, followed by his ten horsemen, he clat- 
 tered noisily down the paved street. A dozen groups 
 hurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the 
 walls, or saved themselves in doorways. He was up 
 with them, he was beyond them ! Another hundred 
 yards, and he would see the Place. 
 
 And then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, 
 discovering what was before him. In the narrow gut 
 
SAOEILEGE! 335 
 
 of the way a great black banner, borne on two poles, 
 was lurching towards him. It was moving in the 
 van of a dark procession of priests, who, with their 
 attendants and a crowd of devout, filled the street 
 from wall to wall. They were chanting one of the 
 penitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drown the 
 uproar in the Place beyond them. 
 
 They made no way, and Count Hannibal swore fu- 
 riously, suspecting treachery. But he was no mad- 
 man, and at the moment the least reflection would 
 have sent him about to seek another road. Unfortu- 
 nately, as he hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of 
 warning to his horse's head and seized it; and Ta- 
 vannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self- 
 control. He struck the fellow down, and with a 
 reckless word rode headlong into the procession, shout- 
 ing to the black robes to make way, make way ! A cry, 
 nay, a very 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 the conse- 
 crated vessels which he had been bearing rolled in 
 the mud, Tavannes saw that they bore the canopy 
 and the Host ! 
 
 He knew what he had done, then. Before his 
 horse's iron shoes struck the ground again, his face — 
 even his face — had lost its colour. But he knew also 
 that to hesitate now, to pause now, was to be torn in 
 pieces; for his riders, seeing that which the banner 
 had veiled from him, had not followed him, and he 
 was alone, in the middle of brandished fists and 
 weapons. He hesitated not a moment. Drawing a 
 pistol he spurred onwards, his horse plunging wildly 
 among the shrieking priests ; and though a hundred 
 
336 COUKT HANMBAL. 
 
 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! Sacri- 
 lege ! " rose to heaven, and men were gathering. In 
 front the crowd which skirmished about the inn was 
 less dense, and, ignorant of the thing that had hap- 
 pened in the narrow street, made ready way for him, 
 the boldest recoiling before the look on his face. 
 Some who stood nearest to the inn, and had begun to 
 hurl stones at the window and to beat on the doors — 
 which had only the minute before closed on Badelon 
 and his prisoners — supposed that he had his riders 
 behind him ; and these fled apace. But he knew bet- 
 ter even than they the value of time ; he pushed his 
 horse up to the gates, and hammered them with his 
 boot while he kept his pistol-hand towards the Place 
 and the cathedral, watching for the transformation 
 which he knew would come ! 
 
 And come it did ; on a sudden, in a twinkling ! A 
 white-faced monk, frenzy in his eyes, appeared in the 
 midst of the crowd. He stood and tore his garments 
 before the people, and, stooping, threw dust on his 
 head. A second and a third followed his example ; 
 then from a thousand throats the cry of " Sacrilege ! 
 Sacrilege ! " rolled up, while clerks flew wildly hither 
 and thither shrieking the tale, and priests denied the 
 Sacraments to Angers until it should purge itself of 
 the evil thing. 
 
 By that time Count Hannibal had saved himself 
 
SACEILBGE! 337 
 
 behind the great gates, by the skin of his teeth. The 
 gates had opened to him in time. But none knew 
 better than he that Angers had no gates thick enough, 
 nor walls of a height, to save him for many hours 
 from the storm he had let loose ! 
 22 
 
CHAPTEE XXXL 
 
 THE PLIGHT PEOM ANGBES. 
 
 But that only the more roused the devil in the man ; 
 that, and the knowledge that he had his own head- 
 strong act to thank for the position. He looked on 
 the panic-stricken people who, scared by the turmoil 
 without, had come together in the courtyard, wring- 
 ing their hands and chattering ; and his face was so 
 dark and forbidding that fear of him took the place 
 of all other fear, and the nearest shrank from contact 
 with him. On any other entering as he had entered, 
 they would have hailed questions ; they would have 
 asked what was amiss and if the city were rising, 
 and where were Bigot and his men. But Count Han- 
 nibal's eye struck curiosity dumb. "When he cried 
 from his saddle, "Bring me the landlord! " the trem- 
 bling man was found, and brought, and thrust for- 
 ward almost without a word. 
 
 "You have a back gate"? " Tavannes said, while the 
 crowd leaned forward to catch 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 never saddled before," he 
 
 continued in a low tone, " or " His tongue did 
 
 not finish the threat, but his hand waved the man 
 
THE FLIGHT FEOM A2JGEES. 339 
 
 away. "For you," he held Tignonville an instant 
 with his lowering eye, "and the preaching fool with 
 you, get arms and mount! You have never played 
 aught but the woman yet ; but play me false now, or 
 look aside but a foot from the path I bid you take, 
 and you thwart me no more, monsieur! And you, 
 madame," he continued, turning to the Countess, who 
 stood bewildered at one of the doors, the Provost's 
 daughter clinging and weeping about her, "you have 
 three minutes to get your women to horse ! See you, 
 if you please, that they take no longer ! " 
 
 She found her voice with difficulty. "And this 
 child? " she said. "She is in my care." 
 
 "Bring her," he muttered with a scowl of impa- 
 tience. And then, raising his voice as he turned on 
 the terrified gang of hostlers and inn servants who 
 stood gaping round him, " Go help ! " he thundered. 
 "Go help! And quickly!" he added, his face grow- 
 ing a shade darker as a second bell began to toll from 
 a neighbouring tower, and the confused babel in the 
 Place Ste. -Croix settled into a dull roar of "SacriUge! 
 sacriUge ! " — " Hasten ! " 
 
 Fortunately it had been his first intention to go to 
 the Council attended by 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 Viim the Provost's daughter, who was helpless 
 with terror. Between the suddenness of the alarm, 
 the uproar without, and the panic within, none but a 
 man whose people served him at a nod and dreaded 
 his very gesture could have got his party mounted in 
 time. Javette would fain have swooned, but she 
 dared not, Tignonville would fain have q^uestioned, 
 
340 CK)IINT HAOTHBAL. 
 
 but he shrank from the venture. The Countess 
 would fain have said something, but she forced her- 
 self to obey and no more. Even so the confusion in 
 the courtyard, the mingUng of horses and men and 
 trappings and saddle-bags, would have made another 
 despair ; but wherever Count Hannibal, seated in his 
 saddle in the middle, turned his face, chaos settled 
 into a kind of order, servants, ceasing to listen to the 
 yells and cries outside, ran to fetch, women dropped 
 cloaks from the gallery, and men loaded muskets and 
 strapped on bandoliers. 
 
 Until at last — but none knew what those minutes of 
 suspense cost him — he saw 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 he sent to the van of the party : then he gave 
 the word to open. It was done ; and even as Montso- 
 reau's horsemen, borne on the bosom of a second 
 and 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, hurl- 
 ing his little party before him, dashed out at the back, 
 and putting to flight a handful of rascals who had 
 wandered to that side, cantered unmolested down the 
 lane to the ramparts. Turning eastward at the foot 
 of the frowning Castle, he followed the inner side of 
 the wall in the direction of the gate by which he had 
 entered the preceding evening. 
 
 To gain this his party had to pass the end of the 
 Eue Toussaint, which issues from the Pla.ce Ste.- 
 Croix and runs so straight that the mob seething 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 smaU as Tavannes' and encumbered 
 
THE PLIGHT FEOM ANGEES. 341 
 
 with women would have had no chance if attacked 
 within the walls. 
 
 Count Hannibal knew it. But he knew also that 
 the act which he had committed rendered the north 
 bank of the Loire impossible for him. Neither King 
 nor Marshal, neither Charles of Valois nor Gaspard of 
 Tavannes, would dare to shield him from an infu- 
 riated Church, a Church too wise to forgive certain 
 offences. His one chance lay in reaching the south- 
 ern bank of the Loire — ^roughly speaking, the Hugue- 
 not bank — and taking refuge in some town, Eochelle 
 or St. Jean d'Angely, where the Huguenots were 
 strong, and whence he might take steps to set himself 
 right with his own side. 
 
 But to cross the great river which divides Prance 
 into two lands widely differing he must leave the city 
 by the east gate ; for the only bridge over the Loire 
 within forty miles of Angers lay eastward from the 
 town, at Pouts de C6, four miles away. To this gat«, 
 therefore, past the Eue Toussaint, he whirled his 
 party daringly ; and though the women grew pale as 
 the sounds of riot broke louder on the ear, and they 
 discovered that they were approaching instead of 
 leaving the danger — and though Tignonville for an 
 instant thought him mad, and snatched at the Coun- 
 tess's rein — his men-at-arms, who knew him, gal- 
 loped stolidly on, passed like clockwork the end of 
 the street, and, reckless of the stream of persons hur- 
 rying in the direction of the alarm, heedless of the 
 fright and anger their passage excited, pressed stead- 
 ily on. A moment and the gate through which they 
 had entered the previous evening appeared before 
 them. And — a sight welcome to one of them — ^it was 
 open. 
 
342 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 They were fortunate indeed, for a few seconds later 
 they had been too late. The alarm had preceded 
 them ; as they dashed up, a man ran to the chains of 
 the portcullis and tried to lower it. He failed to do 
 so at the first touch, and quailing, fled from Badelon's 
 levelled pistol. A watchman on one of the bastions 
 of the wall shouted to them to halt or he would fire : 
 but the riders yelled in derision, and thundering 
 through the echoing archway, emerged into the open, 
 and saw, extended before them, in place of the 
 gloomy vistas of the Black Town, the glory of the 
 open country and the vine-clad hills, and the fields 
 about the Loire yellow with late harvest. 
 
 The women gasped their relief, and one or two who 
 were most out of breath would have pulled up their 
 horses and let them trot, thinking the danger at an 
 end. But a curt savage word from the rear set them 
 flying again, and down and up and on again they gal- 
 loped, driven forward by the iron hand which never 
 relaxed its grip of them. Silent and pitiless he 
 whirled them before him untU they were within a 
 mile of the long Pouts de 06 — a series of bridges 
 rather than one bridge — and the broad shallow Loire 
 lay plain before them, its sandbanks grilling in the 
 sun, and grey lines 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 perspiration mingled with the dust on their faces. 
 But he who drove them had no pity for weakness in 
 an "emergency. He looked back and saw, a half-mile 
 behind them, the glitter of steel following hard on 
 their heels: and "Faster! faster!" he cried, regard- 
 less of their prayers : and he beat the rearmost of the 
 
THE PLIGHT FROM ANGEES. 343 
 
 horses with his scabbard. A waiting-woman shrieked 
 that she should fall, but he answered ruthlessly, "Fall 
 then, fool!" and the instinct of self-preservation 
 coming to her aid, she clung and bumped and toiled on 
 with the rest until they reached the first houses of the 
 town about the bridges, and Badelon raised his hand 
 as a signal that they might 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 of the party, the 
 Countess and Tignonville, awoke to the fact that their 
 face^ were set southwards. To cross the Loire in 
 those days meant much to all : to a Huguenot very 
 much. It chanced that these two rode on to the 
 bridge side by side, and the memory of their last 
 crossing — the remembrance that, on their journey 
 north a month before, they had crossed it hand-in- 
 hand with the prospect of passing their lives together, 
 and with no faintest thought of the events which 
 were to ensue, fiashed into the mind of each of them. 
 It deepened the flush which exertion had brought to 
 the woman's cheek, then left it paler than before. A 
 minute earlier she had been wroth with her old lover ; 
 she had held him accountable for the outbreak in the 
 town and this hasty retreat ; now her anger died as 
 she looked and she remembered. In the man, shal- 
 lower of feeling and more alive to present contingen- 
 cies, the uppermost emotion as he trod the bridge was 
 one of surprise and congratulation. 
 
 He coxdd not at first believe in their good fortune. 
 "Mon JDieu!" he cried, "we are crossing!" And 
 then again in a lower tone, "We are crossing! We 
 are crossing ! " And he looked at her. 
 
 It was impossible that she should not look back ; 
 
344 COUNT HAimiBAL. 
 
 tliat slie who had ceased to be angry should not feel 
 and remember ; impossible that her answering glance 
 should not speak to his heart. Below ihem, as on 
 that day a month earlier, when they had crossed the 
 bridges going northward, the broad shallow river ran 
 its course in the sunshine, its turbid currents gleam- 
 ing and flashing about the sandbanks and osier-beds. 
 To the eye, the landscape, save that the vintage was 
 farther advanced and the harvest in part gathered in, 
 was the same. But how changed were their relations, 
 their prospects, their hopes, who had then crossed the 
 river hand-in-hand, planning a life to be passed to- 
 gether. 
 
