not kill him? Why did you not do it when you had the chance?
You were three to one," she hissed. "You had him in your power!
You could have killed him, and you did not! Now he will kill
me!"

Madame Claude muttered something tearfully; something about
Pavannes and the saints. I looked over Croisette's shoulder, and
read the letter. It began abruptly without any term of address,
and ran thus, "I have a mission in Paris, Mademoiselle, which
admits of no delay, your mission, as well as my own--to see
Pavannes. You have won his heart. It is yours, and I will bring
it you, or his right hand in token that he has yielded up his
claim to yours. And to this I pledge myself."

The thing bore no signature. It was written in some red fluid--
blood perhaps--a mean and sorry trick! On the outside was
scrawled a direction to Mademoiselle de Caylus. And the packet
was sealed with the Vidame's crest, a wolf's head.

"The coward! the miserable coward!" Croisette cried. He was
the first to read the meaning of the thing. And his eyes were
full of tears--tears of rage.

For me I was angry exceedingly. My veins seemed full of fire, as
I comprehended the mean cruelty which could thus torture a girl.

"Who delivered this?" I thundered. "Who gave it to
Mademoiselle? How did it reach her hands? Speak, some one!"

A maid, whimpering in the background, said that Francis had given