by our bath and change of toilet, and looking like different men. Jacques offered us wine, but, though we sipped a little, we were both of us beginning to feel that we had come to the edge of the precipice, and put down our cups practically full.

"Madame de Marcilly was here yesterday, I understand?" said Marcilly to Jacques.

"Monsieur, with Mademoiselle de Beauce.” "Thanks! That will do," and then Jean walked to the window and stared out across the square in the direction of the palace, while I stood at the fireplace, my foot on a dog's head of the fender, and our hearts were both with the same

woman.

He came back to me at last, and flung himself in a chair, still looking before him with a gray sadness in his eyes, as he said low to himself: "Poor Marie!"

In my confidence I felt I was victor over myself; but the words rasped me somehow, and I moved impatiently from my position.

"You are getting the blues, Jean. 'Tis this city of horrors into which we have come. Rouse yourself, man! We are on the threshold now."

"Yes, on the threshold-of what?" he asked, but still as if speaking to himself. "We are on the threshold, and the door will open soon-but where will it lead? We are giving our lands, our wealth, our lives, all that we hold dear, for a dream-and life is dear to me, Gaspard, not so

much for its own sake, but for the sake of her who loves me."

"We should have thought of that before, and there is still time to draw back." There was a bitterness in my tone I could not conceal, and a faint flush reddened his cheeks.

"You are right to spur me," he said, as he drained his cup and rose to his feet, "and here comes our messenger."

The Switzer came in with his heavy stride, and, saluting, stood dumbly before us.

"You have given the letter?" I asked.

"Excellency."

"And the answer-any?"

The man drew from his pocket a tablet, and handed it to me. I passed it on to Jean, who attempted to read it, but in vain.

"Diable! He may have written this with the point of his dagger. Can you make it out?"

We did, with some difficulty, and the words of the note, written in a huge, sprawling hand, ran as follows:

Welcome. Sancerre bids me say he expects you and de Vibrac to join us at supper at seven. Come.

CIPIERRE.

"The door is opening," I said, with a forced gayety; "we must go."

"And it wants but a half-hour," answered Jean, as he pointed to the clock.

A

CHAPTER XII

"GENTLEMEN! I AM WITH YOU"

S the last trembling notes of the vesper bells died away, the gates of Cipierre's house opened, and Marcilly and myself, accompanied by one of the Swiss, rode out into the square. We had judged it wise to take a man in Cipierre's colors with us, as, in case of any accident, the fact of our being accompanied by one of the guards of the governor of Orleans might prove of advantage. Marcilly had resumed his mask. This now would not attract the attention it had done in full day, for it was a common enough custom to wear such a thing after sunset, as a protection against the inclemency of the night air.

"Are Cipierre and Sancerre to be let into our confidence?" I said in Spanish, to avoid any chance of the Swiss understanding our converse.

"I have been thinking of that a good deal," Marcilly replied, “and it will all depend upon how far they are willing to go. Sancerre is ready enough to move, I believe-Maligny was strong in insisting on that. As for Cipierre, he may think himself bound by his office, as Captain of Orleans, not to do anything."

"In that case we are leaning on a very doubtful support if we trust to Cipierre to get us access to the palace to-night."

"Not so. He will do that much. He hates the Guise, and, rough soldier as he is, he loves me well. There may be a little difficulty, and I may have to use some of the diplomacy I learned in the Spanish Embassy; but we will get our interview with Catherine. Once arouse their enthusiasm, and they will be with us for good and all. Courage! We have little to fear on that score."

We were in the Hallebarde at the time of this conversation, and the contrast, between the state of the streets on our entry into the town and now, was marked. The expiation was over, and the Loire was carrying down its sluggish current the ashes of the unfortunate victim of a ferocious bigotry. Orleans had returned to its hive, but still the excitement of the awful scene had not passed. The Hallebarde was full, and the shops had reopened, even for the short time that lay between this and the hour, nine o'clock, by which, under the edict, all lights were to be extinguished.

The street itself was dim, lit only by stray lanterns, hanging at long intervals, on ropes that ran across from house to house, but the pavement was awake to the tramp of passing feet, and men and women flitted before us like gray shadows, or stood out in bold silhouette against the lights from the doors of a cabaret, or the windows of a shop, or maybe dwelling-house.

Every now and again a group of lackeys, with drawn swords and lighted torches, would pass us, escorting the litter of some court lady or priest of rank, and almost at every hundred paces we met a party of mounted men, who went by us with a clattering of arms, and a flashing of steel, while above the insistent hum of voices we often caught a word or phrase, that told us what was the one subject of conversation. They were full of what had happened, and of what was to be.

It was, however, in the Rue du Tabourg that a thing occurred that seemed to be an omen of success. We were at the spot where the Cheval Rouge crosses the Tabourg, and were for a moment arrested by a crowd gathered around the entrance to an ordinary, and extending from the door itself almost across the street. As we came up we heard a voice cry out loudly: "Imbeciles! Wait till the 10th. The expiation of our Caillaud will be nothing to that. We will see something on the 10th." And the speaker, a tall, thin man, with projecting teeth and a wrinkled face, stood in the full glare of the light, swinging his arms over his head.

"And what will we see?" questioned a voice from the crowd.

The tall man looked around him, and into the darkness. He was about to say something, but the people answered for him:

"The Prince! The Prince dies on the 10th!"

"The Prince will not die," answered the voice,