ailed to give me at the last moment, the Vicomte de Lavedan
had poured the damning story of his treason into my ears.

What if I were now to enlighten him? What if I were to tell him that I
was not Lesperon--no rebel at all, in fact--but Marcel de Bardelys, the
King's favourite? That he would account me a spy I hardly thought; but
assuredly he would see that my life must be a danger to his own; he must
fear betrayal from me; and to protect himself he would be justified
in taking extreme measures. Rebels were not addicted to an excess of
niceness in their methods, and it was more likely that I should rise no
more from the luxurious bed on which his hospitality had laid me. But
even if I had exaggerated matters, and the Vicomte were not quite so
bloodthirsty as was usual with his order, even if he chose to accept my
promise that I would forget what he had said, he must nevertheless--in
view of his indiscretion--demand my instant withdrawal from Lavedan. And
what, then, of my wager with Chatellerault?

Then, in thinking of my wager, I came to think of Roxalanne
herself--that dainty, sweet-faced child into whose chamber I had
penetrated on the previous night. And would you believe it that I--the
satiated, cynical, unbelieving Bardelys--experienced dismay at the very
thought of leaving Lavedan for no other reason than because it involved
seeing no more of that provincial damsel?

My unwillingness to be driven from her presence determined me to stay.
I had come to Lavedan as Lesperon, a fugitive rebel. In that character
I had all but announced myself last night to Mademoiselle. In that
character I had been welcomed by her father. In that character, then, I
must remain, that I might be near her, that I might woo and win her, and
thus--though this, I swear, had now become a minor consideration with
me--make good my boast and win the wager that must otherwise involve my
ruin.

As I lay back with closed eyes and gave myself over to pondering the
situation, I took a pleasure oddly sweet in the prospect of urging my
suit under such circumstances. Chatellerault had given me a free hand. I
was to go about the wooing of Mademoiselle de Lavedan as I chose. But
he had cast it at me in defiance that not with all my magnificence, not
with all my retinue and all my state to dazzle her, should I succeed in
melting the coldest heart in France.

And now, behold! I had cast from me all these outward embellishments; I
came without pomp, de