 The young man's rage boiled up at the thought. 
 Too vividly, too sharply it showed him the wrongs 
 which he had suffered at the hands of the man who 
 rode behind him, the man who even now drove him 
 on and ordered him and insulted him. He forgot that 
 he might have perished in the general massacre if 
 Count Hannibal had not intervened. He forgot that 
 Count Hannibal had spared him once and twice. He 
 laid on his enemy's shoulders the guilt of all, the 
 blood of all: and as, quick on the thought of his 
 wrongs and his fellows' wrongs followed the reflection 
 that with every league 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 and southwards. " VrUlac is there ! " she 
 cried; and she pointed. "I smell the sea! " 
 
 " Ay! " he answered, almost under his breath. "It 
 lies there! And no more than thirty leagues from 
 us ! With fresh horses we might see it in two days ! " 
 
THE FLIGHT FEOM ANGEES. 345 
 
 Badelon's voice broke in on them. "Forward!" 
 he cried as they reached the southern bank. ^'Mi 
 avant ! " And, obedient to the word, the little party, 
 refreshed by the short respite, took the road out of 
 Fonts de 06 at a steady trot. Hov was the Countess 
 the only one whose face glowed, being set southwards, 
 or whose heart pulsed to the rhythm of the horses' 
 hoofs that beat out "Home!" Carlat's and Madame 
 Carlat's also. Javette even, hearing from her neigh- 
 bour that they were over the Loire, plucked up 
 courage; while La Tribe, gazing before him with 
 moistened eyes, cried <' Comfort" to the scared and 
 weeping girl who clung to his belt. It was singular 
 to see how all sniffed the air as if already it smacked 
 of the sea and of the south ; and how they of Poitou 
 sat their horses as if they asked nothing better than to 
 ride on and on and on until the scenes of home arose 
 about them. For them the sky had already a deeper 
 blue, the air a softer fragrance, the sunshine a purity 
 long unknown! 
 
 Was it wonderful, when they had suffered so much 
 on that northern bank ? "When their experience dur- 
 ing the month had been comparable only with the dir- 
 est nightmare? Yet one among them, after the first 
 impulse of relief and satisfaction, felt differently. 
 Tignon^'ille's gorge rose against the sense of compul- 
 sion, of inferiority. To be driven forward after this 
 fashion, whether he would or no, to be placed at the 
 beck of every base-born man-at-arms, to have no 
 clearer knowledge of what had happened or of what 
 was passing, or of the peril from which they fled, 
 than the women among whom he rode — ^these things 
 kindled anew the sullen fire of hate. North of the 
 Loire there had been some excuse for his inaction un- 
 
346 COUNT HAliTIsriBAL. 
 
 der insult; he had been in the man's country and 
 power. But south of the Loire, within forty leagues 
 of Huguenot Mort, must he still suffer, still be 
 supine? 
 
 His rage was inflamed by a disappointment he pres- 
 ently underwent. Looking back as they rode clear of 
 the wooden houses of Fonts de 06, he missed Ta- 
 vannes and several of his men; and he wondered 
 if Count Hannibal had remained on his own side 
 of the river. It seemed possible; and in that 
 event La Tribe and he and Carlat might deal with 
 Badelon and the four who still escorted them. But 
 when he looked back a minute later, Tavannes 
 was within sight, following the party with a stern 
 face; and not Tavannes only. Bigot, with two of 
 the ten men who hitherto had been missing, was 
 with him. 
 
 It was clear, however, that they brought no good 
 news, for they had scarcely ridden up before Count 
 Hannibal cried "Paster! faster!" in his harshest 
 voice, and Bigot urged the horses to a quicker trot. 
 Their course lay almost parallel with the Loire in the 
 direction of Beaupr^au; and Tignonville began to 
 fear that Count Hannibal intended to recross the 
 river at I^Tantes, where the only bridge below Angers 
 spanned the stream. With this in view it was easy 
 to comprehend his wish to distance his pursuers be- 
 fore he recrossed. 
 
 The Countess had no such thought. "They must 
 be close upon us ! " she murmured, as she urged her 
 horse in obedience to the order. 
 
 "Whoever they are!" Tignonville muttered bitter- 
 ly. "If we knew what had happened, or who fol- 
 lowed, we should know more about it, madame. For 
 
THE FLIGHT FEOM ANGEES. 347 
 
 that matter, I know wliat I \dsh he -would do. And 
 our heads are set for it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Make for Vrillac!" he answered, a savage gleam 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "For Vrillac?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah, if he would!" she cried, her face turn- 
 ing pale. "If he would. He would be safe 
 there!" 
 
 "Ay, quite safe! " he answered with a peculiar in- 
 tonation. And he looked at her askance. 
 
 He fancied that his thought, the thought which had 
 just flashed into his brain, was her thought; that she 
 had the same notion in reserve, and that they were in 
 sympathy. And Tavannes, seeing them talking to- 
 gether, and noting her look and the fervour of her 
 gesture, formed the same opinion, and retired more 
 darkly -into himself. The downfall of his plan for 
 dazzling her by a magnanimity unparalleled and be- 
 yond compare, a plan dependent on the submission of 
 Angers — ^his disappointment in this might have roused 
 the worst passions of a better man. But there was in 
 this man a pride on a level at least with his other pas- 
 sions : and to bear himself in this hour of defeat and 
 flight so that if she could not love him she must ad- 
 mire him, checked in a strange degree the current of 
 his rage. When Tignonville presently looked back 
 he found that Count Hannibal and six of his riders 
 had pulled up and were walking their horses far in 
 the rear. On which he would have done the same 
 himself; but Badelon called over his shoulder the 
 eternal "Forward, monsieur, en avant!" and sullenly, 
 hating the man and his master more deeply every 
 
348 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 hour, Tignonville was forced to push on, -with 
 thoughts of vengeance in his heart. 
 
 Trot, trot! Trot, trot! Through a country which 
 had lost its smiling wooded character and grew more 
 sombre and less fertile the farther they left the Loire 
 behind them. Trot, trot! Trot, trot! — for ever, it 
 seemed to some. Javette wept with fatigue, and the 
 other women were little better. The Countess herself 
 spoke seldom except to cheer the Provost's daughter ; 
 who, poor girl, flung suddenly out of the round of 
 her life and cast among strangers, showed a better 
 spirit than might have been expected. At length, on 
 the slopes of some low hills, which they had long seen 
 before them, a cluster of houses and a church ap- 
 peared; and Badelon, drawing rein, cried, "Beau- 
 pr^au, madame ! We stay an hour ! " 
 
 It was six o'clock. They had ridden some hours 
 without a break. With sighs and cries of pain the 
 women dropped from their climisy saddles, while the 
 men laid out such food — it was little — ^as had been 
 brought, and hobbled the horses that they might 
 feed. The hour passed rapidly, and when it had 
 passed Badelon was inexorable. There was wailing 
 when he gave the word to mount again ; and Tignon- 
 ville, fiercely resenting this dumb, reasonless flight, 
 was at heart one of the mutineers. But Badelon said 
 grimly that they might go on and live, or stay and 
 die, as it pleased them ; and once more they climbed 
 painfully to their saddles, and jogged steadily on 
 through the sunset, through the gloaming, through 
 the darkness, across a weird, mysterious country of 
 low hills and narrow plains which grew more wild 
 and less cultivated as they advanced. Fortunately 
 the horses had been well saved during the long lei- 
 
THE FLIGHT FEOM AITGEES. 349 
 
 surely journey to Angers, and now went well and 
 strongly. Wlien they at last unsaddled for the night 
 in a little dismal wood within a mile of Clisson, they 
 had placed some forty miles between themselves and 
 Angers. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXII 
 
 THE OEDEAL BY STEEL. 
 
 The women for the most part fell like sacks and slept 
 where they alighted, dead weary. The men, when 
 they had cared for the horses, followed the example ; 
 for Badelon would suffer no fire. In less than half 
 an hour, a sentry who stood on guard at the edge of 
 the wood, and Tlgnonville and La Tribe, who talked 
 in low voices with their backs against a tree, were 
 the only persons who remained awake, with the ex- 
 ception of the Countess. Carlat had made a couch 
 for her, and screened it with cloaks from the wind 
 and the eye ; for the moon had risen, and where the 
 trees stood sparsest its light flooded the soil with 
 pools of white. But Madame had not yet retired to 
 her bed. The two men, whose voices reached her, 
 saw her from tune to time moving restlessly to and 
 fro between the road and the little encampment. 
 Presently she came and stood over them. 
 
 "He led His people out of the wilderness," La 
 Tribe was saying; "out of the trouble of Paris, out 
 of the trouble of Angers, and always, always south- 
 ward. If you do not in this, monsieur, see His 
 finger " 
 
 "And Angers? " Tignonville struck in, with a faint 
 sneer. "Has He led that out of trouble? A day or 
 two ago you would risk all to save it, my friend. 
 
THE OEDEAL BY STEEL. 351 
 
 Now, with your back safely turned on it, you think 
 all for the best." 
 
 "We did our best," the minister answered humbly. 
 "From the day we met in Paris 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," TignonviUe answered list- 
 lessly. "Why do you not lie 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 Mort, it may be. Or presently he 
 will double back and recross the Loire." 
 
 "He would have gone by Cholet to Mort," La 
 Tribe said. "The direction is rather that of EocheUe. 
 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 should be safe there. And he would be 
 safe." 
 
 "Safe?" echoed a fourth and deeper voice. And 
 out of the darkness beside them loomed a tall fig- 
 ure. 
 
 The minister looked and leapt to his feet. Tignon- 
 ville rose more slowly. 
 
 The voice was Tavannes'. "And where am I to be 
 
352 COTINT HANIflBAL. 
 
 safe? " he repeated slowly, a faint ring of saturnine 
 amusement in his tone. 
 
 "At VrUlac," she cried. "In my house, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 He was silent a moment. Then, "Tour house, 
 madame? In which direction is it, from here! " 
 
 "Westwards," she answered impulsively, her voice 
 quivering with eagerness and emotion and hope. 
 "Westwards, monsieur — on the sea. The causeway 
 from 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. Not was Count Hannibal's ear deaf to it. 
 "Through Challans," he said, "thirteen leagues." 
 
 "From dissonf " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Comte." 
 
 "And by Commequiers less," the Countess cried. 
 
 "'No, it is a worse road," Tignonville answered 
 quickly; "and longer in time." 
 
 "But we came " 
 
 "At our leisure, madame. The road is by Chal- 
 lans, if we wish to be there quickly." 
 
 "Ah!" Count Hannibal saidi In the darkness it 
 was impossible to see his face 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 lit- 
 tle more " 
 
 "They would outnumber mine by four to one," 
 Count Hannibal answered coldly, drily, in a voice 
 like ice-water flung in their faces. "Thank you, 
 madame ; I understand. To Yrillac is no long ride; 
 
THE OEDEAI; BY STEEL. 353 
 
 but we mil not ride it at present." And he turned 
 shafpljr on his heel and strode from them. 
 
 He had not covered thirty paces before she over- 
 took him in the middle of a broad patch of moonlight 
 and touched his arm. He wheeled sWiftly^ his hand 
 half-way 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 the hood of her cloak that he 
 might look into her eyes. "You owe me no blow 
 to-day. You have paid me, monsieur. You have 
 struck me already, and foully, like a coward. Do 
 you remember," 6he continued rapidly, "the hour 
 after our marriage, and what you said to mel Do 
 you remember what you told me? And whom to 
 trust and whom to suspect, where lay our interest 
 and where oux foes' ? You trusted me then ! What 
 have I done that you now dare — ay, dare, monsieur," 
 she repeated fearlessly, her face pale and her eyes 
 glittering with excitement, "to insult me? Tha,t you 
 treat me as — Javettel That you deem me capable of 
 thatf Of lui'ing you into 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 her- 
 self understand why his distrust had wounded her 
 so sharply, so home, that all fear of Him was gone. 
 "You have said it, and put that between us which 
 will not be removed. I could have forgiven blows," 
 she continued, breathless in hfer excitementj "so you 
 had thought me what I am. But now you will do 
 well to watch me ! You will do well to leave YrillaC 
 on one side. For were you there, and raised your 
 23 
 
354 COUNT HANITEBAL. 
 
 hand against me — not that that touches me, but it 
 ■will do — and there are those, I tell you, would fling 
 you from the tower 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 a pregnant pause. "The cross- 
 ing of a river has wrought so great a change in 
 you?" 
 
 "Ifo!" she cried. 
 
