ad something wistful in it. He held out both hands to
her, and she took them, and there, under the eyes of all, before he
could snatch them away, she had stooped and kissed them, whilst a murmur
of "Thank God! Thank God!" escaped from her lips to heaven.

"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" he remonstrated, when it was too late to
stay her. "You must not; it is not seemly in me to allow it."

He saw in the act no more than an expression of the gratitude for what
he had done to serve her, and for the risk in which his life had been
so willingly placed in that service. Under the suasion of his words she
grew calm again; then, suddenly, a fear stirred her once more in that
place where she had known naught but fears.

"Why are you here, monsieur? You have come into danger again?"

"No, no," he laughed. "These are my own men at least, for the time
being. I am come in power this time, to administer justice. What shall
be done with this lady, mademoiselle?" he asked; and knowing well the
merciful sweetness of the girl's soul, he added, "Speak, now. Her fate
shall rest in your hands."

Valerie looked at her enemy, and then her eyes strayed round the room
and took stock of the men standing there in silence, of the Abbot who
still remained at the table-head, a pale, scarce-interested spectator of
this odd scene.

The change had come so abruptly. A few minutes ago she had been still a
prisoner, suffering tortures at having heard that Marius was to return
that day, and that, willy-nilly, she must wed him now. And now she was
free it seemed: her champion was returned in power, and he stood bidding
her decide the fate of her late oppressors.

Madame's face was ashen. She judged the girl by her own self; she had no
knowledge of any such infinite sweetness as that of this child's nature,
a sweetness that could do no hurt to any. Death was what the Marquise
expected, since she knew that death would she herself have pronounced
had the positions been reversed. But--

"Let her go in peace, monsieur," she heard mademoiselle say, and she
could not believe but that she was being mocked. And as if mockery were
at issue, Garnache laughed.

"We will let her go, mademoiselle--yet not quite her own way. You must
not longer remain unrestrained, madame," he told the Marquise. "Natures
such as yours need a man's guidance. I think you will be sufficiently
punished if you wed this rash Monsieur de Tressan, just as he will be
sufficiently punished l