of Holy Church, your impious reign is at an end."

Tressan fell back aghast, his face blenching to the lips; for if
justice was at hand for her, as the Abbot said, then was justice at
hand for him as well. Where had their plans miscarried? What flaw
was there that hitherto she had not perceived? Thus he questioned
himself in his sudden panic.

But the Marquise was no sharer in his tremors. Her eyes opened a
trifle wider; a faint colour crept into her cheeks; but her only
emotions were of amazement and indignation. Was he mad, this
shaveling monk? That was the question that leapt into her mind,
the very question with which she coldly answered his outburst.

"For madness only," she thought fit to add, "could excuse such rash
temerity as yours."

"Not madness, madame," he answered, with chill haughtiness - "not
madness, but righteous indignation. You have defied the power of
Holy Church as you have defied the power of our sovereign lady,
and justice is upon you. We are here to present the reckoning, and
see its payment made in full."

She fancied he alluded to the body in the coffin - the body of her
stepson - and she could have laughed at his foolish conclusions
that she must account Florimond's death an act of justice upon her
for her impiety. But her rising anger left her no room for laughter.

"I thought, sir priest, you were come to bury the dead. But it
rather seems you are come to talk."