ot one of them. Sir Pierre
walked quietly and unobtrusively down the side aisle and out into the
narthex. She was standing there, just inside the main door, adjusting
the black lace mantilla about her head, as though she had just come in
from outside. Suddenly, Sir Pierre was very glad he would not have to
be the one to break the news.

She looked rather sad, as always, her plain face unsmiling. The
jutting nose and square chin which had given her brother the Count a
look of aggressive handsomeness only made her look very solemn and
rather sexless, although she had a magnificent figure.

"My lady," Sir Pierre said, stepping towards her, "the Reverent Father
would like to speak to you before Mass. He's waiting at the sacristy
door."

She held her rosary clutched tightly to her breast and gasped. Then
she said, "Oh. Sir Pierre. I'm sorry; you quite surprised me. I didn't
see you."

"My apologies, my lady."

"It's all right. My thoughts were elsewhere. Will you take me to the
good Father?"

Father Bright heard their footsteps coming down the corridor before he
saw them. He was a little fidgety because Mass was already a minute
overdue. It should have started promptly at 7:15.

The new Countess D'Evreux took the news calmly, as he had known she
would. After a pause, she crossed herself and said: "May his soul rest
in peace. I will leave everything in your hands, Father, Sir Pierre.
What are we to do?"

"Pierre must get on the teleson to Rouen immediately and report the
matter to His Highness. I will announce your brother's death and ask
for prayers for his soul--but I think I need say nothing about the
manner of his death. There is no need to arouse any more speculation
and fuss than necessary."

"Very well," said the Countess. "Come, Sir Pierre; I will speak to the
Duke, my cousin, myself."

"Yes, my lady."

Father Bright returned to the sacristy, opened the missal, and changed
the placement of the ribbons. Today was an ordinary Feria; a Votive
Mass would not be forbidden by the rubics. The clock said 7:17. He
turned to young De Saint-Brieuc, who was waiting respectfully.
"Quickly, my son--go and get the unbleached beeswax candles and put
them on the altar. Be sure you light them before you put out the white
ones. Hurry, now; I will be ready by the time you come back. Oh
yes--and change the altar frontal. Put on the black."

"Yes, Father." And the lad was gone.

Father Bright folded the green chasuble an