says the King.' You heard it, but you fence with me. Foucauld, with
whom his Majesty played to-night, hand to hand and face to face--Foucauld
is dead! And you think to live? You?" he continued, lashing himself
into passion. "I know not by what chance you came where I saw you an
hour gone, nor by what chance you came by that and that"--pointing with
accusing finger to the badges the Huguenot wore. "But this I know! I
have but to cry your name from yonder casement, nay, Monsieur, I have but
to stand aside when the mob go their rounds from house to house, as they
will go presently, and you will perish as certainly as you have hitherto
escaped!"

For the second time Mademoiselle turned and looked at him.

"Then," she whispered, with white lips, "to what end this--mockery?"

"To the end that seven lives may be saved, Mademoiselle," he answered,
bowing.

"At a price?" she muttered.

"At a price," he answered. "A price which women do not find it hard to
pay--at Court. 'Tis paid every day for pleasure or a whim, for rank or
the _entree_, for robes and gewgaws. Few, Mademoiselle, are privileged
to buy a life; still fewer, seven!"

She began to tremble. "I would rather die--seven times!" she cried, her
voice quivering. And she tried to rise, but sat down again.

"And these?" he said, indicating the servants.