. Instead, a strained voice--thick and coarse, yet
differing from that muffled tone which we had heard before--asked, "Who
are you?"

"Jules Fauchet."

I waited. The King, who understood nothing but had listened to my
answers with eager attention, and marked no less closely the agitation
which they caused in the unknown, leant forward to listen. But the bed
creaked no more; the curtain hung still; even the voice, which at last
issued from the curtains, was no more like the ordinary accents of a
man than are those which he utters in the paroxysms of epilepsy. "Are
you--sorry?" the unknown muttered--involuntarily, I think; hoping
against hope; not daring to depart from a formula which had become
second nature. But I could fancy him clawing, as he spoke, at his
choking throat.

France, however, had suffered too long at the hands of that race of
men, and I had been too lately vilified by them to feel much pity; and
for answer I lifted a voice that to the quailing wretch must have been
the voice of doom. "Sorry?" I said grimly. "I must be--or hang! For
to-morrow the King examines his books, and the next day I--hang!"

The King's hand was on mine, to stop me before the last word was out;
but his touch came too late. As it rang through the room one of the
curtains before us was twitched aside, and a face glared out, so
ghastly and drawn and horror-stricken, that few would have known it for
that of the wealthy fermier, who had grown sleek and fat on the King's
revenues. I do not know whether he knew us, or whether, on the
contrary, he found this accusation, so precise, so accurate, coming
from an unknown source, still more terrible than if he had known us;
but on the instant he fell forward in a swoon.

"St. Gris!" Henry cried, looking on the body with a shudder, "you have
killed him, Grand Master! It was true, was it?"

"Yes, sire," I answered. "But he is not dead, I think." And going to
the window I whistled for Maignan, who in a minute came to us. He was
not very willing to touch the man, but I bade him lay him on the bed
and loosen his clothes and throw water on his face; and presently M.
Fauchet began to recover.

I stepped a little aside that he might not see me, and accordingly the
first person on whom his eyes lighted was the King, who had laid aside
his hat and cloak, and taken the terrified and weeping child on his
lap. M. Fauchet stared at him awhile before he recognised him; but at
last th