eur," Lucas said smoothly, "that you have had
successes."

Mayenne started forward with half an oath, changing to a laugh.

"So it is not enough for you to possess the fair body of Lorance; you
must also have her love?"

"She will love me," Lucas answered uneasily. "She must."

"It is not worth your fret," Mayenne declared. "If she did, how long
would it last? _Souvent femme varie_--that is the only fixed fact about
her. If Lorance loves Mar to-day, she will love some one else to-morrow,
and some one else still the day after to-morrow. It is not worth while
disturbing yourself about it."

"She will not love any one else," Lucas said hoarsely.

Mayenne laughed.

"You are very young, Paul."

"She shall not love any one else! By the throne of heaven, she shall
not!"

Mayenne went on laughing. If Lucas had for the moment teased him out of
his equanimity, the duke had paid back the score a hundredfold. Lucas's
face was seared with his passions as with the torture-iron; he clinched
his hands together, breathing hard. On my side of the door I heard a
sharp little sound in the darkness; mademoiselle had gritted her teeth.

"It is a little early to sweat over the matter," Mayenne said, "since
mademoiselle is not your wife nor ever likely to become so."

"You refuse her to me?" Lucas cried, livid. I thought he would leap over
the table at one bound on Mayenne. It occurred to the duke to take up
his dagger.

"I promise her to you when you kill me St. Quentin. And you have not
killed me St. Quentin but instead come airily to tell me the scheme--my
scheme--is wrecked. Pardieu! it was never my scheme. I never advocated
stolen pistoles and suborned witnesses and angered nephews and deceived
sons and the rest of your cumbrous machinery. I would have had you stab
him as he bent over his papers, and walk out of the house before they
discovered him. But you had not the pluck for that; you must needs plot
and replot to make some one else do your work. Now, after months of
intriguing and waiting, you come to me to tell me you have failed.
Morbleu! is there any reason why I should not have you kicked into the
gutter, as no true son of the valourous Le Balafre?"

Lucas's hand went to his belt again; he made one step as if to come
around the table. Mayenne's angry eye was on him but he did not move;
and Lucas made no more steps. Controlling himself with an effort, he
said:

"It was not my fault, monsieur. No man could have la