the thought in horror, foreseeing no county, but the cage under
the stifling tiles at Loches, in which Cardinal Balue and many another
had worn out their hearts.

He came to that thought not by way of his own peril, but of
Mademoiselle's; which affected him in so novel a fashion that he wondered
at his folly. At last, tired of watching the shadows which the draught
set dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak about him and lay down on the
straw. He had kept vigil the previous night, and in a few minutes, with
a campaigner's ease, he was asleep.

Midnight had struck. About two the light in the lanthorn burned low in
the socket, and with a soft sputtering went out. For an hour after that
the room lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, the greyer
for the river mist which wrapped the neighbourhood in a clammy shroud,
began to creep into the room and discover the vague shapes of things.
Again an hour passed, and the sun was rising above Montreuil, and here
and there the river began to shimmer through the fog. But in the room it
was barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, his face
expectant. Something had roused him. He listened.

His ear, and the habit of vigilance which a life of danger instils, had
not deceived him. There were men moving in the passage; men who shuffled
their feet impatiently. Had Biron returned? Or had aught happened to
him, and were these men come to avenge him? Count Hannibal rose and
stole across the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it,
listened.

He listened while a man might count a hundred and fifty, counting slowly.
Then, for the third part of a second, he turned his head, and his eyes
travelled the room. He stooped again and listened more closely, scarcely
breathing. There were voices as well as feet to be heard now; one
voice--he thought it was Peridol's--which held on long, now low, now
rising into violence. Others were audible at intervals, but only in a
growl or a bitter exclamation, that told of minds made up and hands which
would not be restrained. He caught his own name, _Tavannes_--the mask
was useless, then! And once a noisy movement which came to nothing,
foiled, he fancied, by Peridol.

He knew enough. He rose to his full height, and his eyes seemed a little
closer together; an ugly smile curved his lips. His gaze travelled over
the objects in the room, the bare stools and table, the lanthorn, the
wine-pitcher; beyond these, in a