He walked briskly, nor did he look back, though she stood awhile gazing
after him. She was not aware that she gave thought to this; nor that it
hurt her. Yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, and she had mounted
the cold, bare staircase of that day--when she had heard the dull echoing
footsteps of her attendants as they withdrew to their lairs and sleeping-
places, and still more when she had crossed the threshold of her chamber,
and signed to Madame Carlat and her woman to listen--it is certain she
felt a lack of something.

Perhaps the chill that possessed her came of that lack, which she neither
defined nor acknowledged. Or possibly it came of the night air, August
though it was; or of sheer nervousness, or of the remembrance of Count
Hannibal's smile. Whatever its origin, she took it to bed with her and
long after the house slept round her, long after the crowded quarter of
the Halles had begun to heave and the Sorbonne to vomit a black-frocked
band, long after the tall houses in the gabled streets, from St. Antoine
to Montmartre and from St. Denis on the north to St. Jacques on the
south, had burst into rows of twinkling lights--nay, long after the
Quarter of the Louvre alone remained dark, girdled by this strange
midnight brightness--she lay awake. At length she too slept, and dreamed
of home and the wide skies of Poitou, and her castle of Vrillac washed
day and night by the Biscay tides.




CHAPTER II. HANNIBAL DE SAULX, COMTE DE TAVANNES.


"Tavannes!"