 "Yes," he said. And despite herself she flinched 
 before the grimness of his tone. "You have yet to 
 learn one thing, however: that I do not change. 
 That, north or south, I am the same to those who are 
 the same to me. That what I have won on the one 
 bank I will hold on the other, in the teeth of all, and 
 though God's Church be thundering on my heels! 
 I go to VriUac " 
 
 "You — ^go? " she cried. "You go? " 
 
 "I go," he repeated, "to-morrow. And among 
 your own people I wni see what 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 against me, I will show you of what make 
 I am. If blows will not teme you, I will try that will 
 suit you less. Ay, you wince, madame! You had 
 done well had you thought twice before you threat- 
 ened, and thrice before you took in hand to scare 
 Tavannes with a parcel of clowns and fisherfolk. To- 
 morrow, to Vrillac and your duty! And one word 
 more, madame," he continued, turning back to her 
 truculently when he had gone some paces from her. 
 "If I find you plotting with your lover by the way I 
 
THE OEDEAL BT STEEL. 355 
 
 mil hang not 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 ia the moonlight. "Had you not bet- 
 ter hang me now! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Lest I do you an injury ! " she cried with passion ; 
 and she raised her hand and pointed northward. 
 "Lest I kill you some night, monsieur! I tell you, a 
 thousand men on your heels are less dangerous than 
 the woman at 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 her eyes, fasci- 
 nated by the steel, grew wider. 
 
 His hand sank slowly. He held the weapon to her, 
 hilt foremost ; she took it mechanically. "You think 
 yourself brave enough to kill me, do you?" he 
 sneered. "Then take this, and strike, if you dare. 
 Take it — strike, madame ! It is sharp, and my arms 
 are open." And he flung them wide, standing within 
 a pace of her. "Here, above the collar-bone, is the 
 surest for a weak hand. What, afraid?" he contin- 
 ued, as, stiffly clutching the weapon which he had 
 put into her hand, she glared at him, trembling and 
 astonished. "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. Think 
 of 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 if you hate 
 me. What, stUl afraid! How shall I give you 
 heart? Shall I strike you? It will not be the first 
 
356 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 time by ten. I keiep count, you seej" 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 your hand Will save you in an instant. 
 
 And he stooped until his lips almost touched hers. 
 
 She sprang back. " Oh, do not ! " she cried. " Oh, 
 do hot ! " And, dropping the dagger, she covered her 
 face with her handSj and burst into weeping. 
 
 He stooped coolly, and, after groping some time 
 for the poniard, drew it from 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 
 will not strike a blow for him, there is but one thing 
 left. Go, dream of him ! " 
 
 And shrugging his shoulders contemptuously he 
 turned on his heel. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXm. 
 
 THE AMBTJSH. 
 
 The start they made at daybreak was gloomy and ill- 
 omened, through one of those white mists which are 
 blown from the Atlantic over the flat lands of "Western 
 Poitou. The horses, looming gigantic through the 
 fog, winced as the cold harness was girded on them. 
 The men hurried to and fro with saddles on their 
 heads, and stumbled over other saddles, and swore 
 savagely. The women turned mutinous and would 
 not rise; or, being dragged up by force, shrieked 
 wild unfitting words, as they were driven to the 
 horses. The Countess looked on and listened, and 
 shuddered, waiting for Carlat to set her on her horse. 
 She had gone during the last three weeks through 
 much that was dreary, much that was hopeless ; but 
 the chill discomfort of this forced start, with tired 
 horses and wailing women, would have darkened the 
 prospect of home had there been no fear or threat to 
 cloud it. 
 
 He whose will compelled all stood a little apart and 
 watched all, silent and gloomy. When Badelon, af- 
 ter taking his orders and distributing some slices of 
 black bread to be eaten in the saddle, moved off at 
 the head of his troop. Count Hannibal remained be- 
 hind, attended by Bigot and the eight riders who had 
 formed the rearguard so far. He had not approached 
 
358 COmrT HATOHBAI;. 
 
 the Countess since rising, and she had been thankful 
 for it. But now, as she moved away, she looked back 
 and saw him still standing ; she marked that he wore 
 his corselet, and in one of those revulsions of feeling 
 — which outrun man's reason — she who had tossed on 
 her couch through half the night, in passionate revolt 
 against the fate before her, took fire at his neglect 
 and his silence ; she resented on a sudden the distance 
 he kept, and his scorn of her. Her breast heaved, 
 her colour came, 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's journey begun, and she 
 saw him no more. 
 
 N^evertheless, the motionless figure, looming Ho- 
 meric through the fog, with gleams of wet light re- 
 flected from the steel about it, dwelt long in her 
 mind. The road which Badelon followed, slowly at 
 first, and with greater speed as the horses warmed to 
 their work, and the women, sore and battered, re- 
 signed themselves to suffering, wound across a flat 
 expanse broken by a few hills. These were little 
 more than mounds, and for the most part were veiled 
 from sight by the low-lying sea-mist, through which 
 gnarled and stunted oaks rose mysterious, to fade as 
 strangely. Weird trees they were, with branches un- 
 like those of this world's trees, rising in a grey land 
 without horizon or limit, through which our travel- 
 lers moved, jaded phantoms in a clinging nightmare. 
 At a walk, at a trot, more often at a weary jog, 
 they ptished on behind Badelon's humped shoulders. 
 Sometimes the fog hung so thick about them that they 
 saw only those who rose and fell in the saddles imme- 
 
THE AMBUSH. 359 
 
 diately before them ; sometimes the air cleared a lit- 
 tle, the curtain rolled up a space, and for a minute or 
 two they discerned stretches of unfertile fields, half - 
 tilled and stony, or long tracts of gorse and broom, 
 with here and there a thicket of dwarf shrubs or a 
 wood of wind-swept pines. Some looked and saw 
 these things ; more rode on sulky and unseeing, sup- 
 porting impatiently the toils of a flight from they 
 knew not what. 
 
 To do Tignonville justice, he was not of these. On 
 the contrary, he seemed to be in a better temper on 
 this day ; and, where so many took things unheroical- 
 ly, he showed to advantage. Avoiding the Countess 
 and riding with Carlat, he talked and laughed with 
 marked cheerfulness ; nor did he ever fail, when the 
 mist rose, to note this or that landmark, and confirm 
 Badelon in the way he was going. 
 
 "We shall be at L6ge by noon!" he cried more 
 than once, "and if M. le Comte persists in his 
 plan, may reach Yrillac by late sunset. By way of 
 ChaUans!" 
 
 And always Carlat answered, "Ay, by ChaUans, 
 monsieur, so be it ! " 
 
 He proved, too, so far right in his prediction that 
 noon saw them drag, a weary train, into the hamlet 
 of L6ge, where the road from Nantes to Olonne runs 
 southward over the level of Poitou. An hour later 
 Count Hannibal rode in with six of his eight men, 
 and, after a few minutes' parley with Badelon, who 
 was scanning the horses, he called Carlat to him. 
 The old man came. 
 
 "Can we reach VriUac to-night? " Count Hannibal 
 asked curtly. 
 
 "By Challans, my lord," the steward answered, "I 
 
360 COXnirT HAJiWIBAL. 
 
 think we can. "We call it seven hours' riding from 
 here." 
 
 "And that route is the shortest? " 
 
 "In time, M. le Oomte, the road being better." 
 
 Count Hannibal bent his brows. "And the othei 
 way?" he said. 
 
 " Is by Conunequiers, my lord. It is shorter in dis- 
 tance. " 
 
 "By how much?" 
 
 " Two leagues. But there are f ordings and a salt 
 marsh ; and with Madame and the women " 
 
 "It would be longer? " 
 
 The steward hesitated. "I think so," he said 
 slowly, his eyes wandering to the grey misty land- 
 scape, against which the poor hovels of the village 
 stood out naked and comfortless. A low thicket of 
 oaks sheltered the place from southwesterly gales. 
 On the other three sides it lay open. 
 
 "Very good," Tavannes said curtly. "Be ready to 
 start in ten minutes. Tou 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. To peremptory 
 calls for him no answer came ; and a hurried search 
 through the hamlet proved equally fruitless. The 
 only person who had seen him since his interview 
 with Tavannes turned out to be M. de Tignonville ; 
 and he had seen him mount his horse five minutes be- 
 fore, and move off — as he believed — ^by the Challans 
 road. 
 
 "Ahead of us?" 
 
 "Yes, M. le Comte," Tignonville answered, shading 
 his eyes and gazing in the direction of the fringe of 
 trees. " I did not see him take the road, but he was 
 
THE AMBUSH. 361 
 
 beside the north end of the wood when I saw him 
 last. Thereabouts ! " and he pointed to a place where 
 the Challans road wound round the flank of the wood. 
 "When we are beyond that point, I think we shall 
 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 dots could be 
 seen approaching across the plain. He turned again. 
 "Ton 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 nor spur. There will be 
 need of both, if we would lie warm to-night." 
 
 Tignonville nodded assent and, wheeling his horse, 
 rode to the head of the party, a faint smile playing 
 about his mouth. A moment, and the main body 
 moved off behind him, leaving Count Hannibal and 
 six men to cover the rear. The mist, which at noon 
 had risen for an hour or two, was closing down again, 
 and they had no sooner passed clear of the wood than 
 the trees faded out of sight behind them. It was not 
 wonderful that they could not see Carlat. Objects 
 a hundred paces from them were completely hidden. 
 
 Trot, trot! Trot, trot! through a grey world so 
 featureless, so unreal that the riders, now dozing in 
 the saddle, and now awaking, seemed to themselves 
 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 women bumped along in their 
 wretched saddles, and the horses stumbled, and the 
 men swore at them. 
 
 Ha ! La Garnache at last, and a sharp turn south- 
 
362 COUNT HANMBAL. 
 
 ward to Challans. The Countess raised lier head, 
 and began to look about her. There, should be a 
 church, she knew; and there, the old ruined tower 
 bidlt by wizards, or the Carthaginians, so old tradi- 
 tion ran ; and there, to the westward, the great salt 
 marshes towards S'oirnioutier. The mist hid all, but 
 the knowledge that they were there set her heart beat- 
 ing, brought tears to her eyes, and lightened the long 
 road to Challans. 
 
 At Challans they halted half-an-hour, and washed 
 out the horses' mouths with water and a little guigno- 
 let — ^the spirit of the country. A dose of the cordial 
 was administered to the women; and a little after 
 seven they began the last stage of the journey, 
 through a landscape which even the mist could not 
 veil from the eyes of love. There rose the windmill 
 of Soullans ! There the old dolmen, beneath which 
 the grey wolf that ate the two children of Tornic had 
 its lair. For a mile back they had been treading my 
 lady's land ; they had only two more leagues to ride, 
 and one of those was crumbling under each dogged 
 footfall. The salt flavour, which is new life to the 
 shore-born, was in the fleecy reek which floated by 
 them, now thinner, now more opaque; and almost 
 they could hear the dull thunder of the Biscay waves 
 falling on the rocks. 
 
 Tignonville looked back at her and smiled. She 
 caught the look ; she fancied that she understood it 
 and his thoughts. But her own eyes were moist at 
 the moment with tears, and what his said, and what 
 there was of strangeness in his glance, half -warning, 
 half -exultant, escaped her. For there, not a mile be- 
 fore them, where the low hills about the fishing vil- 
 lage began to rise from the dull inland level — Chills 
 
THE AMBUSH. 363 
 
 green on the land side, bare and scarped towards the 
 sea and the island — she espied the wayside chapel at 
 which the nurse of her early childhood had told her 
 beads. Where it stood, the road from Commequiers 
 and the road she travelled became one : a short mile 
 thence, after winding among the hillocks, 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. de Tignonville she asked Tiim what he 
 thought of the steward's continued absence. 
 
 "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 mut- 
 tered under his breath. "But look ahead, madame, 
 and see if we are expected ! " 
 
 "Expected? How can we be expected? " she cried. 
 The colour rushed into her face. 
 
 He put his finger to his lip, and looked warningly 
 at Badelon's humped shoulders, jogging up and down 
 in front of them. Then, stooping towards her, in a 
 lower tone, "If Carlat has arrived before us, he will 
 have told them," he said. 
 
 "Have told them! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "He came by the other road, and it is quicker." 
 
 She gazed at him in astonishment, her lips parted ; 
 and slowly she comprehended, 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 the contrary, you have me to 
 thank for something quite different." 
 
564 COUNT HMOTEBAL. 
 
 "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 you arrive you wiU find your- 
 self mistress in your own house ! Is that nothing ? " 
 
 "Tou have called in my people? " 
 
 "Carlat has done so, or should have," he answered. 
 "Henceforth," he continued, a ring of exultation in 
 his voice, "it will go hard with M. le Comte, 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, her bosom rising and falling. 
 
