could free
them in a second. But if they knew I had been here with you they never
will let you go."

"If mademoiselle is running into danger staying here, I pray her to go
back to bed. M. Etienne did not send me hither to bring her grief and
trouble."

"Who are you?" she asked me abruptly. "You have never been here before
on monsieur's errands?"

"No, mademoiselle; I came up only yesterday from Picardie. I belong on
the St. Quentin estate. My name is Felix Broux."

"Alack, you have chosen a bad time to visit Paris!"

"I came up to see life," I said, "and mordieu! I am seeing it."

"I pray God you may not see death, too," she answered soberly.

She stood looking at me helplessly.

"I am in my lord's black books," she said slowly, as if to herself; "but
I might weep Francois de Brie's rough heart to softness. Then it is a
question whether he could turn Mayenne. I wish I knew whether the duke
himself or only Paul de Lorraine has planned this move to-night. That
is," she added, blushing, but speaking out candidly, "whether they
attack M. de Mar as the League's enemy or as my lover."

"This M. Paul de Lorraine," said I, speaking as respectfully as I knew
how, but eager to find out all I could for M. Etienne--"this M. de
Lorraine is mademoiselle's lover, too?"

She shrugged her shoulders, neither assenting nor denying. "We are all
pawns in the game for M. de Mayenne to push about as he chooses. For a
time M. de Mar was high in his favour. Then my cousin Paul came back
after a two years' disappearance, and straightway he was up and M. de
Mar was down. And then Paul vanished again as suddenly as he had come,
and it became the turn of M. de Brie. Now to-night Paul walked in as
suddenly as he had left and at once played on me to write that unlucky
letter. And what it bodes for _him_ I know not."

She spoke with amazing frankness; yet, much as she had told me, the fact
of her telling it told me even more. I saw that she was as lonely in
this great house as I had been at St. Quentin. She would have talked
delightedly to M. le Comte's dog.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I would like well to tell you what has been
happening to my M. Etienne this last month, if you are not afraid to
stay long enough to hear it."

"Oh, every one is asleep long ago; it is past two o'clock. Yes, you may
tell me if you wish."

She sat down on a praying-cushion, motioning me to the other, and I
began my tale. At first she listened with a litt