s hideousness. Instantly all that was
physically beautiful became loathsome from the foulness within. He
endeavored to speak, to protest, but all his recklessness had deserted
him and he trembled like a leaf. Already the gesticulating priests,
thinking themselves cheated of their victims, were half way up the rude
steps of stone; behind them surged the mob, screaming "_Francais_,"
their torches waving madly. Naladi laughed.

"So your nerve fails, Monsieur," she sneered coldly. "'Tis well it
does, for you need expect no mercy from me. I also hate the French."

She turned from him, her arms outspread, the crimson drapery extended
like wings. The glare of a hundred torches reflected on her face, and
her lips spoke one word of stern command. Every voice ceased its
howling, every form became motionless, the silence so sudden it was
painful. The woman stood above them, dominant; every eye was fastened
upon her; the priests were prostrate on the stair. I saw De Noyan
leaning forward, his teeth clinched, his face death-like. From wall to
wall Naladi's gaze wandered; once she looked into his eyes, then down
again upon the mob of savages. Like the sharp hiss of a snake a single
sentence leaped from her thin lips. The effect was magical. I
scarcely realized the transformation, so rapidly was it accomplished.
Confusion filled the chamber, yet out of the tumult I caught sight of
Madame being driven toward the altar, her white face full of pleading,
her hands, now freed, clasping her rosary. De Noyan must have beheld
her at the same instant. With shout of rage he leaped recklessly
forward, hurled aside the scarlet figure, and, uttering an oath, sprang
on the parapet.

"By God! you foul fiend of hell!" he screamed madly. "I 'll fight for
it; fight like a gentleman of France!"

I leaped to my feet, Cairnes beside me. Desperate as the chance was,
we would be with him on that floor, with him smiting to the death. Yet
even as he poised for the leap downward the woman's scarlet arms
struck, and he went over like a stone, crashing into a huddled heap on
the rock floor. Naladi laughed, leaning far out to look down, like a
gloating devil.

"Fight, you poor fool!" she exclaimed in French. "_Sacre_! who struck
hardest?"

Sick, trembling like a frightened child, I dragged the dazed Puritan
down again, crouching behind the stones.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE INTERFERENCE OF THE JESUIT

I could look no longer on that