rimly, and he thought
of the sword that had ploughed his cheek last night and pierced his
sword-arm that morning, and he thanked such gods as in his godlessness
he owned for the luck that had kept that sword from finding out his
heart.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE JUDGMENT OF GARNACHE

On the morrow, which was a Friday and the tenth of November--a date to
be hereafter graven on the memory of all concerned in the affairs of
Condillac--the Dowager rose betimes, and, for decency's sake, having in
mind the business of the day, she gowned herself in black.

Betimes, too, the Lord Seneschal rode out of Grenoble, attended by
a couple of grooms, and headed for Condillac, in doing which--little
though he suspected it--he was serving nobody's interests more
thoroughly than Monsieur de Garnache's.

Madame received him courteously. She was in a blithe--and happy mood
that morning--the reaction from her yesterday's distress of mind. The
world was full of promise, and all things had prospered with her and
Marius. Her boy was lord of Condillac; Florimond, whom she had hated and
who had stood in the way of her boy's advancement, was dead and on his
way to burial; Garnache, the man from Paris who might have made trouble
for them had he ridden home again with the tale of their resistance, was
silenced for all time, and the carp in the moat would be feasting by
now upon what was left of him; Valerie de La Vauvraye was in a dejected
frame of mind that augured well for the success of the Dowager's
plans concerning her, and by noon at latest there would be priests at
Condillac, and, if Marius still wished to marry the obstinate baggage,
there would be no difficulty as to that.

It was a glorious morning, mild and sunny as an April day, as though
Nature took a hand in the Dowager's triumph and wished to make the best
of its wintry garb in honour of it.

The presence of this gross suitor of hers afforded her another source
of satisfaction. There would no longer be the necessity she once had
dreaded of listening to his suit for longer than it should be her
pleasure to be amused by him. But when Tressan spoke, he struck the
first note of discord in the perfect harmony which the Dowager imagined
existed.

"Madame," said he, "I am desolated that I am not a bearer of better
tidings. But for all that we have made the most diligent search, the
man Rabecque has not yet been apprehended. Still, we have not abandoned
hope," he added, by way of s