sently began without, and not far from us, and
lasted until daybreak. From our windows, set low and facing a wall, we
could see nothing. But we could guess what the noise meant, the dull,
earthy thuds when posts were set in the ground, the brisk, wooden
clattering when one plank was laid to another. We could not see the
progress of the work, or hear the voices of the workmen, or catch the
glare of their lights. But we knew what they were doing. They were
raising the scaffold.

CHAPTER XII.

JOY IN THE MORNING.

I was too weary with riding to go entirely without sleep. And moreover
it is anxiety and the tremor of excitement which make the pillow
sleepless, not, heaven be thanked, sorrow. God made man to lie awake
and hope: but never to lie awake and grieve. An hour or two before
daybreak I fell asleep, utterly worn out. When I awoke, the sun was
high, and shining slantwise on our window. The room was gay with the
morning rays, and soft with the morning freshness, and I lay a while,
my cheek on my hand, drinking in the cheerful influence as I had done
many and many a day in our room at Caylus. It was the touch of Marie's
hand, laid timidly on my arm, which roused me with a shock to
consciousness. The truth broke upon me. I remembered where we were,
and what was before us. "Will you get up, Anne?" Croisette said. "The
Vidame has sent for us."

I got to my feet, and buckled on my sword. Croisette was leaning
against the wall, pale and downcast. Bure filled the open doorway, his
feathered cap in his hand, a queer smile on his face. "You are a good
sleeper, young gentleman," he said. "You should have a good
conscience."

"Better than yours, no doubt!" I retorted, "or your master's."

He shrugged his shoulders, and, bidding us by a sign to follow him, led
the way through several gloomy passages. At the end of these, a flight
of stone steps leading upwards seemed to promise something better; and
true enough, the door at the top being opened, the murmur of a crowd
reached our ears, with a burst of sunlight and warmth. We were in a
lofty room, with walls in some places painted, and elsewhere hung with
tapestry; well lighted by three old pointed windows reaching to the
rush-covered floor. The room was large, set here and there with stands
of arms, and had a dais with a raised carved chair at one end. The
ceiling was of blue, with gold stars set about it. Seeing this, I
remembered the place. I ha