ing of my voice. I turned and left
the room, closing the door that the Countess and Mathilde might be
spared the sight of the body on the landing. I then, for a reason, took
the key, leaving the door unlocked. I groped my way down the stairs,
taking care not to trip over the body below. I crossed the court-yards
without any care for secrecy, entered the hall, and sat down upon a
bench near the door.

When I had told the Countess I knew another way out of the chateau, I
meant only the front gateway. But I did not intend immediately to try
that way. I intended, for a purpose which had suddenly come into my
head, to wait in the hall till morning and be the first to greet the
Count when he appeared.

CHAPTER X.

MORE THAN MERE PITY

What I stayed to do was something the Countess herself could do, and
probably would do one way or another, if indeed mere circumstances would
not do it of themselves: though I felt that none could as I could. But
to tell the truth, even if I could not have brought myself to turn my
back on that place while she was in such unhappy plight there.

After I had sat awhile in the hall, I went to my room, lighted a candle,
and cleansed myself and my weapons, and my clothes as well as I could,
of blood. Having put myself to rights, though the rents in my doublet
were still gaping, I went back to the bench in the hall, and passed the
rest of the night there, sleeping and awake by turns.

At dawn I heard steps and voices in the court-yard as of early risen
dependents starting the day. Silence returned for a few minutes, and
then came the noise of hurrying feet, and of shouts. There was rapid
talk between somebody in the court-yard and somebody at an upper window.
I knew it meant that the bodies of the two guards had been discovered,
doubtless by the men who had gone to relieve them. In a short time, down
the stairs came the Count de Lavardin, his doublet still unfastened,
followed by two body-servants. He came in haste toward the front door,
but I rose and stood in his path.

"A moment, Monsieur Count. There's no need of haste. You'll find your
prisoner safe enough."

"What do you mean?" he asked, having stopped in sheer wonder at my
audacity.

"Madame the Countess has not flown, though it is true her guards are
slain--I slew them. And Madame the Countess will not fly, though it is
true her prison door is unlocked--I unlocked it--with this key, which I
borrowed from you last night."