 "I mean, madame But there they are! Good 
 
 Carlat! Brave Carlat! He has done well." 
 
 "Carlat?" 
 
 "Ay, there they are! And you are mistress in 
 your own land! At last you are mistress, and you 
 have me to thank for it! See ! " And heedless in his 
 exultation whether Badelon understood or not, he 
 pointed to a place before them where the road wound 
 between two low hills. Over the green shoulder of 
 one of these, a dozen bright points caught and reflect- 
 ed the last evening light; while as he spoke a man 
 rose to his feet on the hill-side above, and began to 
 make signs to persons below. A pennon, too, showed 
 an instant over the shotdder, 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 
 
THE AMBUSH. 365 
 
 man on his left, "Eide for your life! To my lord, 
 and tell him we are ambnshed ! " And as the trained 
 soldier wheeled about and spurred away, the sacker 
 of Eome turned a dark scowling face on Tignonville. 
 "If this be your work," he hissed, "we shall thank 
 you for it in heU ! For it is where most of us wUl lie 
 to-night! They are Montsoreau's spears, and they 
 have those with them are worse to deal with than 
 themselves! " Then in a different tone, and throwing 
 off all disguise, "Men to the front!" he shouted. 
 "And you, madame, to the rear quickly, and the 
 women with you! S^ow, men, forward, and draw! 
 St«ady ! Steady ! They are coming ! " 
 
 There was an instant of confusion, disorder, panic ; 
 horses jostling one another, women screaming and 
 clutching at men, men shaking them off and forcing 
 their way to the van. Fortunately the enemy did not 
 fall on at once, as Badelon expected, but after show- 
 ing themselves in the mouth of the valley, at a dis- 
 tance of three hundred paces, hung for some reason 
 irresolute. This gave Badelon time to array his seven 
 swords in front ; but real resistance was out of the 
 question, as he knew. And to none seemed less in 
 question than to Tignonville. 
 
 When the truth, and what he had done, broke on 
 the young man, he sat a moment motionless with hor- 
 ror. It was only when Badelon had twice summoned 
 Viim with opprobrious words that he awoke to the re- 
 lief of action. Even after that he hung an instant 
 trying to meet the Countess's eyes, 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. And silent, 
 
366 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 grim, more formidable even than old Badelon, the 
 veteran fighter, who knew all the tricks and shifts of 
 the mMe, he spurred to the flank of the line. 
 
 "Now, steady!" Badelon cried again, seeing that 
 the enemy were beginning to move. "Steady! Hal 
 Thank God, my lord! My lord is coming! Stand! 
 Stand!" 
 
 The distant sound of galloping hoofs had reached 
 his ear in the nick of time. He stood in his stirrups 
 and looked back. Yes, Count Hannibal was coming, 
 riding a dozen paces in front of his men. The odds 
 were still desperate — for he brought but six — ^the ene- 
 my were still three to one. But the thunder of his 
 hoofs as he came up checked for a moment the ene- 
 my's onset ; and before Montsoreau's people got start- 
 ed again Count Hannibal had ridden up abreast of 
 the women, and the Countess, looking at him, knew 
 that, desperate as was their strait, she had not looked 
 behind in vain. The glow of battle, the stress of the 
 moment, had displaced the cloud 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 fifty paces' distance, and, when 
 we have broken them, ride through ! The others with 
 me! Now forward, men, and show your teeth! A 
 Tavannes! A Tavannes! A Tavannes! We carry 
 it yet!" 
 
 And he dashed forward, leading them on, leaving 
 the women behind ; and down the sward to meet him, 
 thundering in double line, came Montsoreau's men- 
 at-arms, and with the men-at-arms, a dozen pale, 
 fierce-eyed men in the Church's black, yelling the 
 Church's curses. Madame's heart grew sick as she 
 
THE AMBUSH. 367 
 
 heard, as she waited, as she judged him by the fast- 
 failing light a horse's length before his men — with 
 only Tignonville beside him. 
 
 She held her breath — would the shock never cornel 
 K Badelon had not seized her rein and forced her 
 forward, she would not have moved. And then, 
 even as she moved, they met ! With yells and wild 
 cries and a mare's savage scream, the two bands 
 crashed together in a huddle of fallen or rearing 
 horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, of 
 grapples hand-to-hand. What happened, what was 
 happening to anyone, who it was fell, stabbed 
 through and through by four, or who were those who 
 still fought single combats, twisting round one an- 
 other's horses, those on her right and on her left, she 
 could not tell. For Badelon dragged her on with 
 whip and spur, and two horsemen — ^who obscured her 
 view — ^galloped in front of her, and rode down bodily 
 the only man who undertook to bar her passage. She 
 had a glimpse of that man's face, as his horse, struck 
 in the act of turning, fell sideways on him ; and she 
 knew it, in its agony of terror, though she had seen it 
 but once. It was the face of the man whose eyes had 
 sought hers from the steps of the church in Angers ; 
 the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of the 
 Church — ^to his misfortune. 
 
 Through? Yes, through, the way was clear before 
 them! The fight with its screams and curses died 
 away behind them. The horses swayed and all but 
 sank under them. But Badelon knew it no time for 
 mercy ; iron-shod hoofs rang on the road behind, and 
 at any moment the pursuers might be on their heels. 
 He flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared 
 on either side of the way; on, until the road forked 
 
368 COUNT HA20TBAL. 
 
 and the Countess with strange readiness cried "The 
 left I" on, until the beach appeared below them at 
 the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the 
 slow heaving grey of the ocean. 
 
 The tide was high. The causeway ran through it, 
 a mere thread lipped by the darkling waves, and at 
 the sight a grunt of relief broke from Badelon. For 
 at the end of the causeway, black against the western 
 sky, rose the gateway and towers of VrUlac ; and he 
 saw that, as the Countess had said, it was a place ten 
 men could hold against ten hundred ! 
 
 They stumbled down the beach, reached the cause- 
 way and trotted along it ; more slowly now, and look- 
 ing back. The other women had followed by hook 
 or by crook, some crying hysterically, yet clinging to 
 their horses and even urging them ; and in a medley, 
 the causeway clear behind them and no one following, 
 they reached the drawbridge, and passed under the 
 arch of the gate beyond. 
 
 There friendly hands, Carlat's foremost, welcomed 
 them and aided them to alight, and the Countess saw, 
 as in a dream, the familiar scene, all unfamiliar: the 
 gate, where she had played, a child, aglow with lan- 
 tern-light and arms. Men, whose rugged faces she 
 had known in infancy, stood at the drawbridge chains 
 and at the winches. Others blew matches and han- 
 dled primers, while old servants crowded round her, 
 and women looked at her, scared and weeping. She 
 saw it all at a glance — ^the lights, the black shadows, 
 the sudden glow of a match on the groining of the 
 arch above. She saw it, and turning swiftly, looked 
 back the way she had come ; along the dusky cause- 
 way to the low, dark shore, which night was stealing 
 quickly from their eyes. She clasped her hands. 
 
THE AMBUSH. 369 
 
 "Where is Badelon? " she cried. "Where is he? " 
 Where ishel" 
 
 One of the men who had ridden before her an- 
 swered that he had turned back. 
 
 "Turned back ! " she repeated. And then, shading 
 her eyes, "Who is coming? " she asked, her voice in- 
 sistent. "There is someone coming. Who is it? 
 Who is it?" 
 
 Two were coming out of the gloom, travelling 
 slowly and painfully along the causeway. One was 
 La Tribe, limping ; the other a rider, slashed across 
 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 be dazed, 
 and only babbled strange words in a strange patois. 
 
 She stamped her foot in passion. "More lights!" 
 she cried. "Lights! How can they find their way? 
 And let six men go down the digue, and meet them. 
 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, shook his head; and before she 
 could repeat the order, sounds of battle, shrill, faint, 
 like cries of hungry seagulls, pierced the darkness 
 which shrouded the farther end of the causeway. 
 The women shrank inward over the 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 and let 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 
 24 
 
370 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 same, a little nearer, a little louder, followed this 
 time, not by silence, but by the slow tread of a limp- 
 ing 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 the darkness into the light, 
 stepping slowly with hanging head, moved a horse, 
 bearing on its back a man — or was it a man? — ^bend- 
 ing low in the saddle, his feet swinging loose. For 
 an instant the horse and the man seemed to be alone, 
 a ghostly pair ; then at their heels came into view two 
 figures, skirmishing this way and that ; and now com- 
 ing nearer, and now 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 sight a swarm of dark figures 
 pressing on them and after them, driving them before 
 them. 
 
 Carlat had an inspiration. "Fire!" he cried; and 
 four arquebuses poured a score of slugs into the knot 
 of pursuers. A man fell, another shrieked and stum- 
 bled, the rest gave back. Only the horse came on 
 spectrally, with hanging head and shining eyeballs, 
 until a man ran out and seized its head, and dragged 
 it, more by his strength than its own, over the draw- 
 bridge. After it Badelon, with a gaping wound in 
 his knee, and Bigot, bleeding from a dozen hurts, 
 walked over the bridge, and stood on either side of 
 the saddle, smiling foolishly at the man on the horse. 
 
 "Leave me!" he muttered. "Leave me!" He 
 made a feeble movement with his hand, as if it held 
 a weapon ; then his head sank lower. It was Count 
 Hannibal. His thigh was broken, and there was a 
 lance-head in his arm. 
 
THE AMBTJSH. 371 
 
 The Coimtess looked at him, then beyond him, past 
 him into the darkness. "Are there no more?" she 
 whispered tremulously. "ISo more? Tignonville — 
 my " 
 
 Badelon shook his head. The Countess covered 
 her face and wept. 
 
CHAPTBE XXXIV. 
 
 WHICH WILL YOtr, MADAME! 
 
 It was in the grey dawning of the next day, at the 
 hour before the sun rose, that word of M. de Tignon- 
 ville's fate came to them in the castle. The fog 
 which had masked the van and coming of night hung 
 thick on its retreating skirts, and only reluctantly 
 and little by little gave up to sight and daylight a 
 certain thing which night had left at the end of the 
 causeway. The first man to see it was Carlat, from 
 the roof of the gateway ; and he rubbed eyes weary 
 with watching, and peered anew at it through the 
 mist, fancying himself back in the Place Ste. -Croix 
 at Angers, supposing for a wild moment the journey 
 a dream, and the return a nightmare. But rub as he 
 might, and stare as he might, the ugly outlines of the 
 thing he had seen persisted — nay, grew sharper as the 
 haze began to lift from the grey, slow-heaving floor 
 of sea. He called another man and bade him look. 
 "What is it?" he said. "D 'you see, there? Below 
 the village?" 
 
 "'Tisa gibbet," the man answered, with a foolish 
 laugh; they had watched all night. "God keep us 
 from it." 
 
 "A gibbet?" 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
 " But what is it for ? What is it doing there 1 " 
 
WHICH WILL YOU, MADAME? 373 
 
 "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 and growled 
 in their beards. Presently there were eight or ten on 
 the roof of the gateway looking towards the land and 
 discussing the thing ; and by-and-by a man was de- 
 scried approaching along the causeway with a white 
 flag in his hand. 
 
 At that Carlat bade one fetch the minister. "He 
 understands things," he muttered, "and I misdoubt 
 this. And see," he cried after the messenger, "that 
 no word of it come to Mademoiselle ! " Instinctively 
 in the maiden home he reverted to the maiden title. 
 
 The messenger went, and came again bringing La 
 Tribe, whose head rose above the staircase at the mo- 
 ment the envoy below came to a halt before the gate. 
 Carlat signed to the minister to come forward ; and 
 La Tribe, after sniifing the salt air, and glancing at 
 the long, low, misty shore and the stiff ugly shape 
 which stood at the end of the causeway, looked down 
 and met the envoy's eyes. For a moment no one 
 spoke. Only the men who had remained on the 
 gateway, and had watched the stranger's coming, 
 breathed hard. 
 
 At last, "I bear a Ihessage," the man announced 
 loudly and clearly, "for the lady of Vrillac. Is she 
 present?" 
 
 "Give your message ! " La Tribe replied. 
 
 "It is for her ears only." 
 
