rilously near assassination at Reaux. Enemies
sprang up about him when the Cardinal's matrimonial projects became
known. Your brother picked a quarrel with him, and when I had dealt with
your brother, St. Auban appeared, and after St. Auban there were others.
When it is known that he has played this trick upon 'Uncle Giulio' his
enemies will disappear; but, on the other hand, his prospects will all
be blighted, and for that I am sorry."

"So that was the motive of your duel with Eugene!"

"At last you learn it."

"And," she added in a curious voice, "you would have been better pleased
had M. de Mancini carried out his uncle's wishes?"

"It matters little what I would think, Mademoiselle," I answered
guardedly, for I could not read that curious tone of hers.

"Nevertheless, I am curious to hear your answer."

What answer could I make? The truth--that for all my fine talk, I was
at heart and in a sense right glad that she was not to become Andrea's
wife--would have seemed ungallant. Moreover, I must have added the
explanation that I desired to see her no man's wife, so that I might not
seem to contradict myself. Therefore--

"In truth, Mademoiselle," I answered, lying glibly, "it would have given
me more pleasure had Andrea chosen to obey his Eminence."

Her manner froze upon the instant.

"In the consideration of your friend's advancement," she replied, half
contemptuously, "you forget, M. de Luynes, to consider me. Am I, then, a
thing to be bartered into the hands of the first fortune-hunter who
woos me because he has been bidden so to do, and who is to marry me for
political purposes? Pshaw, M. de Luynes!" she added, with a scornful
laugh, "after all, I was a fool to expect aught else from--"

She checked herself abruptly, and a sudden access of mercy left
the stinging "you" unuttered. I stood by, dumb and sheepish, not
understanding how the words that I had deemed gallant could have brought
this tempest down upon my head. Before I could say aught that might have
righted matters, or perchance made them worse--"Since you leave Canaples
to-morrow," quoth she, "I will say 'Adieu,' Monsieur, for it is unlikely
that we shall meet again."

With a slight inclination of her head, and withholding her hand
intentionally, she moved away, whilst I stood, as only a fool or a
statue would stand, and watched her go.

Once she paused, and, indeed, half turned, whereupon hope knocked at
my heart again; but before I had ad