Count Hannibal

Count Hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozen groups

remained in the open. Then he gave the word to dismount; for, so far,

even the Countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the movement

which their retreat into the inn must have caused should be misread by

the mob. Last of all he dismounted himself, and with lights going before

him and behind, and preceded by Bigot, bearing his cloak and pistols, he

escorted the Countess into the house. Not many minutes had elapsed since

he had called for silence; but long before he reached the chamber looking

over the square from the first floor, in which supper was being set for

them, the news had flown through the length and breadth of Angers that

for this night the danger was past. The hawk had come to Angers, and lo!

it was a dove.

Count Hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. In the

room, which was well lighted, were people of the house, going to and fro,

setting out the table; to Madame, standing beside the hearth--which held

its summer dressing of green boughs--while her woman held water for her

to wash, the scene recalled with painful vividness the meal at which she

had been present on the morning of the St. Bartholomew--the meal which

had ushered in her troubles. Naturally her eyes went to her husband, her

mind to the horror in which she had held him then; and with a kind of

shock--perhaps because the last few minutes had shown him in a new

light--she compared her old opinion of him with that which, much as she

feared him, she now entertained.

This afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, if at all, he had

acted in a way to justify that horror and that opinion. He had treated

her--brutally; he had insulted and threatened her, had almost struck her.

And yet--and yet Madame felt that she had moved so far from the point

which she had once occupied that the old attitude was hard to understand.

Hardly could she believe that it was on this man, much as she still

dreaded him, that she had looked with those feelings of repulsion.

She was still gazing at him with eyes which strove to see two men in one,

when he turned from the window. Absorbed in thought, she had forgotten

her occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in her half-dried hands.

Before she knew what he was doing he was at her side; he bade the woman

hold the bowl, and he rinsed his hands. Then he turned, and without

looking at the Countess, he dried his hands on the farther end of the

towel which she was still using.

She blushed faintly. A something in the act, more intimate and more

familiar than had ever marked their intercourse, set her blood running

strangely. When he turned away and bade Bigot unbuckle his

spur-leathers, she stepped forward.