ght say of the unfortunate that he had bartered his mistress for
his life. He had not! But he had perforce to stand by; he had to be
passive under stress of circumstances, and by the sacrifice, if she
consummated it, he would in fact be saved.

There was the pinch. No wonder that he cried to her in a voice which
roused even the servants from their lethargy of fear.

"Say it!" he cried. "Say it, before it be too late. Say, you did not
promise!"

Slowly she turned her face to him. "I cannot," she whispered; "I cannot.
Go," she continued, a spasm distorting her features. "Go, Monsieur.
Leave me. It is over."

"What?" he exclaimed. "You promised him?"

She bowed her head.

"Then," the young man cried, in a transport of resentment, "I will be no
part of the price. See! There! And there!" He tore the white sleeve
wholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung it on the floor and
trampled on it. "It shall never be said that I stood by and let you buy
my life! I go into the street and I take my chance." And he turned to
the door.

But Tavannes was before him. "No!" he said; "you will stay here, M. de
Tignonville!" And he set his back against the door.

The young man looked at him, his face convulsed with passion.

"I shall stay here?" he cried. "And why, Monsieur? What is it to you if
I choose to perish?"

"Only this," Tavannes retorted. "I am answerable to Mademoiselle now, in
an hour I shall be answerable to my wife--for your life. Live, then,
Monsieur; you have no choice. In a month you will thank me--and her."

"I am your prisoner?"

"Precisely."

"And I must stay here--to be tortured?" Tignonville cried.

Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled. Sudden stormy changes, from indifference
to ferocity, from irony to invective, were characteristic of the man.

"Tortured!" he repeated grimly. "You talk of torture while Piles and
Pardaillan, Teligny and Rochefoucauld lie dead in the street! While your
cause sinks withered in a night, like a gourd! While your servants fall
butchered, and France rises round you in a tide of blood! Bah!"--with a
gesture of disdain--"you make me also talk, and I have no love for talk,
and small time. Mademoiselle, you at least act and do not talk. By your
leave I return in an hour, and I bring with me--shall it be my priest, or
your minister?"

She looked at him with the face of one who awakes slowly to the full
horror, the full dread, of her position.