Count Hannibal

"Umph!"

"However," Count Hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is my

affair. If you, M. de Montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence

of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so--after

midnight of to-day."

M. de Montsoreau breathed hard. "And why," he asked, half sulkily and

half ponderously, "after midnight only, M. le Comte?"

"Merely that I may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part in the

matter," Count Hannibal answered pleasantly. "After midnight of to-night

by all means do as you please. Until midnight, by your leave, we will be

quiet."

The Lieutenant-Governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear--which

Tavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind--that he might be disowned

if he carried out his instructions, struggling with his avarice and his

self-importance. He was rather crafty than bold; and such things had

been, he knew. Little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, the

notion of dealing with one or two and holding the body of the Huguenots

to ransom--a notion which, in spite of everything, was to bear good fruit

for Angers--began to form in his mind. The plan suited him: it left him

free to face either way, and it would fill his pockets more genteelly

than would open robbery. On the other hand, he would offend his brother

and the fanatical party, with whom he commonly acted. They were looking

to see him assert himself. They were looking to hear him declare

himself. And-Harshly Count Hannibal's voice broke in on his thoughts; harshly, a

something sinister in its tone.

"Where is your brother?" he said. And it was evident that he had not

noted his absence until then. "My lord's Vicar of all people should be

here!" he continued, leaning forward and looking round the table. His

brow was stormy.

Lescot squirmed under his eye; Thuriot turned pale and trembled. It was

one of the canons of St.-Maurice, who at length took on himself to

answer.

"His lordship requested, M. le Comte," he ventured, "that you would

excuse him. His duties--"

"Is he ill?"

"He--"

"Is he ill, sirrah?" Tavannes roared. And while all bowed before the

lightning of his eye, no man at the table knew what had roused the sudden

tempest. But Bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose ear, keen as

his master's, had caught the distant report of a musket shot. "If he be

not ill," Tavannes continued, rising and looking round the table in

search of signs of guilt, "and there be foul play here, and he the

player, the Bishop's own hand shall not save him! By Heaven it shall

not! Nor yours!" he continued, looking fiercely at Montsoreau. "Nor

your master's!"

The Lieutenant-Governor sprang to his feet. "M. le Comte," he stammered,

"I do not understand this language! Nor this heat, which may be real or

not! All I say is, if there be foul play here--"