Now do I reverently thank God that by His mercy I was strong enough to take the course I adopted. For had I not done so, I know not what had been my fate. On the surface, the impulse on which I had acted seemed foolish and ill-advised, yet when I think over all calmly now, and especially of the circumstances that led to my meeting with Monsieur de Norreys, and the events which followed, I am sure and confident that the Merciful Power which had so far watched over me had heard my prayers and answered them. At the moment, however, I did not know or think of this; my one idea was to try, if possible, to enlist the Englishman on my side, and if this was not to be, then I knew not what I should do, though the most desperate resolves were rioting in my brain. I was too excited to rest, but a bath, a change of toilet, and a little food, refreshed me and steadied my nerves, and then I sat for a space by the open window of my small room to try and collect myself for my interview with M. de Norreys. The clouds seemed to have passed away, though far behind over the mountains there was a grey bank that showed that the storm was hovering over us, and the wind still blew in fitful, uncertain gusts. Below me Lalande was attending to the horses, and a bow-shot or so beyond the garden of the inn, under some walnut trees I saw what I had not noticed before, and that was a small encampment of lances. This did not tend to reassure me, and if I had any doubts as to whom the troops belonged, they were set at rest by the sight of Norreys, mounted on a powerful black horse, riding slowly towards the inn, evidently with a view of keeping his appointment with me. I had tried to set out in my mind what I would say to him, but each effort seemed to be worse than the other, and at last I determined to simply throw myself on his chivalry, and stand the hazard of the result. At one time I thought that we might perhaps make a dash for it and escape; but even I could see that our wearied horses would not have a chance against fresh ones, and if it came to a struggle we had but one sword to depend upon--a brave one, it is true--but what could one poor man do against ten? No, there was no way but the one way, the idea of which had come so suddenly to me. Now I heard Norreys dismounting at the door of the inn, and after a moment's hesitation, I took my courage in both hands, and stepped down to meet him. He was standing in the little parlour, his back to the light, as I entered, so that I could not see the expression of his face, but he bowed, I thought stiffly, on my coming in, and handed me one of the rough chairs in the room, saying as he did so, "I trust I have not kept you waiting, madame; I was delayed a little longer than I expected with my men, as I have much to arrange for." The last words, measured out in his prim, formal speech, appeared to me to convey a hint to be quick with my business, and as a natural result all but took away from me the power of saying anything. Mustering up courage, however, I took the chair he offered, saying, as I did so, "Will you not be seated, monsieur?"

"Thank you," came the answer in the same set tone, and then he fixed his eyes on me with a grave attention, in which, however, there was mingled, as I thought, much repressed curiosity.

"Monsieur de Norreys," I began desperately, "you cannot but be aware that I fully understand why you are here."

He started slightly, but recovered himself at once, though he said nothing.

"And, monsieur," I went on, "I have come to throw myself on your mercy. Monsieur, you look a gentleman. What object can you gain by carrying out your orders against a poor weak woman, whose only end is to hide herself from the world? I have done no wrong, monsieur, and if you knew my story you would pity me--I ask you as a gentleman--as a man of honour."

"Madame," he interrupted, genuine amaze in his voice, "I do not understand. As far as I am concerned you are as free as air. I know you to be the wife of my friend de Lorgnac, and my only regret is that I am unable to offer you my escort----"

"Say that again, monsieur. Do you mean your business here has nothing to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing, madame. I am afraid you have alarmed yourself needlessly."

"But M. de Clermont told me; he said you had gone to PÉrigueux to have me delivered over to my husband."

"Madame, I know of no necessity for doing so, and if I was not certain that you must be mistaken I would say that M. de Clermont deceived you."

"I tell you he did not. He showed me the despatch with the Queen's cipher on it--asked me to read it. Monsieur, listen; he did not lie, and I shall tell you why. It is you who deceive me and are playing with me. Wait, monsieur."

A flicker of a smile passed over his face and shone in his eyes, but he answered simply:

"I am attention; but, madame, think before you tell me things which perhaps I ought not to know."

"Let me be the judge of that, and I will show you, monsieur, that it is useless, even in kindness, to hide your orders from me."

