Count Hannibal

She had waited for a time without much misgiving; expecting each moment

to see him return. He would be back before she could count a hundred; he

would be back before she could number the leagues that separated her from

her beloved province, and the home by the Biscay Sea, to which even in

that brilliant scene her thoughts turned fondly. But the minutes had

passed, and passed, and he had not returned. Worse, in his place

Tavannes--not the Marshal, but his brother, Count Hannibal--had found

her; he, whose odious court, at once a menace and an insult, had subtly

enveloped her for a week past. He had sat down beside her, he had taken

possession of her, and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on her

fears and smiled at her dislike. Finally, whether she would or no, he

had swept her with him into the Chamber. The rest had been an obsession,

a nightmare, from which only the King's voice summoning Tavannes to his

side had relieved her.

Her aim now was to escape before he returned, and before another, seeing

her alone, adopted his role and was rude to her. Already the courtiers

about her were beginning to stare, the pages to turn and titter and

whisper. Direct her gaze as she might, she met some eye watching her,

some couple enjoying her confusion. To make matters worse, she presently

discovered that she was the only woman in the Chamber; and she conceived

the notion that she had no right to be there at that hour. At the

thought her cheeks burned, her eyes dropped; the room seemed to buzz with

her name, with gross words and jests, and gibes at her expense.

At last, when the situation had grown nearly unbearable, the group before

the door parted, and Tignonville appeared. The girl rose with a cry of

relief, and he came to her. The courtiers glanced at the two and smiled.

He did not conceal his astonishment at finding her there. "But,

Mademoiselle, how is this?" he asked, in a low voice. He was as

conscious of the attention they attracted as she was, and as uncertain on

the point of her right to be there. "I left you in the gallery. I came

back, missed you, and--"

She stopped him by a gesture. "Not here!" she muttered, with suppressed

impatience. "I will tell you outside. Take me--take me out, if you

please, Monsieur, at once!"

He was as glad to be gone as she was to go. The group by the doorway

parted; she passed through it, he followed. In a moment the two stood in

the great gallery, above the Salle des Caryatides. The crowd which had

paraded here an hour before was gone, and the vast echoing apartment,

used at that date as a guard-room, was well-nigh empty. Only at rare

intervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess of a door, a couple

talked softly. At the farther end, near the head of the staircase which

led to the hall below, and the courtyard, a group of armed Swiss lounged

on guard. Mademoiselle shot a keen glance up and down, then she turned

to her lover, her face hot with indignation.