 "Do you want to enter? " 
 
 "Ifo! " The man answered so hurriedly that more 
 than one smiled. He had the bearing of a lay clerk 
 of some precinct, a verger or sacristan ; and after a 
 fashion the dress of one also, for he was in dusty 
 
374 COUNT HAIOriBAX,. 
 
 black and wore no sword, though he was girded with 
 a belt. "No!" he repeated, "but if Madame will 
 come to the gate, and speak to me " 
 
 "Madame has other fish to fry," Carlat blurted out. 
 "Do you think that she 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 fellow answered hardily. "That is part of 
 my message." 
 
 There was a pause while La Tribe considered the 
 matter. In the end, "Prom whom do you come? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "Prom His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of 
 Saumur," the envoy answered glibly, "and from my 
 lord Bishop of Angers, him assisting by his Vicar; 
 and from others gathered lawfully, who will as law- 
 fully depart if their terms are accepted. Also from 
 M. de Tignonville, a gentleman, I am told, of these 
 parts, now in their hands and adjudged to die at sun- 
 set this day if the terms I bring be not accepted." 
 
 There was a long silence on the gate. The men 
 looked down fixedly ; not a feature of one of them 
 moved, for no one was surprised. "Wherefore is he 
 to die? " La Tribe asked at last. 
 
 "Por 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 
 
WHICH WILL YOTJ, MADAME? 375 
 
 in -wrath. "So much for that! And for yourself, 
 see you go quickly before we make a target of you ! " 
 
 "Very well, I go," the envoy answered sullenly. 
 "But " 
 
 "But what?" La Tribe cried, gripping Carlat's 
 shoulder to quiet htm. "But what? 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 see her. 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 shoul- 
 ders, and moved off a dozen paces, watched by all on 
 the gate with the same fixed attention. But present- 
 ly he paused; he returned. "Very well," he said, 
 looking up with an ill grace. "I will do my ofi&ce 
 here, if I cannot come to her. But I hold also a let- 
 ter from M. de Tignonville, and that I can deliver to 
 no other hands than hers!" He held it up as he 
 spoke, a thin scrap of greyish paper, the fly-leaf of a 
 missal perhaps. "See ! " he continued, "and take no- 
 tice ! If she does not get 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, ner- 
 vously passing his tongue over his lips. "You will 
 not let me see her, or speak to her privately? " 
 
 "Ko." 
 
 "Then hear them. His Excellency is informed 
 that one Hannibal de Tavannes, guilty of the detesta- 
 ble crime of sacrilege and of other gross crimes, has 
 
376 COUNT HAIOnBAL, 
 
 taken refuge here. He requires that the said Hanni- 
 bal de Tavannes be handed to him for punishment, 
 and, this being done before sunset 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 you refuse " — the man passed his eye along the 
 line of attentive faces which fringed the battlement — 
 "he will at sunset hang the said Tignonville on the 
 gallows raised for Tavannes, and will harry the de- 
 mesne of Vrillac to its farthest border ! " 
 
 There was a long silence on the gate. Some, their 
 gaze still fixed on him, moved their lips as if they 
 chewed. Others looked aside, met their fellows' eyes 
 in a pregnant glance, and slowly returned to him. 
 But no one spoke. At his back the flush of dawn 
 was flooding the east, and spreading and waxing 
 brighter. The air was growing warm ; the shore be- 
 low, from grey, was turning green. In a minute or 
 two the sun, whose glowing marge already peeped 
 above the low hills of France, would top the horizon. 
 
 The man, getting no answer, shifted his feet uneas- 
 ily. " Well," he cried, "what answer am I to take? " 
 
 Still no one moved. 
 
 "I've done my part. Will no one give her the let- 
 ter?" he cried. And he held it up. "Give me my 
 answer, for I am going." 
 
 " Take the letter ! " The words came from the rear 
 of the group in a voice that startled all. They 
 turned as though some one had struck them, and saw 
 the Countess standing beside the wooden hood which 
 covered the stairs. They guessed that she had heard 
 all or nearly all ; but the glory of the sunrise, shining 
 full on her at that moment, lent a false warmth to 
 her face, and life to eyes wofully and tragically set. 
 
WHICH WILL YOU, MADAME? 377 
 
 It was not easy to say 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 was preparing to do her bidding when 
 a cry of dismay broke from those who still had their 
 eyes bent downwards. The messenger, waving the 
 letter in a last appeal, had held it too loosely ; a light 
 air, as treacherous as unexpected, had snatched it 
 from his hand, and bore it — even as the Countess, 
 drawn by the cry, sprang to the parapet — fifty paces 
 from him, A moment it floated in the air, eddying, 
 rising, falling ; then, light as thistle-down, it touched 
 the water and began to sink. 
 
 The messenger uttered fjantio. lamentations, and 
 stamped the causeway in his rage. The Countess 
 only looked, and looked, until the rippling crest of a 
 baby wave broke over the tiny venture, and with its 
 freight of tidings 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 His Excellency's, 
 or my back had suffered! And now," he added im- 
 patiently, "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 the dilem- 
 ma, guessed what they meant to her, and looked 
 everywhere save at her. What answer? Which of 
 the two was to live? Which die — shamefully? 
 Which? Which? 
 
 "TeU him — to come back — an hour before sunset," 
 she muttered. 
 
378 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 They told him and he went ; and one by one the 
 men began to go too, and stole from, the roof, leaving 
 her standing alone, her face to the shore, her hands 
 resting on the parapet. The light breeze which blew 
 o£f the land stirred loose ringlets of her hair, and flat- 
 tened the thin robe against her sunlit figure. So had 
 she stood a thousand times in old days, in her youth, 
 in her maidenhood. So in her father's time had she 
 stood to see her lover come riding along the sands to 
 woo her! So had she stood to welcome him on the 
 eve of that fatal journey to Paris! Thence had oth- 
 ers watched her go with him. The men remembered 
 — remembered all ; and one by one they stole shame- 
 facedly away, fearing lest she should speak or turn 
 tragic eyes on them. 
 
 True, in their pity for her was no doubt of the 
 end, or thought of the victim who must suffer — of 
 Tavannes. They, of Poitou, who had not been with 
 Mm, knew nothing of him ; they cared as little. He 
 was a northern man, a stranger, a man of the sword, 
 who had seized her — so they heard — ^by the 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 they were, they discerned the tragedy 
 of her rdle, play it as she might, and though her act 
 gave life to her lover. 
 
 When aU had retired save three or four, she turned 
 and saw these gathered at the head of the stairs in a 
 ring about Carlat, who was addressing 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 ; and raising her voice she called the stew- 
 ard to her. "The bridge is up," she said, her tone 
 hard, "but the gates'? Are they locked! " 
 
WHICH WILL YOTJ, MADAME? 379 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 "The wicket?" 
 
 "No, not the -wicket." And Oarlat 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 be warned that 
 you play me no tricks! Do you hear? Do you un- 
 derstand? Or old as you are, and long as you have 
 served us, I will have you thrown from this tower, 
 with as little pity as Isabeau flung her gallants to the 
 fishes. I am still mistress here, never more mistress 
 than this day. Woe to you if you forget it." 
 
 He blenched and cringed before her, muttering in- 
 coherently. 
 
 "I know," she said, "I read you! And now the 
 keys. Go, bring them to me ! 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 roof feverishly. Now and then she ex- 
 tended her arms, and low cries broke from her, as 
 from a dumb creature in pain. Wherever she looked, 
 old memories rose up to torment her and redouble 
 her misery. A thing she could have borne in the 
 outer world, a thing which might have seemed tolera- 
 ble in the reeking air of Paris or in the gloomy streets 
 of Angers, wore here its most appalling aspect. 
 Henceforth, whatever choice she made, this home, 
 where even in those troublous times she had known 
 naught but peace, must bear a damning stain! 
 Henceforth this day and this hour must come be- 
 tween her and happiness, must brand her brow, and 
 fix her with a deed of which men and women would 
 
380 COIWT HANNIBAL. 
 
 tell while she lived! Oh, God— pray 1 Who said, 
 pray? 
 
 <'I ! " And La Tribe with tears in his eyes held out 
 the keys to her. "I, madame," he continued solemn- 
 ly, his voice broken with emotion. ''For in man is 
 no help. The strongest man, he who rode yesterday 
 a master of men, a very man of war in his pride and 
 his valour— see him now, and " 
 
 "Don't!" she oried, sharp pain in her voice. 
 '< Don't!" And she stopped him with her hand, her 
 face averted, After an interval, "You come from 
 him? " she muttered faintly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is he — hurt to death, think you?" She spoke 
 low, and kept her face hidden from him. 
 
 <'Alas, no! " he answered, speaking the thought in 
 his heart. "The men who are with him seem confi- 
 dent of his recovery." 
 
 "Do they know?" 
 
 "Badelon has had experience." 
 
 "No, no. Do they know of this?" she cried. "Of 
 this ! " And she pointed with 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, "God help you! " he added fer- 
 vently. "God help and guide you, madame! " 
 
 She turned on him suddenly, fiercely. " Is that all 
 you can do?" she cried. "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, 
 who trade on a woman's heart ! On them ! Do some- 
 thing, anything, rather than lie in safety here—' 
 here ! " 
 
 The minister shook his head sadly. <f Alas, ma- 
 
WHICH WILL TOU, MADAME ? 381 
 
 dame!" he said, "to sally were to waste life. They 
 outnumber us thtee to one. If Count Hannibal could 
 do no more than break through last night, with 
 scarce a man unwounded *' 
 
 " He had the women ! '* 
 
 "And we have not hito! " 
 
 "He Would not have left us!" she cried hysteri- 
 cally. 
 
 "I believe it." 
 
 "Had they taken me, do you think he wotdd have 
 lain behind walls 1 Or skulked in safety here, Vhile— 
 while " Her voice failed her. 
 
 He shook his head despondently. 
 
 "And that is all you can do?" she crled^ and 
 turned from him, and to him again, extending her 
 arms, in bitter scorn. "All you will do? Do yOtt 
 forget that twice he spared your life? That in Pa,ris 
 once, and once in Angers, he held his hand? That 
 always, whether he stood or whether he fled, he held 
 himself between us and harm? Ay, always? And 
 who will now raise a hand for him ? Who ? " 
 
 "Madame!" 
 
 "Who? Who? Had he died in the field," she 
 continued, her voice shaking with grief, her hands 
 beating the parapet— for she had turned from him — 
 "had he fallen where he rode last night, in the front, 
 with his face to the fbe, I had viewed hitn tearless, I 
 had deemed him happy ! I had prayed dry -eyed for 
 iiim -\frho — who spared me all these days and weeks ! 
 Whom I robbed and he forgave me ! Whom I tempt- 
 ed, and he forbore me ! Ay, and who spared not 
 once or twice him for whom he must now—he muBt 
 
 now^ " And unable to finish the sentence she 
 
 beat her hands again and passionately on the stonea. 
 
382 COUFT HANNIBAL. 
 
 "Heaven knows, madame," tlie minister cried 
 vehemently, "Heaven knows, I would 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? No foe 
 so gentle he would spare him this? Or why did he 
 not die with me in Paris when we waited ? In another 
 minute death might have come and saved 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? A little while, a 
 very little while, and we shall pass ! " 
 
 "With his curse upon us!" she cried. And, 
 shuddering, she pressed her hands to her eyes to shut 
 out the sight her fancy pictured. 
 
 He left her for a while, hoping that in solitude she 
 might regain control of herself. When he returned 
 he found her seated, and outwardly more composed, 
 her arms resting on the parapet-wall, her eyes bent 
 steadily on the long stretch of hard sand which ran 
 northward from the village. By that route her lover 
 had many a time come to her ; there she had ridden 
 with hini in the early days ; and that way they had 
 started for Paris on such a morning and at such an 
 hour as this, with sunshine about them, and larks 
 singing hope above the sand-dunes, and warm wave- 
 lets creaming to the horses' hoofs ! 
 
 Of all which, La Tribe, a stranger, knew nothing. 
 The rapt gaze, the unchanging attitude only con- 
 firmed his opinion of the course she wotdd adopt. 
 He was thankful to find her more composed ; and in 
 fear of such a scene as had already passed between 
 them he stole away again. He returned by-and-by, 
 
WHICH WILL YOU, MADAME? 383 
 
 but with the greatest reluctance, and only because 
 Carlat's urgency would take no refusal. 
 
 He came this time to crave the key of the wicket, 
 explaining that — rather to satisfy his own conscience 
 and the men than with any hope of success — he pro- 
 posed to go half-way along the caxiseway, and thence 
 by signs invite a conference. "It is just possible," 
 he added, hesitating — he feared nothing so much as 
 to 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! Be- 
 ware of the bridge ! " 
 
 He went and came again in half-an-hour. Then, 
 indeed, though she had spoken as if hope was dead in 
 her, she was on her feet at the first sound of his tread 
 on the stairs ; her parted lips and her white face ques- 
 tioned him. He shook his head. 
 
