he King, giving in equal shares all the
properties and goods of condemned heretics in Paris, which by law are
escheat to the Crown, to madame here, the crescent moon of France; to
you, most righteous judge; and to me, Simon, Vidame d'Orrain. This
done, we can begin to play."

"Excellent!" And De Mouchy rubbed his hands together. "I will light a
fire on every square and on the parvis of every church in Paris, and
the smell of the burning will be as incense to the holy saints."

Diane, however, remained silent, her face still flushed, and a
rebellious light in her sullen eyes, which refused to meet Simon's
look; and after a moment he went on:

"To obtain this, madame, we look to you. After last night I feel sure
his Majesty can refuse you nothing."

His words stung her into speech. "It is absurd," she burst out, "equal
shares! Monsieur, am I to be sucked dry by your exactions? Never! If
I get the grant it will be for myself, and you and De Mouchy will be
paid as heretofore. So much and no more; and if you like it not there
are others who will do my bidding." She rose from her seat in
magnificent anger, an evil, beautiful thing, and De Mouchy shrank from
her look. Not so Simon. With an angry growl he reached forward and
caught her wrist.

"Have you forgotten what there is between us?" he asked. She made no
answer, and strove to free herself silently; but Simon's grip was firm,
and there was a terrible meaning in his glance as he forced her back
into her seat. "Have you forgotten?" he asked again, "or shall I call
it from the house-tops to remind you? Fool! Do you not know there are
a hundred as fair as you ready to supplant you? One whisper of the
past, one whisper of the present--ay, the present--I have but to
breathe De Ganache's name."

"Enough!" she gasped, and Simon loosed his hold, and she sat for a
moment, her face buried in her hands.

"Come, Diane," and Simon changed his tone, "you have too many enemies
at your gate to quarrel with old friends. We need you and you need us."

She put her hands down, her face now as white as marble, all the cruel
lines of her features accentuated, and her eyes were those of a cowed
tigress. Never will I forget the scene. In this wicked woman's heart
there was not a regret, not a thought of the innocent blood she was
planning to shed. It was defeated avarice, pride wounded to the quick,
that struggled in her look, and made her, all beautiful as she was,