contact with his. He gave no sign that he noticed this, but he strode to
the place on her right, and signed to Tignonville to take that on her
left.

"Will you not be seated?" he continued. For she kept her feet.

She turned her head stiffly, until for the first time her eyes looked
into his. A shudder more violent than the last shook her.

"Had you not better--kill us at once?" she whispered. The blood had
forsaken even her lips. Her face was the face of a statue--white,
beautiful, lifeless.

"I think not," he said gravely. "Be seated, and let us hope for the
best. And you, sir," he continued, turning to Carlat, "serve your
mistress with wine. She needs it."

The steward filled for her, and then for each of the men, his shaking
hand spilling as much as it poured. Nor was this strange. Above the din
and uproar of the street, above the crash of distant doors, above the
tocsin that still rang from the reeling steeple of St. Germain's, the
great bell of the Palais on the island had just begun to hurl its note of
doom upon the town. A woman crouching at the end of the chamber burst
into hysterical weeping, but, at a glance from Tavannes' terrible eye,
was mute again.

Tignonville found voice at last. "Have they--killed the Admiral?" he
muttered, his eyes on the table.

"M. Coligny? An hour ago."