ot been worth it, but this girl spurned and flouted
him. Why, in the name of Heaven, could he not put the jade out of his
mind and turn merrily to St. Denis and the road to glory? When I got
back to him and told him how she had mocked him, hang me but he should,
though!

Ah, but when was I to get back to him? That rested not with me but with
my dangerous host, the League's Lieutenant-General, dark-minded Mayenne.
What he wanted with me he had not revealed; nor was it a pleasant
subject for speculation. He meant me, of course, to tell him all I knew
of the St. Quentins; well, that was soon done; belike he understood more
than I of the day's work. But after he had questioned me, what?

Would he consider, with his servant Pierre, that I had never done him
any harm? Or would he--I wondered, if they flung me out stark into some
alley's gutter, whether M. le Comte would search for me and claim my
carcass? Or would he, too, have fallen by the blades of the League?

I was shuddering as I waited there in the darkness. Never, not even this
morning in the closet of the Rue Coupejarrets, had I been in such mortal
dread. I had walked out of that closet to find M. Etienne; but I was not
likely to happen on succour here. Pierre, for all his kind heart, could
not save me from the Duke of Mayenne.

Then, when my hope was at its nadir, I remembered who was with me in the
little room. I groped my way to Our Lady's feet and prayed her to save
me, and if she might not, then to stand by me during the hard moment of
dying and receive my seeking soul. Comforted now and deeming I could
pass, if it came to that, with a steady face, I laid me down, my head on
the prie-dieu cushion, and presently went to sleep.

I was waked by a light in my face, and, all a-quiver, sprang up to meet
my doom. But it was not the duke or any of his hirelings who bent over
me, candle in hand; it was Mlle. de Montluc.

"Oh, my boy, my poor boy!" she cried pitifully, "I could not save you
the flogging; on my honour, I could not. It would have availed you
nothing had I pleaded for you on my bended knees."

With bewilderment I observed that the tears were brimming over her
lashes and splashing down into the candle-flame. I stared, too confused
for speech, while she, putting down the shaking candlestick on the
altar, as she crossed herself, covered her face with her hands,
sobbing.

"Mademoiselle," I stammered, "it is not worth mademoiselle's tears! The
man, Pierr