Count Hannibal

Mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also the

first to recover herself.

"I had forgotten," she cried suddenly, "I had forgotten," and she wrested

herself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her face

white, her eyes affrighted. "I must not! And you--I had forgotten that

too! To be here, Monsieur, is the worst office you can do me. You must

go! Go, Monsieur, in mercy I beg of you, while it is possible. Every

moment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, I shudder."

"You need not fear for me," he said, in a tone of bravado. He did not

understand.

"I fear for myself!" she answered. And then, wringing her hands, divided

between her love for him and her fear for herself, "Oh, forgive me!" she

said. "You do not know that he has promised to spare me, if he cannot

produce you, and--and--a minister? He has granted me that; but I thought

when you entered that he had gone back on his word, and sent a priest,

and it maddened me! I could not bear to think that I had gained nothing.

Now you understand, and you will pardon me, Monsieur? If he cannot

produce you I am saved. Go then, leave me, I beg, without a moment's

delay."

He laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared his

shoulders.

"All that is over!" he said, "over and done with, sweet! M. de Tavannes

is at this moment a prisoner in the Arsenal. On my way hither I fell in

with M. de Biron, and he told me. The Grand Master, who would have had

me join his company, had been all night at Marshal Tavannes' hotel, where

he had been detained longer than he expected. He stood pledged to

release Count Hannibal on his return, but at my request he consented to

hold him one hour, and to do also a little thing for me."

The glow of hope which had transfigured her face faded slowly.

"It will not help," she said, "if he find you here."

"He will not! Nor you!"

"How, Monsieur?"

"In a few minutes," he explained--he could not hide his exultation, "a

message will come from the Arsenal in the name of Tavannes, bidding the

monk he sent to you bring you to him. A spoken message, corroborated by

my presence, should suffice: 'Bid the monk who is now with

Mademoiselle,' it will run, 'bring her to me at the Arsenal, and let

four pikes guard them hither.' When I begged M. de Biron to do this, he

laughed. 'I can do better,' he said. 'They shall bring one of Count

Hannibal's gloves, which he left on my table. Always supposing my

rascals have done him no harm, which God forbid, for I am answerable.'"