Then I told him briefly of my marriage, and of the circumstances attending it, whilst he leaned back in his chair and listened without a word, and with so little sympathy in his look, that he might have been cut out of a block of wood. The result was that as I spoke I grew somewhat excited, and my tongue was bitter against de Lorgnac, whom, to my sorrow, I upbraided with the infamy of this enterprise; and then I spoke of de Clermont, of his bravery and kindness, forgetting other things that had happened, and how he had warned me of my danger, and especially about Norreys himself, finishing with a rapid "and, monsieur, surely you will let me go. I put myself on your chivalry."

He stopped me with a movement of his hand, and, rising from his seat, faced me. "Madame de Lorgnac, I tell you again that you are utterly mistaken. I have nothing to do with your movements. Yet I am glad you have spoken, for de Lorgnac is my friend, and I now see what the other man is. It is not my habit to meddle with other people's affairs; but, because de Lorgnac is my friend, I will tell you something that will give you pain, but will open your eyes, and you must forgive the plain speech of my country, for we have no mincing turns of the tongue. On the authority of the Marquis de Clermont you have accused me of playing catchpole. This is not a matter that troubles me, my honour is in safe keeping; but you have also accused your husband and my friend, and believe Blaise de Lorgnac to be an assassin, and capable of forcing a marriage on you for the sake of your wealth. For your own sake, for the sake of de Lorgnac, you shall know the truth."

"I listen, monsieur."

"I'll tell you. At a supper party given by that croquemitaine of a King of yours, a certain matter was discussed, there was no assassination in it; but the execution of it had to be dropped, as no one of those present who was offered the enterprise would accept it. Later on the wine passed, and a fool, after the fashion of your Court, began to boast openly of his conquests and spoke openly of your favour."

"Monsieur, how dare you!"

"Madame, it is the fashion amongst your fine gentlemen to lie like this. I will do de Clermont the justice to say that it was not he, for he was not there, and the man who spoke is dead, so let his name pass. But Tavannes was there, and had to be reckoned with. The King offered to have you married, and the marshal burst out that he would give you to the first man who asked."

"Oh!"

"Blaise de Lorgnac was on guard at the door. He had heard every word, and now stepped forward and claimed your hand, offering at the same time to undertake the affair for which an agent could not be found. His offer was accepted, and in the early morning, madame, in the yard of la Boucherie, where I had the honour to be your husband's second, your traducer met with his death, and with his last breath confessed that he had lied. That was the very day, madame, that you foolishly rode out with de Clermont. Stay, there is yet a little more, and that concerns the despatch. My business at PÉrigueux was to give an order to de Termes to receive at St. Priest-Taurion a prisoner of state, who was to be handed over to him by myself and de Clermont. I am here to receive that prisoner, and it is Blaise de Lorgnac who is entrusted with the duty of taking him alive. The duplicate despatch, if there is such a one--and you say you have seen the cover--does not refer to you, and de Clermont has lied. I will settle with him for using my name; but, madame, you are as free as air, and may go where you like, and for Blaise de Lorgnac's sake I will help you all I can--and this is all."

"Oh! I don't know what to think."

"You are free to go, I say; and as de Clermont will be here soon, and not alone, I would advise an immediate departure. I will detach a brace of lances to act as further escort, and let me give the order now. I will be back in a moment."

He did not wait for my reply, but turning on his heel stepped out of the room, and I sat with my brain burning, and my head between my hands. I could not doubt this story, and if ever woman passed through a furnace of shame and anger I did so in those few minutes. I now knew what de Lorgnac was. I now for the first time saw de Clermont in his true colours, with his mask off; and yet--and yet--perhaps Norreys was mistaken about him. I had proved myself to be so utterly wrong, to have jumped to conclusions so rashly, that I dared not sit in judgment any more on a soul, and whilst I floundered on in this way Norreys came back.

"I have arranged everything, madame; the orders have been given to your people. They will be ready to start in a half hour. About midnight you should reach Millevranches, and I should halt there and go on with the morning."

"Monsieur, how can I thank you? I have no words."