 "There is a priest," he said in broken tones, "with 
 them, whom God will judge. It is his plan, and he 
 is without mercy or pity." 
 
 "You bring nothing from — him? " 
 
 "They wiU not suffer him to write again," 
 
 "You did not see him? " 
 
 "ISO." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AGAINST THE VALL, 
 
 In a room beside the gateway, into which, as the 
 nearest and most convenient place, Count Hannibal 
 had been carried from his saddle, a man sat sideways 
 in the narrow embrasure of a loophole, to which his 
 eyes seemed glued. The room, which formed part of 
 the oldest block of the chateau, and was ordinarily 
 the quarters of the Carlats, possessed two other win- 
 dows, deep-set indeed, yet superior to that through 
 which Bigot — for he it was — peered so persistently. 
 But the larger windows looked southwards, across the 
 bay — at this moment the noon-high sUn was pouring 
 his radiance through them; while the object which 
 held Bigot's gaze and fixed him to his irksome seat, 
 lay elsewhere. The loophole commanded the cause- 
 way leading shorewards; through it the Norman 
 could see who came and went, and even the cross- 
 beam of the ugly object which rose where the cause- 
 way touched the land. 
 
 On a flat truckle-bed behind the door lay Count 
 Hannibal, his injured leg protected from the coverlid 
 by a kind of cage. His eyes were bright with fever, 
 and his untended beard and straggling hair height- 
 ened the wildness of his aspect. But he was in pos- 
 session of his senses; and as his gaze passed from 
 Bigot at the window to the old Free Companion, 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 385 
 
 who sat on a stool beside Mm, engaged in Shaping a 
 piece of wood into a spliutj an expression almost soft 
 crept into his harsh face. 
 
 "Old fool I" he said. And hia voicJe, though 
 changed, had not lost all its strength and harshness. 
 "Did the Constable need a spUht when you laid him 
 under the tower at Gaeta? " 
 
 The old man lifted his eyes from his task, and 
 glanced through the nearest window. "It is long 
 from noon to night," he said quietly, "and far from 
 cup to lip, my lord ! " 
 
 "It would be if I had two legs," Tavannes an- 
 swered, with a grimace, half -snarl, half -smile. "As 
 it is^— where is that dagger? It leaves me fevery min- 
 ute." 
 
 It had slipped from the coverUd to the grotind. 
 Badelon took it up, and set it on the bed within reach 
 of his master's hand. 
 
 Bigot swore fiercely. "It would be farther still," 
 he growled, "if you would be guided by me, my lord. 
 Give me leave to bar the door, and 'twill be long be- 
 fore 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 Ue to his words. He could hot 
 move without pain; and for Badelon, his knee was 
 as big as two with plaisters of his own placing. 
 
 Count Hannibal stared at the ceiling. "You could 
 not strike two blows!" he said. "Don't lie to me I 
 And Badelon canaot walk two yards! Fine fight- 
 ers!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. 
 "Fine bars 'twixt a man and death! No, it is time 
 25 
 
386 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 to turn the face to the wall. And, since go I must, 
 it shall not be said Count Hannibal dared not go 
 alone ! Besides " 
 
 Bigot stopped htm with an oath that was in part 
 a cry of pain. "D — n her!" he exclaimed in fury, 
 "'tis she is that besides! I know it. 'Tis she has 
 been our ruin from the day we saw her first, ay, to 
 this day! 'Tis she has bewitched you until your 
 blood, my lord, has turned 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 his elbow, he poised the dag- 
 ger as if he would hurl it. "Silence, or I will spit 
 you like the vermin you are! Silence, and listen! 
 And you, old ban-dog, listen too, for I know you ob- 
 stinate ! It is not to save him. It is because I will 
 die as I have lived, fearing nothing and asking noth- 
 ing ! It were easy to bar the door as you would have 
 me, and die in the corner here 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 I wotdd fain die! " 
 
 "And I!" Count Hannibal returned, showing his 
 teeth in a grim smile. "I too! Yet I will not! I 
 will not ! Because so to die were to die unwUltngly, 
 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, as becomes Tavannes ! That 
 when we are gone they may say, ' There died a 
 man ! ' " 
 
 "She may say! " Bigot muttered scowling. 
 
 Count Hannibal heard and glared at him, but pres- 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 387 
 
 ently thought better of it, and after a pause, "Ay, she 
 too! " he said. "Why not? As we have played the 
 game — ^f or her — so, though we lose, we will play it to 
 the end; nor because we lose throw down the cards! 
 Besides, man, die in the corner, die biting, and he 
 dies too ! " 
 
 "And why not?" Bigot asked, rising in a fury. 
 "Why not? Whose work is it we lie here, snared by 
 these clowns of fisherfolk? Who led us wrong and 
 betrayed us? He die? Would the devil had taken 
 him a year ago! Would he were within my reach 
 now! I would kUl him with my bare fingers! He 
 die? And why not?" 
 
 "Why, because, fool, his death would not save 
 me!" Count Hannibal answered coolly. "If it 
 would, he would die ! But it will not ; and we must 
 even do again as we have done. I have spared him 
 — ^he's a white-livered hound ! — both once and twice, 
 and we must go to the end with it since no better can 
 be ! I have thought it out, and it must be. Only see 
 you, old dog, that I have the dagger hid in the splint 
 where I can reach it. Aad then, when the exchange 
 has been made, and my lady has her silk glove again 
 — ^to put in her bosom!" — with a grimace and a 
 sudden reddening of his harsh features — "if master 
 priest come within reach of my arm, I'll send him be- 
 fore me, where I go." 
 
 "Ay, ay!" said Badelon. "And if you fail of 
 your stroke I will not fail of mine ! I shaU be there, 
 and I will see to It he goes ! I shall be there ! " 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Ay, why not?" the old man answered quietly. 
 "I may halt on this leg for aught I know, and come 
 to starve on crutches like old Claude Boiteux who 
 
388 COUNT HAJSTNIBAL. 
 
 was at the taking of Milan and now begs in the pas- 
 sage under the Ch^telet." 
 
 "Bah, man, you will get a new lord! " 
 
 Badelon nodded. "Ay, a new lord with new 
 ways! " he answered slowly and thoughtfully, "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 1 am 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 summer or winter heard the lark sing. 
 Now they are curled, and paint themselves, and lie in 
 sUk and toy with ladies — who shamed to be seeti at 
 Court or board when I was a boy — and love better to 
 hear the mouse squeak than the lark sing," 
 
 "Still, if I give you my gold chain," Count Hanni- 
 bal answered quietly, " 'twill keep you from that." 
 
 "Give it to Bigot," the old man answered. The 
 splint he was fashioning had fallen on his knees, and 
 his eyes were fixed on the distance of his youth. 
 "For me, my lord, I am tited, and I go with you. I 
 go with you. It is a good death to die biting before 
 the strength be quite gone. Have the dagger too, if 
 you please, and I'll fit it within the splint right neat- 
 ly. But I shall be thete " 
 
 " Aiid you'll strike home? " Tavannes cried eagerly. 
 He raised himself on his 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 a turn ere 
 you withdraw, that I learned from Euiz — on the 
 shaven-pate. I see them about me now!" the old 
 man continued) his face flushing, his form dilating. 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 389 
 
 "It will be odd if I cannot snatch a sword and hew 
 down three to go with Tavanues! 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 Jarnae, never 
 fear!" And the old man's moustaches curled up 
 ferociously. 
 
 Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled with joy. "Old 
 dog ! " he cried— and he held his hand to the veteran, 
 who brushed it reverently with his lips— "we will go 
 together then! Wlio touches my brother, touches 
 Tavannes ! " 
 
 "Touches Tavannes!" Badelon cried, the glow of 
 battle lighting his bloodshot eyes. He rose to his 
 feet. "Touches Tavannes! You mind at Jar- 
 nae- — " 
 
 "Ah! At Jarnae!" 
 
 "When we charged their horse, was my boot a foot 
 from yours, my lord? " 
 
 "IJfotafoot!" 
 
 "And at Dreux," the old man continued with a 
 proud, elated gesture, "when we rode down the Ger- 
 man pikemen — they were grass before us, leaves on 
 the wind, thistle-down— was it not I who covered 
 your bridle hand, and swerved not in the mSlie ? " 
 
 "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, and seized 
 my rein -" 
 
 "And we rode off together, my lord— of the last, 
 
390 COUNT HAI^NIBAL. 
 
 of the last, as God sees me! And striking as we 
 vent, so that they left ns 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, that was 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 we broke Guasto's line " 
 
 "At Cerisoles?" Count Hannibal muttered slowly. 
 "Why, man, I " 
 
 "I caught your horse, and mounted you afresh? 
 You remember, my lord? And at Landriano, where 
 Leyva turned the tables on us again." 
 
 Count Hannibal stared. "Landriano?" he mut- 
 tered bluntly. " 'Twas in '29, forty years ago and 
 more ! My father, indeed " 
 
 "And at Eome — at Eome, my lord? MonDieu! 
 in the old days at Eome ! When the Spanish com- 
 pany scaled the wall — ^Euiz was first, I next — ^was it 
 not my foot you held? And was it not I who 
 dragged you up, while the devils of Swiss pressed us 
 hard? Ah, those were days, my lord! I was young 
 then, and you, my lord, young too, and handsome as 
 the morning " 
 
 "You rave!" Tavannes cried, finding Ms tongue 
 at last. "Eome? You rave, old man ! Why, I was 
 not born in those days. My father even was a boy ! 
 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 roused suddenly from sleep looks, he 
 looked round the room. The light died out of his 
 eyes — as a light blown out in a room; his form 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 391 
 
 seemed to shrink, even while the others gazed at him, 
 and he sat down. "No, I remember," he muttered 
 slowly. "It was Prince PMlibert of Chalons, my 
 lord of Orange." 
 
 "Dead these forty years! " 
 
 "Ay, dead these forty years! All dead!" the old 
 man whispered, gazing at his gnarled hand, and 
 opening and shutting it by turns. "And I grow 
 childish! 'Tis time, high time, I followed them! 
 It trembles now ; but have no fear, my lord, this hand 
 wiU not tremble then. All dead ! Ay, all dead ! " 
 
 He sank into a mournful silence ; and Tavannes, 
 after gazing at him awhile in rough pity, fell to his 
 own meditations, which were gloomy enough. The 
 day was beginning to wane, and with the downward 
 turn, though the sun still shone brightly through the 
 southern windows, a shadow seemed to fall across his 
 thoughts. They no longer rioted in a turmoil of defi- 
 ance as in the forenoon. In its turn, sober reflection 
 marshalled the past before his eyes. The hopes of a 
 life, the ambitions of a life, moved in sombre proces- 
 sion, and things done and things left undone, the sov- 
 ereignty which Nostradamus had promised, the faces 
 of men he had spared 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 lose highly, playing the game to the 
 end, that to-morrow she might think of him highly. 
 Had she begun to think of him at all? In the cham- 
 ber of the inn at Angers he had fancied a change in 
 her, an awakening to life and warmth, a shadow of 
 turning to him. It had pleased him to think so, at 
 any rate. It pleased him stUl to imagine — of this he 
 was more confident — ^that in the time to come, when 
 
392 OOin^T HANNIBAL. 
 
 she was Tignonville'a, elie wotQd think of him secret- 
 ly and kindly. She wonld remember him, and in her 
 thoughts and in her memory he ■would grow to the 
 heroic, even as the man she had chosen would shrink 
 as she learned to know him. 
 
 It pleased him, that. It was almost all that was 
 left to please him — 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 more 
 grievous, the frame of his mind altered. A sombre 
 rage was born and grew in him, and a passion fierce 
 and ill-suppressed. To eiid thus, with nothing done, 
 nothing aocomplished of all his hopes and ambitions! 
 To die 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 turn the 
 St Baa^tholomew to his ends! To die thus, and leave 
 hex to that puppet! Strong man as he was, of a 
 strength of will surpassed by few, it taxed him to the 
 utmost to lie and make no sign. Once, indeed, he 
 raised himself on his elbow with something between 
 an oath and a snarl, and he seemed about to speak. 
 So that Bigot came hurriedly to him. 
 
 "My lord?" 
 
