He thrust his tiny tuft of beard between his teeth - a trick he had
when perplexed or thoughtful. "Ah!" he exclaimed at last, and it
sounded like an indrawn breath of apprehension. "Tell me more."

"What more is there to tell? You have the epitome of the story."

"But what is the nature of the trouble? What form does it take,
and by whom are you advised of it?"

"A friend in Paris sent me word, and his messenger did his work
well, else had Monsieur de Garnache been here before him, and I
had not so much as had the mercy of this forewarning."

"Garnache?" quoth the Count. "Who is Garnache?"

"The emissary of the Queen-Regent. He has been dispatched hither
by her to see that Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye has justice and
enlargement."

Tressan fell suddenly to groaning and wringing his hands a pathetic
figure had it been less absurd.

"I warned you, madame! I warned you how it would end," he cried.
"I told you - "

"Oh, I remember the things you told me," she cut in, scorn in her
voice. "You may spare yourself their repetition. What is done is
done, and I'll not - I would not - have it undone. Queen-Regent
or no Queen-Regent, I am mistress at Condillac; my word is the only