be overcome by gratitude.

'I have no words--to thank you!' I muttered presently. 'I am a little
shaken this morning. I--pardon me.'

'We will leave you for a while,' Mademoiselle de Cocheforet said in
gentle pitying tones. 'The air will revive you. Louis shall call you
when we go to dinner, M. de Barthe. Come, Elise.'

I bowed low to hide my face, and they nodded pleasantly--not looking
closely at me--as they walked by me to the house. I watched the two
gracious, pale-robed figures until the doorway swallowed them, and then
I walked away to a quiet corner where the shrubs grew highest and the
yew hedge threw its deepest shadow, and I stood to think.

And, MON DIEU, strange thoughts. If the oak can think at the moment the
wind uproots it, or the gnarled thorn-bush when the landslip tears it
from the slope, they may have such thoughts, I stared at the leaves,
at the rotting blossoms, into the dark cavities of the hedge; I stared
mechanically, dazed and wondering. What was the purpose for which I was
here? What was the work I had come to do? Above all, how--my God! how
was I to do it in the face of these helpless women, who trusted me, who
believed in me, who opened their house to me? Clon had not frightened
me, nor the loneliness of the leagued village, nor the remoteness of
this corner where the dread Cardinal seemed a name, and the King's writ
ran slowly, and the rebellion long quenched elsewhere, still smouldered.
But Madame's pure faith, the younger woman's tenderness--how was I to
face these?

I cursed the Cardinal--would he had stayed at Luchon. I cursed the
English fool who had brought me to this, I cursed the years of plenty
and scarceness, and the Quartier Marais, and Zaton's, where I had lived
like a pig, and--

A touch fell on my arm. I turned. It was Clon. How he had stolen up so
quietly, how long he had been at my elbow, I could not tell. But his
eyes gleamed spitefully in their deep sockets, and he laughed with his
fleshless lips; and I hated him. In the daylight the man looked more
like a death's-head than ever. I fancied that I read in his face that he
knew my secret, and I flashed into rage at sight of him.

'What is it?' I cried, with another oath. 'Don't lay your corpse-claws
on me!'

He mowed at me, and, bowing with ironical politeness, pointed to the
house.

'Is Madame served?' I said impatiently, crushing down my anger. 'Is that
what you mean, fool?'

He nodded.

'Very well,' I retor