old Carlat remained silent, praying mutely with moving lips and a stern,
set face.

And Count Hannibal? As the glare of the links in the street grew
brighter, and ousted the sickly daylight, his form seemed to dilate. He
stilled the shrieking woman by a glance.

"Choose! Mademoiselle, and quickly!" he said. "For I can only save my
wife and her people! Quick, for the pinch is coming, and 'twill be no
boy's play."

A shot, a scream from the street, a rush of racing feet before the window
seconded his words.

"Quick, Mademoiselle!" he cried. And his breath came a little faster.
"Quick, before it be too late! Will you save life, or will you kill?"

She looked at her lover with eyes of agony, dumbly questioning him. But
he made no sign, and only Tavannes marked the look.

"Monsieur has done what he can to save himself," he said, with a sneer.
"He has donned the livery of the King's servants; he has said, 'Whoever
perishes, I will live!' But--"

"Curse you!" the young man cried, and, stung to madness, he tore the
cross from his cap and flung it on the ground. He seized his white
sleeve and ripped it from shoulder to elbow. Then, when it hung by the
string only, he held his hand.

"Curse you!" he cried furiously. "I will not at your bidding! I may