"As yet there is no proof," he reminded her.

"Proof!"

She sat upright in her chair. Her hands thrust him from her, her
bosom heaved, a spot of color flared in her cheeks.

"Proof!" she cried. "What do you suppose, then, that these wolves
have plotted for? What else do you suppose could be Austria's share
of the feast? Couldn't you hear our fate in the thunder of their
voices when that miserable monarch rode back to his captivity? We
are doomed - betrayed! You remember the Massacre of St. Bartholomew,
a blood-stained page of history for all time. The world would tell
you that we have outlived the age of such barbarous doings. It is
not true. My friend David, it is not true. It is a more terrible
thing, this which is coming. Body and soul we are to perish."

He came over to her side once more and laid his hand soothingly on
hers. It was heart-rending to witness the agony of the woman he
loved.

"Dear Louise," he said, "after all, this is profitless. There may
yet be compromises."

She suffered her hand to remain in his, but the bitterness did not
pass out of her face or tone.

"Compromises!" she repeated. "Do you believe, then, that we are
like those ancient races who felt the presence of a conqueror