He came to that thought not by way of his own peril, but of

Mademoiselle's; which affected him in so novel a fashion that he wondered

at his folly. At last, tired of watching the shadows which the draught

set dancing on the wall, he drew his cloak about him and lay down on the

straw. He had kept vigil the previous night, and in a few minutes, with

a campaigner's ease, he was asleep.

Midnight had struck. About two the light in the lanthorn burned low in

the socket, and with a soft sputtering went out. For an hour after that

the room lay still, silent, dark; then slowly the grey dawn, the greyer

for the river mist which wrapped the neighbourhood in a clammy shroud,

began to creep into the room and discover the vague shapes of things.

Again an hour passed, and the sun was rising above Montreuil, and here

and there the river began to shimmer through the fog. But in the room it

was barely daylight when the sleeper awoke, and sat up, his face

expectant. Something had roused him. He listened.

His ear, and the habit of vigilance which a life of danger instils, had

not deceived him. There were men moving in the passage; men who shuffled

their feet impatiently. Had Biron returned? Or had aught happened to

him, and were these men come to avenge him? Count Hannibal rose and

stole across the boards to the door, and, setting his ear to it,

listened.

He listened while a man might count a hundred and fifty, counting slowly.

Then, for the third part of a second, he turned his head, and his eyes

travelled the room. He stooped again and listened more closely, scarcely

breathing. There were voices as well as feet to be heard now; one

voice--he thought it was Peridol's--which held on long, now low, now

rising into violence. Others were audible at intervals, but only in a

growl or a bitter exclamation, that told of minds made up and hands which

would not be restrained. He caught his own name, Tavannes--the mask

was useless, then! And once a noisy movement which came to nothing,

foiled, he fancied, by Peridol.

He knew enough. He rose to his full height, and his eyes seemed a little

closer together; an ugly smile curved his lips. His gaze travelled over

the objects in the room, the bare stools and table, the lanthorn, the

wine-pitcher; beyond these, in a corner, the cloak and straw on the low

bed. The light, cold and grey, fell cheerlessly on the dull chamber, and

showed it in harmony with the ominous whisper which grew in the gallery;

with the stern-faced listener who stood, his one hand on the door. He

looked, but he found nothing to his purpose, nothing to serve his end,

whatever his end was; and with a quick light step he left the door,

mounted the window recess, and, poised on the very edge, looked down.




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