ht streamed so whitely that the rest
of the gallery was yet blacker and more hidden by the contrast.
Beyond, at the end, was a deeper pool of darkness which he knew was the
arched entrance to the main body of the Chateau, his own lodgings being
in a projecting wing bounded on the one side by a wide court. A few
steps beyond this archway a narrow corridor cut the passageway, opening
up three lanes of shadow. These were lit to a bare visibility by as
many tiny lamps hung from the vaulted ceilings, mere specks of points
of light too small to flicker, and such as all night long hang before
the high altar of a church, symbols of changeless faith burning
unquenched even in the deepest darkness of the night of the world.

Turning to the left, his hand upon the wall for guidance, La Mothe
crept softly on until a further passage opened to his right. Down this
he stole, breathing uneasily as men do who walk warily in the dark,
intent to keep their presence secret. From the roof depended the same
inadequate light, but at the farther end was a hazy blur which marked
the head of the stairs, and across the floor luminous shadows drifted
here and there from under doorways where the lamp still burned within
the chamber. One of these chambers La Mothe knew was allotted to
Commines, and as he scanned the flagged floor of the passage, searching
for the sign Commines had given him, a shadow amongst the shadows
stirred his curiosity, and he stole nearer on tiptoe: it was a mattress
laid before a closed door, and stretched upon it lay a man wrapped in a
blanket.

Holding his breath, La Mothe paused, listening intently. Though he had
resented Commines' brusque reference to Mademoiselle de Vesc, the
wisdom of caution was obvious, and he knew the value of secrecy too
well to venture an unnecessary risk. But the figure neither moved nor
changed its regular deep breathing, and La Mothe slipped past
noiselessly, seeking anew for the promised signal. And midway to the
well of the stairs, where faint murmurings told of sleepless life even
in ill-lit, ill-guarded Amboise, he found it--a nebulous dusky cross,
broader than long, stretching its shadowy arms upon the flags, and at
his first low tap on the panel the door was softly opened and as softly
closed behind him.

"Are you sure no one saw you?"

"No one. But, Uncle, this playing at thief in the night is
intolerable. It will be very much better to say quite plainly to
Mademoiselle de