an odd quietude. "Your home, my boy, I shall never see again,
Nor Kit! Nor my own Kit!" It was the first time I had heard him
call her by the fond name we used ourselves. And the pathos in
his tone as of the past, not the present, as of pure memory--I
was very thankful that I could not in the dusk see his face
--shook my self-control. I wept. "Nay, my lad," he went on,
speaking softly and leaning from his saddle so that he could lay
his hand on my shoulder "we are all men together. We must be
brave. Tears cannot help us, so we should leave them to the--
women."

I cried more passionately at that. Indeed his own voice quavered
over the last word. But in a moment he was talking to me coolly
and quietly. I had muttered something to the effect that the
Vidame would not dare--it would be too public.

"There is no question of daring in it," he replied. "And the
more public it is, the better he will like it. They have dared
to take thousands of lives since yesterday. There is no one to
call him to account since the king--our king forsooth!--has
declared every Huguenot an outlaw, to be killed wherever he be
met with. No, when Bezers disarmed me yonder," he pointed as he
spoke to his wound, "I looked of course for instant death. Anne!
I saw blood in his eyes! But he did not strike."

"Why not?" I asked in suspense.

"I can only guess," Louis answered with a sigh. "He told me that
my life was in his hands, but that he should take it at his own
time. Further that if I would not give my word to go with him