"Let the matter rest, Madame de Lorgnac," and then his voice took a gentler tone. "I would not urge your going at once except that we are on de Clermont's own estates, and he has a hundred lances with him at his ChÂteau of Ferrand. It is shut out from view by the hills, but it lies yonder," He pointed to the west through the open window, and as he did so an exclamation of surprise burst from him, and he crossed himself.

I followed his glance and saw, high in the heavens, hanging over the mountainous pile of reddening clouds that lay in the west, the grim outline of a vast fortress. The huge walls reflected back with a coppery lustre the red light of the sun, and it was as if we could see figures moving on the ramparts and the flash of arms from the battlements. From the flag-staff on the donjon a broad banner flaunted itself proudly, and so clear and distinct was the light that we made out with ease the blazon on the standard, and the straining leashed ounces of the house of Clermont-Ferrand. And then the clouds took a duskier red, and the solid mass of castle faded away into nothing. I stood still and speechless, and Norreys burst forth, "Sorcery, as I live. Madame, that was the ChÂteau de Ferrand."

I had never seen the like before, never again did I see it, nor do I wish to, and it left me so chilled and faint, that Norreys noticed it at once and called for wine. As he did so, I fancied that I heard the beat of a horse's hoof, but paid no attention to it; and then the wine came and I drank, he standing over me. I was just setting down the glass when there was a grating at the entrance, a long shadow fell through the doorway, and de Clermont stepped in with a cheery "Good-day, Monsieur de Norreys. I see you have not been neglecting your time here. Arnidieu! Denise! Is it you? You seem to be forever dropping from the clouds across my path," and he held out his hand; but I took no notice, though I rose from my chair, and Norreys merely bowed frigidly in return to his greeting. De Clermont seemed in nowise disconcerted, but there was an angry flash in his eyes, and for a second he stood tapping the end of his boot with his riding-whip, and looking from one to another of us with a half smile on his lips. Then putting his plumed hat on the table, and drawing off his gloves, he drawled out with a veiled insolence in every tone of his voice, "Upon my word, M. de Norreys, I congratulate you, and if it were not for our business I would leave you in peace, for madame seems to have learned the lesson that 'It is well to be off with the old love before you are on with the new.'"

He had grasped the weakness of the situation at a glance, and took full advantage of it, but though outwardly cool and self-possessed there was death in his eyes. I could bear it no longer, and turned to leave the room. He rose from his seat, saying, "Pray do not leave us, madame--you look pale, though, and perhaps need rest. I trust, however, your indisposition has nothing to do with the sight I observed you watching from the window. Do you know what it means?" and he turned to Norreys.

In spite of myself I stopped for an instant; but Norreys ignored him, and de Clermont went on:

"It means, monsieur, that this apparition is always seen when a man dies by the hand of de Clermont-Ferrand."

Norreys simply bowed, though I thought I heard the word "boaster" muttered between his teeth, and, turning to me, said, "Permit me, madame," and gave me his arm to take me from the room.

Outside, in the narrow passage that led to my chamber, he stopped and held out his hand.

"Let me say adieu, madame. I would accompany you if I could, but it is impossible. I would advise you to leave at once before any of M. le Marquis's men come up. I can see he is ripe for mischief."

"Monsieur de Norreys, I am no fool--I can understand. For mercy's sake avoid a quarrel with de Clermont. He is a deadly swordsman, and if anything happens to you, I shall feel all my life that I was the cause of it. God knows I owe you much, for you have opened my eyes. Promise me, monsieur, promise me!"

"Madame, the use of the sword is not confined to your country nor to de Clermont alone," and then he saw the tears that sprang to my eyes. "Ah! madame, not that; you will unman me! See, there is your equerry. Commend me to de Lorgnac when you meet, and adieu!"

He dropped my hand and turned on his heel, but I could not let him go like that.

"Monsieur, not that way. Promise me what I ask."

"I promise to avoid a quarrel if possible; I can say no more." With that he went, erect and stately. Of what followed I never knew; but, alas! There is one sorrow that ever haunts me; and in the quiet churchyard of St. Yriarte is a tomb which I visit yearly with my husband, and it covers the heart of as brave and gallant a gentleman as ever lived--poor Norreys!