ircle, as all about a King were watched in the
days when a King's breath meant life or death, and his smile made the
fortunes of men. As he passed Rochefoucauld, the latter looked up and
nodded.

"What keeps brother Charles?" he muttered. "He's madder than ever to-
night. Is it a masque or a murder he is planning?"

"The vapours," Tavannes answered, with a sneer. "Old tales his old nurse
has stuffed him withal. He'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if you
can divert him."

"I will, if he come," Rochefoucauld answered, shuffling the cards. "If
not 'tis Chicot's business, and he should attend to it. I'm tired, and
shall to bed."

"He will come," Tavannes answered, and moved, as if to go on. Then he
paused for a last word. "He will come," he muttered, stooping and
speaking under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "But play him
lightly. He is in an ugly mood. Please him, if you can, and it may
serve."

The eyes of the two met an instant, and those of Foucauld--so the King
called his Huguenot favourite--betrayed some surprise; for Count Hannibal
and he were not intimate. But seeing that the other was in earnest, he
raised his brows in acknowledgment. Tavannes nodded carelessly in
return, looked an instant at the cards on the table, and passed on,
pushed his way through the circle, and reached the door. He was lifting
the curtain to go out, when Nancay, the Captain of the Guard, plucked his
sleeve.

"What have you been saying to Foucauld, M. de Tavannes?" he muttered.

"I?"

"Yes," with a jealous glance, "you, M. le Comte."

Count Hannibal looked at him with the sudden ferocity that made the man a
proverb at Court.

"What I chose, M. le Capitaine des Suisses!" he hissed. And his hand
closed like a vice on the other's wrist. "What I chose, look you! And
remember, another time, that I am not a Huguenot, and say what I please."

"But there is great need of care," Nancay protested, stammering and
flinching. "And--and I have orders, M. le Comte."

"Your orders are not for me," Tavannes answered, releasing his arm with a
contemptuous gesture. "And look you, man, do not cross my path to-night.
You know our motto? Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes! Be warned
by it."

Nancay scowled. "But the priests say, 'If your hand offend you, cut it
off!'" he muttered.

Tavannes laughed, a sinister laugh. "If you offend me I'll cut your
throat," he said; and with no ceremony he went out,