commands of Madame Grosse-Tete to me! Ha! ha! ha! I
took you for an insolent fool; but you are mad, monsieur, mad!"

For answer I held out to her one of her letters to De Ganache.

"The Queen desires you to see this, madame. It is your own writing to
a man you have killed, body and soul--and there are many others like
this--so it would be useless to destroy it. Read it!"

She stared at me for an instant in blank amaze, and then snatched the
paper from me, her face white, her hands trembling. One glance at it,
and she burst out:

"This is a forgery! A base forgery!" And then I laughed, for there
would now be no mercy shown towards this she-wolf.

"There is no forgery there! And there are other proofs. What think
you that your Syrian go-between will say when put to the question?
What of your glovemaker Camus, and the house in the Rue des
Lavandieres? Madame, you are alone here but for a half score of your
archers and that fool Crequy. Think you that with such proofs in her
hand the Queen would hesitate even to arrest you?"

"Arrest me!" she stammered.

"Yes! There are charges enough. What think you that the
King--Monsieur Grosse-Tete as you call him--will say when he sees these
letters, and hears of the triangle, and learns that all France, and all
Europe, will know his shame, and of the infamous grant you cajoled him
into giving you?"

She shivered and looked around her as I went on coldly:

"Call your guards if you will; but I swear to you that if you do within
the hour you will fall so low that the very women of the Marais and the
Temple would pity you!"

"My God!" And with a shudder she put her hands to her face, and the
letter fluttered down to the carpet. Stooping, I picked it up, and
continued: "The Queen, however, is more merciful than you, and even you
have your uses, madame, so that her Majesty will overlook your crimes,
upon a condition." And I stopped.

For a space she stood in silence, her head bowed, and her face covered.
At last she slowly put down her hands, and looked at me. Such a look!

"What is your condition?"

"It is not mine. I begged for your pity, and you denied me. This is
the mercy of the Queen to you--the mercy of the woman you have wronged."

"Enough of that! What are the terms? Am I to be kept here waiting for
ever?"

"Simply that Mademoiselle de Paradis is restored to the Queen unhurt,
and fully pardoned, within twenty-four hours."

She bit her under