up as much
information as I could glean about the proceedings of the council held
that day. M. de Tolendal, who had been on guard in the council room,
said that there were only four there, and that amongst the four were De
Mouchy and Caraffa the Legate.

"It is not war they talked about, I am sure," he went on, "as neither
the Constable nor Vieilleville was present. I dare swear it was all
about those cursed Huguenots; but we will hear soon--ha! good stroke!"
And he turned from me towards the game.

Seeing that there was nothing to be picked up here I took myself off,
and after a little found myself upon the Ladies' Terrace. The
afternoon was hot, and the Terrace was deserted, but in the shade of
the hedgerow on the opposite side of the lawn a solitary figure was
seated looking over a small packet of letters. I looked, and saw it
was De Ganache himself. He had changed much from the day we first met.
His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a
fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him,
and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached
he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet.
So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to
turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not
let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight
up to him.

"Monsieur, a word with you."

He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he passed
his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an
effort, he turned from me. But I called out:

"M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn----"

He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt
of his poniard.

"Begone!" he said, "begone! else I may slay you where you stand!
I----" And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a
boar at bay.

"Monsieur," I said calmly, "fifty windows look down upon us, and there
may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords
with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and
the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council
to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your
fastest horse and leave Paris at once."

"In what tavern have you heard this?" he sneered.

"Monsieur," I answered gravely, "this is no jest. If yo