, indeed, transformed: no longer a slinking, peaceful clerk,
preying on a woman's fears, but a bold and crafty schemer, skilled and
unscrupulous, possessed of hidden knowledge and hidden resources; the
personification of evil intellect. For a moment, knowing all I knew, and
particularly the responsibilities which lay before me, and the interests
committed to my hands, I quailed, confessing myself unequal to him.
I forgot the righteous vengeance I owed him; I cried out helplessly
against the ill-fortune which had brought him across my path. I saw
myself enmeshed and fettered beyond hope of escape, and by an effort
only controlled the despair I felt.

'To-morrow?' I muttered hoarsely. 'At what time?'

He shook his head with a cunning smile. 'A thousand thanks, but I will
settle that myself!' he answered. 'Au revoir!' and uttering a word of
leave-taking to M. Francois d'Agen, he blessed the two servants, and
went out into the night.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE.

When the last sound of his footsteps died away, I awoke as from an evil
dream, and becoming conscious of the presence of M. Francois and the
servants, recollected mechanically that I owed the former an apology for
my discourtesy in keeping him standing in the cold. I began to offer it;
but my distress and confusion of mind were such that in the middle of a
set phrase I broke off, and stood looking fixedly at him, my trouble so
plain that he asked me civilly if anything ailed me.

'No,' I answered, turning from him impatiently; 'nothing, nothing, sir.
Or tell me,' I continued, with an abrupt change of mind, 'who is that;
who has just left us?'

'Father Antoine, do you mean?'

'Ay, Father Antoine, Father Judas, call him what you like,' I rejoined
bitterly.

'Then if you leave the choice to me,' M. Francois answered with grave
politeness, 'I would rather call him something more pleasant, M. de
Marsac--James or John, let us say. For there is little said here which
does not come back to him. If walls have ears, the walls of Blois are
in his pay. But I thought you knew him,' he continued. 'He is secretary,
confidant, chaplain, what you will, to Cardinal Retz, and one of those
whom--in your ear--greater men court and more powerful men lean on. If I
had to choose between them, I would rather cross M. de Crillon.'

'I am obliged to you,' I muttered, checked as much by his manner as his
words.

'Not at all,' he answered more lightly. 'Any informat