nd behind her the
countenance of De Noyan, still contemptuously smiling at that shrieking
rabble. God! my face burned, my grasp tightened on the club. Yet I
lay motionless, knowing well the time of sacrifice was not yet.

The woman stood at the edge of the rock platform, gazing intently down,
a silent, motionless statue, her red robe sweeping to her feet, and
below her the crimson drapery; the flaring torches in the hands of her
barbaric followers cast their light full upon her. I stared at the
strange creature, comprehending something of the power of passion such
as she could exercise over De Noyan, causing him to forget all honor in
her presence. Saint Andrew! she was a witch, a hell-cat, whose smile
was death. Ay! and she was smiling then, a smile of cruel, unrelenting
triumph, gazing down upon the howling slaves who should do her
pleasure. She knew them well, every superstition, every wild impulse,
and she played contemptuously on their savagery. Not fear, but
command, was stamped upon her features; she ruled by legerdemain, by
lie and trick, and she stood, the supreme she-devil, the master spirit
in that raging hell. It seemed to me my heart would burst as I waited,
seeing nothing then of Eloise amid the crush, and compelled to gaze on
that dominant scarlet figure.

[Illustration: The woman gazing intently down, her red robe sweeping to
her feet; below the flaring torches in the hands of her barbaric
followers cast their light full upon her.]

The cries of the multitude ceased, and a black-draped priest shouted
unintelligible words. Naladi listened, extending one hand. Then her
thin lips spoke a single sentence in the sharp tone of command.
Instantly burst forth a fierce roar of disapproval; war-clubs pounded
the floor, spears rattled as they were brandished overhead, while above
the din I caught, again and again, the shriek, "_Francais_!
_Francais_!" The Queen shook her head, her fair face darkening, and
glanced aside into the questioning eyes of De Noyan. Below them the
tumult increased, the mass surging forward and staring upward, every
voice yelping that one term of hate, "_Francais_!" There was no
doubting the dread menace--they were demanding French victims for the
torture of sacrifice; they clamored for white blood with which to
sprinkle the altar. I could dimly perceive now a dozen crouching
slaves against the farther wall, the whites of their eyes showing in
terror, and--oh, God!--there, t