Count Hannibal

It was not the peril in which he stood, however--though, with the cold

clear eye of the man who had often faced peril, he appreciated it to a

nicety--that Count Hannibal found least bearable, but his enforced

inactivity. He had thought to ride the whirlwind and direct the storm,

and out of the danger of others to compact his own success. Instead he

lay here, not only powerless to guide his destiny, which hung on the

discretion of another, but unable to stretch forth a finger to further

his plans.

As he sat looking darkly at the lanthorn, his mind followed Biron and his

riders through the midnight streets along St. Antoine and La Verrerie,

through the gloomy narrows of the Rue la Ferronerie, and so past the

house in the Rue St. Honore where Mademoiselle sat awaiting the

morrow--sat awaiting Tignonville, the minister, the marriage! Doubtless

there were still bands of plunderers roaming to and fro; at the barriers

troops of archers stopping the suspected; at the windows pale faces

gazing down; at the gates of the Temple, and of the walled enclosures

which largely made up the city, strong guards set to prevent invasion.

Biron would go with sufficient to secure himself; and unless he

encountered the bodyguard of Guise his passage would quiet the town. But

was it so certain that she was safe? He knew his men, and while he had

been free he had not hesitated to leave her in their care. But now that

he could not go, now that he could not raise a hand to help, the

confidence which had not failed him in straits more dangerous grew weak.

He pictured the things which might happen, at which, in his normal frame

of mind, he would have laughed. Now they troubled him so that he started

at a shadow, so that he quailed at a thought. He, who last night, when

free to act, had timed his coming and her rescue to a minute! Who had

rejoiced in the peril, since with the glamour of such things foolish

women were taken! Who had not flinched when the crowd roared most

fiercely for her blood!

Why had he suffered himself to be trapped? Why indeed? And thrice in

passion he paced the room. Long ago the famous Nostradamus had told him

that he would live to be a king, but of the smallest kingdom in the

world. "Every man is a king in his coffin," he had answered. "The grave

is cold and your kingdom shall be warm," the wizard had rejoined. On

which the courtiers had laughed, promising him a Moorish island and a

black queen. And he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken note

of the sovereign counties of France, their rulers and their heirs. Now

he held the thought in horror, foreseeing no county, but the cage under

the stifling tiles at Loches, in which Cardinal Balue and many another

had worn out their hearts.