Count Hannibal

Of him she sat thinking by the hour together. She recalled with solemn

tenderness the moment in which he had devoted himself to the death which

came but halfway to seize them; nor was she slow to forgive his

subsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue her in spite of herself.

She found the impulse to die glorious; the withdrawal--for the actor was

her lover--a thing done for her, which he would not have done for

himself, and which she quickly forgave him. The revulsion of feeling

which had conquered her at the time, and led her to tear herself from

him, no longer moved her much while all in his action that might have

seemed in other eyes less than heroic, all in his conduct--in a crisis

demanding the highest--that smacked of common or mean, vanished, for she

still clung to him. Clung to him, not so much with the passion of the

mature woman, as with the maiden and sentimental affection of one who has

now no hope of possessing, and for whom love no longer spells life, but

sacrifice.

She had leisure for these musings, for she was left to herself all that

day, and until late on the following day. Her own servants waited on

her, and it was known that below stairs Count Hannibal's riders kept

sullen ward behind barred doors and shuttered windows, refusing admission

to all who came. Now and again echoes of the riot which filled the

streets with bloodshed reached her ears: or word of the more striking

occurrences was brought to her by Madame Carlat. And early on this

second day, Monday, it was whispered that M. de Tavannes had not

returned, and that the men below were growing uneasy.

At last, when the suspense below and above was growing tense, it was

broken. Footsteps and voices were heard ascending the stairs, the

trampling and hubbub were followed by a heavy knock; perforce the door

was opened. While Mademoiselle, who had risen, awaited with a beating

heart she knew not what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks of

St. Magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing himself, muttered the

words of benediction. He entered slowly.

No sight could have been more dreadful to Mademoiselle; for it set at

naught the conditions which she had so hardly exacted. What if Count

Hannibal were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, prepared to

force her to a marriage before this shaveling? Or ready to proceed, if

she refused, to the last extremity? Sudden terror taking her by the

throat choked her; her colour fled, her hand flew to her breast. Yet,

before the door had closed on Bigot, she had recovered herself.

"This intrusion is not by M. de Tavannes' orders!" she cried, stepping

forward haughtily. "This person has no business here. How dare you

admit him?"