crown our only true king, the King of Paris and of
France, the King of the Faith, and of his people's hearts--Guise, the
good Guise!"

Because, even thus early, the habit of municipal eloquence had been
formed and its pattern set for all the ages. De Launay was considered a
good practitioner.

The windows of Valentine Osorio's chambers looked on the garden of the
Hotel of Guise--a shady orchard close where in the evening the Duke
often walked with his gentlemen, and specially with his handsome young
brother, the Duke of Bar.

On an evening of mackerel cloud, pearl-grey and flaky gold vaulting so
high overhead that the sky above the small smokeless Paris of 1588
seemed infinite, Valentine sat gossiping with her maid Salome.

To them, with the slightest preface of knocking, light as a bird,
entered a priestly figure in the sombre robes of the Society of Jesus--a
little rosy-cheeked man, plump and dimpled with good living, and, as it
seemed, good nature.

But at the sight of him a nervous shudder passed through the body of the
young girl. So in a school, when the master returns before his time,
playing scholars draw unwillingly with downcast, discontented eyes to
sterner tasks. Yet the Jesuit was kindly and tolerant in manner,
prodigal of smile and compliment. There was nothing of the Inquisitor
about the famous father Mariana, historian and secret politician.

"Fairer than ever, Mistress Valentine," he murmured, after he had
exchanged a glance with the maid Salome, "ah, the blessed thing which is
beauty when used for sanctified ends! Seldom is it thus used in this
world of foolish women! But you are wise. The Gesu are under deep
obligations, and the King--the King--ah, he will not forget. He has sent
you hither, and has commissioned me to speak with you. Your good, your
excellent uncle, Osorio, knows some part of King Philip's plans, but not
all--no, not all. He is too blunt an instrument for such fine work. But
_you_ can understand, and shall!"

The girl struck her hands together angrily and turned upon him.

"Again--again!" she said, "is it to be treachery again?"

"Not treachery, dear lady," cooed the father; "but when you go to tickle
trout, you do not stand on the bank and throw in great stones. You work
softly underneath, and so guide the fish to a place from which they
cannot escape."

"Is it Guise?" demanded the girl, breaking fiercely through these dulcet
explanations.

"As you say," smiled the Jes