 " Water ! " he said. " Water, fool ! " And, having 
 drank, he turned Ms face to 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 touch her 
 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 at daybreak. 
 But then, in his state of collapse, he had been hardly 
 conscious of her presence. Now to ask for her or to 
 see her would stamp him coward, say what he might 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 393 
 
 to her. The proverb, that the King's face gives 
 grace, applied to her; and an overture on his side 
 could mean but one thing, that he sought her grace. 
 And that he would not do though the cold waters of 
 death covered him more and more, and the coming of 
 the end— in that quiet chamber, while the September 
 sun sank to the appointed place — awoke wild long- 
 ings and a wild rebellion in his breast. His thoughts 
 were very bitter, as he lay, his loneliness of the utter- 
 most. He turned his face to the wall. 
 
 In that posture he slept after a time, watched over 
 by Bigot with looks of rage and pity. And on the 
 room fell a long sUence. The sun had lacked three 
 hours of setting when he fell asleep. When he re- 
 opened his eyes, and, after lying for a few minutes 
 between sleep and waking, became conscious of his 
 position, of the day, of the things which had hap- 
 pened, and his helplessness — an awakening which 
 wrung from him an involuntary groan — the light in 
 the room was stUl strong, and even bright. He fan- 
 cied for a moment that he had merely dozed off and 
 awaked again ; and he continued to lie with his face 
 to the wall, courting a return of slumber. 
 
 But sleep did not come, and little by little, as he 
 lay listening and thinking and growing more restless, 
 he got the fancy that he was alone. The light fell 
 brightly on the waU to which his face was turned ; 
 how could 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 no answer came. 
 
394 COUNT HAirariBAL, 
 
 He had been accustomed all his life to instant ser- 
 vice; to see the act follow the word ere the word 
 ceased to sound. And nothing which had gone be- 
 fore, nothing which he had suffered since his defeat 
 at Angers, had brought him to feel his impotence and 
 his position — and that the end of his power was in- 
 deed come — as sharply as this. The blood rushed to 
 his head; almost the tears to eyes which had not 
 shed them since boyhood, and would not shed them 
 now, weak as he was! He rose on his elbow and 
 looked with 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 a tiny 
 view of the shore and the low rocky hill, of which 
 the summit shone warm in the last rays of the set- 
 ting sun. 
 
 The setting sun ! Ay, for the lower part of the hiU 
 was growing cold; the shore at its foot was grey. 
 Then he had slept long, and the time was come. He 
 drew a deep breath and listened. But on all within 
 and without lay silence, a silence marked, rather 
 than broken, by the dull fall of a wave on the cause- 
 way. The day had been calm, but with the sunset a 
 light breeze was rising. 
 
 He set his teeth hard, and continued to listen. An 
 hour before sunset was the time they had named for 
 the exchange. What did it meanf In five minutes 
 the sun would be below the horizon ; already the zone 
 of warmth on the hillside was moving and retreating 
 upwards. And Bigot and old Badelon? Why had 
 they left him while he slept? An hour before sun- 
 set! Why, the room was growing grey, grey and 
 dark in the comers, and — ^what was that? 
 
 He started, so violently that he jarred his leg, and 
 
AGAINST THE WALL. 395 
 
 the pain wrung a groan from him. At the foot of 
 the bed, overlooked until then, a woman lay prone on 
 the floor, her face resting on her outstretched arms. 
 She lay without motion, her head and her clasped 
 hands towards the loophole, her thick, clubbed hair 
 hiding her neck. A woman! Count Hannibal 
 stared, and, fancying he dreamed, closed his eyes, 
 then looked again. It was no phantasm. It was the 
 Countess ; it was his wife ! 
 
 He drew a deep breath, but he did not speak, 
 though the colour rose slowly 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 shod feet ; unchecked he took his fill of that 
 which he had so much desired — ^the seeing her ! A 
 woman prone, with all of her hidden but her hands : 
 a hundred 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 
 her hands alone. 
 
 What was she doing here, and in this guise? He 
 pondered; then he looked from her for an instant 
 and saw that while he had gazed at her the sun had 
 set, the light had passed from the top of the hill ; the 
 world without and the room within were growing 
 cold. Was that the cause she no longer lay quiet? 
 He saw a shudder run through her, and a second; 
 then it seemed 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 paroxysm had passed, the last flush of 
 sunset had faded from the sky, and the hiUs were 
 growing dark. 
 
(MAPTEE X X X VI. 
 HIS KIKaDOM. 
 
 Count Hannibal cotdd not have said why he did 
 not speak to her at once. Warned by an instiact 
 vague and ill-understood, he remained silent, his 
 eyes riveted on her, until she rose from the floor, A 
 moment later she met his gaze, and he looked to see 
 her start. Instead she stood quiet and thoughtful, 
 regarding him with a kind of sad solemnity, as if 
 she saw not him only, but the dead ; while first one 
 tremor and then a second shook her frame. 
 
 At length, "It is over!" she whispered. "Pa- 
 tience, monsieur; have no fear, I will be brave. 
 But I must give a little to him." 
 
 "To him! " Count Hannibal muttered, his face ex- 
 traordinarily pale. 
 
 She smiled with an odd passionateness. "Who was 
 my lover! " she cried, her voice a-thriU. "Who wiU 
 ever be my lover, though I have denied him, though 
 I have left him to die ! It was just. He who has so 
 tried me knows it was just! He whom I have sacri- 
 ficed — he knows it too, now! But it is hard to be — 
 just," with a quavering smUe. "You who take all 
 may give him a little, may pardon me a little, may 
 have — ^patience ! " 
 
 Count Hannibal uttered a strangled cry, between a 
 moan and a roar. A moment he beat the coverlid 
 
HIS KINGDOM. ^ 397 
 
 with his hands in impotence. Then he sank back on 
 the bed. " Water ! " he muttered. " Water ! " 
 
 She fetched it hurriedly, and, raising his head on 
 her arm, held it to his lips. He drank, and lay back 
 again with closed eyes. He lay so still and so long 
 that she thought that he had fainted; but after a 
 pause he spoke. "You have done that?" he whis- 
 pered, "you have done that? " 
 
 "Yes," she answered, shuddering. "God forgive 
 me ! I have done that ! I had 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's closed eyelids, and rolled 
 sluggishly down his harsh cheek to the edge of his 
 beard. "I would have gone," he muttered. "If you 
 had spoken, I would have spared you this." 
 
 "I know," she answered unsteadily; "the men told 
 me." 
 
 "And yet " 
 
 "It was just. And you are my husband," she re- 
 plied. "More, I am the captive of your sword, and 
 as you spared me in your strength, my lord, I spared 
 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 her horror ; even while the gibbet on 
 the causeway, which had burned itself into her eye- 
 balls, hung before her. For she knew that it was the 
 cost to lier he was counting. She knew that for him- 
 self he had ever held life cheap, that he could have 
 seen Tignonville suffer without a qualm. And the 
 thoughtf ulness for her, the value he placed on a thing 
 
398 COUNT HANinBAL. 
 
 — even on a rival's life — because it was dear to her, 
 touched her home, moved her as few things could 
 have moved her at that moment. She saw it of a 
 piece with 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 she had 
 said she would not say ; words of love, even of recon- 
 ciliation, had no place on her lips while he whom she 
 had sacrificed awaited his burial. 
 
 And meantime the man beside her lay and found it 
 incredible. "It was just," she had said. And he 
 knew it; TignonviUe's folly — that and that only had 
 led them into the snare and caused his own capture. 
 But what had justice to do with the things of this 
 world? In his experience, the strong 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 might have freed herself. 
 
 And she had not. There was the incredible thing. 
 She had chosen instead to do justice ! It passed be- 
 lief. Opening his eyes on a silence which had lasted 
 some minutes, a silence rendered more solemn by the 
 lapping water without, Tavannes saw her kneeling in 
 the dusk of the chamber, her head bowed over his 
 couch, her face hidden in her hands. He knew that 
 she prayed, and feebly he deemed the whole a dream. 
 N"© scene akin to it had had place in his life ; and, 
 weakened and in pain, he prayed that the vision 
 might last for ever, that he might never awake. 
 
 But by-and-by, wrestling with the dread thought 
 of what she had done, and the horror which would 
 return upon her by fits and spasms, she flung out a 
 hand, and it fell on him. He started, and the move- 
 ment, jarring the broken limb, wrung from him a cry 
 
HIS KDiTGDOM. 399 
 
 of pain. She looked up and was going to speak, 
 when a scuffling of feet under the gateway arch, and 
 a confused sound 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 through 
 the 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 the gateway the footsteps of 
 two men — one limped — detached themselves and 
 came nearer and nearer. They stopped without. A 
 gleam of light shone under the door, and someone 
 knocked. 
 
 She went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, 
 stepped quickly back to the bedside, where for an in- 
 stant the light borne by those who entered blinded 
 her. Then, above the lantern, the faces of La Tribe 
 and Bigot broke 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 was 
 gone ; he was very pale, and it was Bigot who in the 
 end spoke for both. He stepped forward, and, kneel- 
 ing, kissed her cold hand. 
 
 "My lady," he said, "you have gained all, and lost 
 nothing. Blessed be God ! " 
 
 "Blessed be God!" the minister wept. And from 
 the passage without came the sound of laughter and 
 weeping and many voices, with a flutter of lights and 
 flying skirts, and women's feet. 
 
 She stared at him wUdly, doubtfully, her hand at 
 her throat. " What? " she said, "he is not dead— M. 
 deTignonville'?" 
 
 "'No, he is alive," La Tribe answered, "he is alive." 
 And he lifted up his hands as if he gave thanks. 
 
400 COUNT HANKIBAL. 
 
 "Alive?" she cried. "Alive! Oh, heaven is 
 merciful! You are sure 1 Tou are sure?" 
 
 "Sure, Madame, sure. He was not in their hands. 
 He was dismounted in the first shock, iib seems, and, 
 coming to himself after a time, crept away and 
 reached St. Gilles, and came hither in a boat. But 
 the enemy learned that he had not entered with us, 
 and of this the priest wove his snare. Blessed be 
 God, who put it into your heart to escape it! " 
 
 The Countess stood motionless and, with closed 
 eyes, pressed her hands to her temples. Once she 
 swayed as if she would fall her length, and Bigot 
 sprang 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 is alive, and here." 
 
 "Here!" She started at the word. The colour 
 fluttered in her cheek. "But the keys," she mur- 
 mured. 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 is waiting at the postern, where he 
 landed. He came, hoping to be of use to you." 
 
 She paused a moment, and when she spoke again 
 her aspect had undergone a subtle change. Her head 
 was high, a flush had risen to her cheeks, her eyes 
 were bright. "Then," she said, addressing La Tribe, 
 "do you, monsieur, go to him, and pray him in my 
 name to retire to St. Gilles, if he can do so without 
 peril. He has no place here — now ; and if he can go 
 safely to his home it will be well that he do so. 
 
HIS KINGDOM. 401 
 
 Add, if you please, that Madame de Tavannes thanks 
 him for his offer of aid, but in her husband's house 
 she needs no other 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. de Tignonville I have to thank, but 
 Heaven's mercy, that I do not stand here at this mo- 
 ment unhappy as I entered — a woman accursed, to be 
 pointed at while I live. And the dead " — she pointed 
 solemnly through the dark casement to the shore — 
 "the dead lie there." 
 
 La Tribe went. 
 
 She stood a moment in thought, and then took the 
 keys from the rough stone window-ledge on which 
 she had laid them when she entered. As the cold 
 iron touched her fingers she shuddered. The contact 
 awoke again the horror and misery in which she had 
 groped, a lost thing, when she last felt that chUl. 
 
 "Take them," she said; and she gave them to Bi- 
 got. "Until my lord can leave his couch they will re- 
 main in your charge, and you will answer for all to 
 him. Go, now, take the light ; and in half -an-hour 
 send Madame Carlat 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. But the 
 voice of the sea was no longer the same in the dark- 
 ness, where the Countess knelt in silence beside the 
 bed — ^knelt, her head bowed on her clasped hands, as 
 she had knelt before, but with a mind how different, 
 with what different thoughts ! Count Hannibal could 
 26 
 
402 COUNT HAIOriBAL, 
 
 see her head but dimly, for the light shed upwards by 
 the spume of the sea fell only on the rafters. But he 
 knew she was there, and he would fain, for his heart 
 was full, have laid his hand on her hair. 
 
 And yet he would not. He would not, out of 
 pride. Instead he bit on his harsh beard, and lay 
 looking upward to the rafters, waiting what would 
 come. He who had held her at his will now lay at 
 hers, and waited. He who had spared her life at a 
 price now took his own a gift at her hands, and 
 bore it. 
 
