r he may be--for the heart of Martinelli smoking on a
gold platter. The platter must be gold, you said; and you said I must
call you by singing, 'Sing cucu, sing cucu, sing cucu.' Whereat you
began to teach me how to sing, 'Sing cucu, sing cucu, sing cucu.'"

And when Pons had said the name, I knew it at once for the priest,
Martinelli, who had been knocking his heels two mortal hours in the room
without.

When Martinelli was permitted to enter and as he saluted me by title and
name, I knew at once my name and all of it. I was Count Guillaume de
Sainte-Maure. (You see, only could I know then, and remember afterward,
what was in my conscious mind.)

The priest was Italian, dark and small, lean as with fasting or with a
wasting hunger not of this world, and his hands were as small and slender
as a woman's. But his eyes! They were cunning and trustless, narrow-
slitted and heavy-lidded, at one and the same time as sharp as a ferret's
and as indolent as a basking lizard's.

"There has been much delay, Count de Sainte-Maure," he began promptly,
when Pons had left the room at a glance from me. "He whom I serve grows
impatient."

"Change your tune, priest," I broke in angrily. "Remember, you are not
now in Rome."

"My august master--" he began.

"Rules augustly in Rome, mayhap," I again interrupted. "This is France."

Martinelli shrugged his shoulders meekly and patiently, but his eyes,
gleaming like a basilisk's, gave his shoulders the lie.

"My august master has some concern with the doings of France," he said
quietly. "The lady is not for you. My master has other plans. . ." He
moistened his thin lips with his tongue. "Other plans for the lady . . .
and for you."

Of course, by the lady I knew he referred to the great Duchess Philippa,
widow of Geoffrey, last Duke of Aquitaine. But great duchess, widow, and
all, Philippa was a woman, and young, and gay, and beautiful, and, by my
faith, fashioned for me.

"What are his plans?" I demanded bluntly.

"They are deep and wide, Count Sainte-Maure--too deep and wide for me to
presume to imagine, much less know or discuss with you or any man."

"Oh, I know big things are afoot and slimy worms squirming underground,"
I said.

"They told me you were stubborn-necked, but I have obeyed commands."

Martinelli arose to leave, and I arose with him.

"I said it was useless," he went on. "But the last chance to change your
mind was accorded you. My august