, for the name of one
of the boldest and stanchest soldiers on the Huguenot side.

"La Noue?" she murmured, misty suspicions beginning to take form in her
mind.

"Yes, pretty one," he replied, laughing. "La Noue and no other. Does
Bras-de-fer pass for an ogre here in Paris that you tremble so at his
name? Let me----"

But whatever the proposition he was going to offer, it came to nothing.
The dull clash of the gates outside warned both of them that Nicholas
Toussaint and his party had returned. A moment later a hasty tread
sounded on the stairs; and an elderly man wearing a cloak burst in upon
them.

His eyes swept the room while his hand still held the door; and it was
clear that what he saw did not please him. He came forward stiffly, his
brows knitted. But he said nothing; he seemed uncertain and embarrassed.

"See!" the first comer said, looking quietly up at him, but not offering
to move. "Now what do you think of your ogre? And by the rood he looks
fierce enough to eat babes! There, old friend," he continued, speaking
to the elder man in a different tone, "spare your lecture. This is
Toussaint's daughter, and as staunch I will warrant as her father."

The old noble--he had but one arm, she saw--still looked at her with
disfavour. "Girls have sweethearts, sire," he said shrewdly.

For a moment--at that word--the room seemed to go round with her. Though
something more of reproach and playful defence passed between the two
men, she heard not a syllable of it. The consciousness that her lover
was listening to every word, and that from this moment La Noue's life
was in his hands, numbed her brain. She sat helpless, hardly aware that
half a dozen men were entering, her father one of them. When a lamp was
called for--it was growing dark--she did not stir: and Toussaint, who
had not seen her, fetched it himself.

By the time he came back she had partly recovered her wits. She noted
that her father locked the door with care before he set the lamp on the
table. As its light fell on the harsh features of the men, a ray passed
between two of them, and struck her pale face. Her father saw her and
stared in astonishment.

"By heaven!" he cried. "What does the wench here?" No one answered; but
all turned and looked at her where she cowered back against the stove.
"Go, girl!" Toussaint cried, beside himself with passion. "Begone! and
presently I will deal with you!"

"Nay, stop!" La Noue interposed. "Your daughter kno