 "Afterwards, Madame de Tavarmes " 
 
 His mind went back by some chance to those words 
 — ^the words he had neither meant nor fulfilled. It 
 passed from them to the marriage and the blow ; to 
 the scene in the meadow beside the river ; to the last 
 ride between La Pl^che and Angers — ^the ride during 
 which he had played with her fears and hugged him- 
 self 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 releasing Tignonville 
 after the fashion of Bayard and the Paladins, and in 
 the teeth of snarling thousands, he had come near to 
 releasing him after another fashion and at his own 
 expense. Instead of dazzling her by his mastery and 
 winning her by his magnanimity, he lay here, owing 
 her his life, and so weak, so broken, that the tears of 
 childhood welled up in his eyes. 
 
 Out of the darkness a hand, cool and firm, slid into 
 his, clasped it tightly, 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 spared 
 me. Him I loved you took and spared him too — not 
 
HIS KINGDOM. 403 
 
 once or twice. Angers, also, and my people you 
 would have saved for my sake. And you thought I 
 could 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 lovedhiin." And she fell silent a 
 minute. Then, "And I feared you," she added, her 
 voice low. "Oh, how I feared you — and hated you! " 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 "I do not fear him," she answered, smiling in the 
 darkness. "Kot hate him. 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 be as 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 chat- 
 tel, your property, your own. Have you not told 
 me so?" 
 
 "But your heart," he cried fiercely, "is his! Your 
 heart, which you told me in the meadow could never 
 be mine ! " 
 
 "I lied," she murmured, laughing tearfully, and 
 her hands hovered over him. "It has come back! 
 And it is on my lips." 
 
 And she leant over and kissed him. And Count 
 Hannibal knew that he had entered into his kingdom, 
 the sovereignty of a woman's heart. 
 
404 COUNT HANNIBAL. 
 
 An hour later there was a stir in the village on the 
 mainland. Lanterns began to flit to and fro. Sulk- 
 ily men were saddling and preparing for the road. 
 It was far to Challans, farther to LSge — ^more than 
 one day, and many a weary league to Fonts de C6 
 and the Loire. The men who had ridden gaUy south- 
 wards on the scent of spoil and revenge turned their 
 backs on the castle with many a sullen oath and 
 word. They burned a hovel or two, and stripped 
 such as they spared, after the fashion of the day; 
 and it had gone Ul with the peasant woman who fell 
 into their hands. Fortunately, under cover of the 
 previous night every soul had escaped from the vil- 
 lage, some to sea, and the rest to take shelter among 
 the sand dunes ; and as the troopers rode up the path 
 from the beach, and through the green valley, where 
 their horses shied from the bodies of the men 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 on the 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 had escaped him. The words were lost, as soon 
 as spoken, in the murmur of the sea on the causeway; 
 the sea, fit emblem of the Eternal, which rolled its 
 tide regardless of blessing or cursing, good or iU will, 
 nor spared one jot of ebb or flow because a puny 
 creature had spoken to the night. 
 
 THE END. 
 
SOPHIA 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN 
 
 AUTHOR OF " A OENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," " UNDER THE RED KOBE," ETC. 
 
 With 12 Illustrations by C. Hammond. Crown 8vo, clotli, 
 ornamental, $1.50f 
 
 *' Mr. Weyman's new romance illustrates the types and manners of fashion- 
 able London society in the year 1742. In everything that means the revival of 
 an historical atmosphere it is skilful, and, on the whole, just. The characters 
 also are well realized. . . . ' Sophia ' is a decidedly interesting novel. , . , 
 The tale moves swiftly, hurrying on from the town to the heath, from hatred to 
 love, from imprisonment on bread and water to diamonds . . . and a dozen 
 other things. Sophia, the heroine, is a bundle of girlish foolishness and charms. 
 * Sophia,' the book, is a bundle of more or less extraordinary episodes woven 
 into a story in the most beguiling manner." — New York Tribune, April, igcxj. 
 
 "It is a good, lively, melodramatic story of love and adventure . . . it is 
 safe to say that nobody who reads the lively episode in the first chapter will 
 leave the book unfinished, because there is not a moment's break in the swift 
 and dramatic narrative until the last page. . . . The dramatic sequence is 
 nearly faultless."— TRIBUNE, Chicago. 
 
 " Sophia, with her mistakes, her adventures, and her final surrender; Sophia 
 moving among the eighteenth century world of fashion at Vauxhall ; Sophia fly- 
 ing through the country roads, pursued by an adventurer, and Sophia captured 
 by her husband, transport one so far from this work-a-day life that the reader 
 comes back surprised to find that this prosaic world is still here after that too- 
 brief excursion into the realm of fancy." 
 
 —NEW York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " The gem of the book is its description of the long coach-ride made by 
 Sophia to Sir Hervey's home in Sussex, the attempt made by highwaymen to 
 rab her, and her adventures at the paved ford and in the house made silent by 
 smallpox, where she took refuge. This section of the story is almost as breath- 
 less as Smollett. ... In the general firmness of touch, and sureness of 
 historic portrayal, the book deserves high praise."— BUFFALO Express. 
 
 " ^ Sophia ' contains, in its earlier part, a series of incidents that is, we believe, 
 the most ingenious yet planned by its author, , , , The adventure develops 
 and grows, the tension increases with each page, to such an extent that the 
 hackneyed adjective, ' breathless,' finds an appropriate place." 
 
 —NEW York Mail and Express. 
 
 " ' Sophia,' his latest, is also one of his best. A delightful spirit of adventure 
 hangs about the story ; something interesting happens in every chapter. The 
 admirable ease of style, the smooth -and natural dialogue, the perfect adjust- 
 ment of events and sequences conceal all the usual obtiusive mechanism, and 
 hold the curiosity of the reader throughout the development of an excellent plot 
 and genuine people."— Public Ledger, Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
 ''Those who read Mr, Stanley ]. Weyman's * Castle Inn ' with delight, will 
 find in his ' Sophia ' an equally brilliant performance, in which they are intro- 
 duced to another part of the Georgian era. . . . Mr. Weyman knows the 
 eighteenth century from top to bottom, and could any time be more suitable 
 for the writer of romance ? . . . There is only one way to define the subtle 
 charm and distinction of this book, and that is to say that it deserves a place on 
 the book -shelf beside those dainty volumes in which Mr. Austin Dobson has em- 
 balmed the very spirit of the period of the hoop and the patch, the coffee-house, 
 and the sedan chair. And could Mr. Stanley Weyman ask for better company 
 for his books than that ? "—Evening Sun, New York. 
 
 " Contains what is probably the most ingenious and exciting situation even 
 he has ever invented."— BOOK Buyer, New York. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN. & 00., 91-93 PHTH AVE., NEW TOEK. 
 
THE CASTLE INN. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 AUTHOft 6P "a gentleman OF FRANCE," "UNDER THE SBD ROBE," 
 "SHREWSBURY," ETC., ETC. 
 
 With six fuU-pase Illustrations by Walter Appleton Clark. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, ornamental, S 1 .50. 
 
 " A tale which is full of old-world romance and adventure. It has a strong ilavoi 
 of the under life in England when George the Third was young, when sign-posts 
 served also as gibhets, when travel was by coach and highwaymen were many, when 
 men drank deep and played high. There are plenty of stirring scenes along the way, 
 plentj; of treachery and fighting at cross-purposes which lead to intricate and dramatic 
 situations. The heroine's charms recall Mile, de Cocheforet in * Under the Red Robe,' 
 and she proves herself a n?aid of spirit through all the mishaps which befall her. One 
 of the most notable things about * The Castle Inn ' is the way in which Mr. Weyman 
 has caught the spirit of the age, and manages to imbue his readers with its feeling." 
 
 —Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " .... In ' The Castle Inn,' this master of romance tells a story of the time 
 of George 111. in the third person. ... A story of rapid action, with a swinging 
 succession of moving incidents that keep the reader incessantly on the qui vive. It 
 deals with human emotions with directness and thoughlfulness." 
 
 — The Press, Phila., Pa. 
 
 " . . . ' The Castle Inn ' . . . is so fresh and entertaining that it takes one 
 back to 'A Gentleman of France,' and other good things this author did several years 
 ago. Mr. Weyman, in looking about for an appropriate setting for his romance, very 
 wisely eschews scenes and people of to-day, and chooses, instead, England a hundred 
 and thirty years ago, when George III. was on her throne, and living was a far more 
 picturesque business than it is now. Beautiful maidens could be kidnapped then; 
 daring lovers faced pistols and swords in behalf of their sweethearts, and altogether 
 the pace was a lively one. Mr. Weyman knows how to use the attractive colorings to 
 the best advantage possible."— Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 *• , . . a piece of work which is infinitely better than anything else which he 
 has accomplished. He has treated the eighteenth century, the time of the elder Pitt, 
 with a grasp and a sympathy that presage a greater reputation for this novelist than 
 he has enjoyed hitherto. The story itself is worth the telling, but the great thing is 
 the way it is told."— New York Sun. 
 
 "... he has a firm grasp of his period in this book, and revives the atmos- 
 phere of the last century in England, with its shallow graces and profound brutality, 
 coherently and even with eloquence . . . it is a most interesting story, which 
 should please the reader of romantic tastes and sustain the author's reputation." 
 
 — New York Tribune. 
 
 "The characters in the book are all entertaining, and many of them are droll, 
 while a few, like the conscientious Mr. Fishwick, the attorney, and the cringing 
 parasite, Mr. Thomasson, are, in their own way, masterpieces of character study. 
 Take it all in all, ' The Caslle Inn ' is in many ways the best work which has yet come 
 from Mr. Weyman's pen."— Commercial Advertiser, New York. 
 
 " Mr. Weyman has surpassed himself in ' The Castle Inn.' From cover to cover 
 the book teems with adventure and romance, and the love episode is delicious. Julia 
 will live as one of the most graceful heroines in the literature of our time. . . . 
 We get an excellent idea of the doings of fashionable society in the time when George 
 III. was young, and altogether the volume can be heartily recommended as the besi 
 thing that Weyman has done, and, in the opinion of one, at least, the most fascinating 
 bookof the season. "—Home Journal, New York. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & CO., 91-93 FUTH AVE., NEW TOEK. 
 
LYSBETH 
 
 A TALE OF THE DUTCH 
 
 By H. RIDER HAGGARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "she," "king SOLOMON'S MINES," "SWALLOW," ETC., ETC. 
 
 With 26 Full-pagre Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Ciothi, 
 Ornamentai, $1.50 
 
 " Mr. Rider Haggard at his very best. To give an adequate idea of the story 
 of ' Lysbeth ' we should require many columns for the simple catalogue of the 
 adventures and perils and fights and escapes which make up one of the most 
 vigorous and exciting tales ever written. " — The Bookman, London. 
 
 " It is a thrilling tale of adventure and sacrifice, with a substantial love 
 element and strong side lights upon the history of the people of the Netherlands 
 during the period in which the masterly drawn characters move. It is told in a 
 captivating style with never-flagging interest, and is by all odds the best story, 
 as it will probably be the most popular, that this author has written. " 
 
 — North American, Philadelphia. 
 
 '"Lysbeth 'is one of the most complete romances that have been written ; 
 ... it is one of the most interesting . . . stories of the Spanish misrule 
 in the Netherlands. It includes all the elements for romantic narrative — 
 affection, peril, bravery and villainy, and each delineated with impressiveness 
 that moves the reader to alternate emotions of admiration and detestation." 
 
 —Boston Courier. 
 
 "... May be safely called the best story of this popular writer of 
 adventures. His vivid and audacious style of picturing thrilling and improb- 
 able adventures is given full play. The historical background adds much to 
 the interest of the story if one is not interested merely in adventures. . . . 
 The illustrations of the book are numerous and excellent. " 
 
 —Boston Transcript. 
 
 "... A novel which is well worth reading. Haggard is master of an 
 inimitable style. He is a wonderful painter of battles, and the description of 
 the flight with Brant's jewels down the canal and out to sea is one of the best 
 descriptions of a fight ever written. ' Lysbeth ' is a novel which sustains the 
 interest from the first to the last chapter." — San Francisco Bulletin. 
 
 " Here is a really strong piece of work, and one in which Rider Haggard 
 appears on an entirely new ground. . . . The historical background is 
 sufficient in itself to make a story of entrancing interest, and the two or three 
 romances which have been interwoven with it make the book one of the most 
 notable even among the many excellent works of recent historical fiction. The 
 Spanish and the Dutch types are both true to life, and the historical setting is 
 remarkably accurate and true. Rider Haggard will indeed win more lasting 
 renown by his work on ' Lysbeth ' than by his wierd tales which were the talk of 
 a day and then forgotten." — Living Church. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 PIPTH AVENUE, NEW TOEK.