Count Hannibal | Page 3

air above the river with screams and wailings and horrible cries--the cries of our people murdered on that spot?" She paused for breath, recovered herself a little, and in a lower tone, "For me," she said, "I think of Philippa de Luns by day and by night! The eaves are a threat to me; the tiles would fall on us had they their will; the houses nod to--to--"
"To what, Mademoiselle?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and assuming a tone of cynicism.
"To crush us! Yes, Monsieur, to crush us!"
"And all this because I left you for a moment?"
"For an hour--or well-nigh an hour," she answered more soberly.
"But if I could not help it?"
"You should have thought of that--before you brought me to Paris, Monsieur. In these troublous times."
He coloured warmly. "You are unjust, Mademoiselle," he said. "There are things you forget; in a Court one is not always master of one's self."
"I know it," she answered dryly, thinking of that through which she had gone.
"But you do not know what happened!" he returned with impatience. "You do not understand that I am not to blame. Madame d'Yverne, when I reached the Princess Dowager's closet, had left to go to the Queen of Navarre. I hurried after her, and found a score of gentlemen in the King of Navarre's chamber. They were holding a council, and they begged, nay, they compelled me to remain."
"And it was that which detained you so long?"
"To be sure, Mademoiselle."
"And not--Madame St. Lo?"
M. de Tignonville's face turned scarlet. The thrust in tierce was unexpected. This, then, was the key to Mademoiselle's spirt of temper.
"I do not understand you," he stammered.
"How long were you in the King of Navarre's chamber, and how long with Madame St. Lo?" she asked with fine irony. "Or no, I will not tempt you," she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "I heard you talking to Madame St. Lo in the gallery while I sat within. And I know how long you were with her."
"I met Madame as I returned," he stammered, his face still hot, "and I asked her where you were. I did not know, Mademoiselle, that I was not to speak to ladies of my acquaintance."
"I was alone, and I was waiting."
"I could not know that--for certain," he answered, making the best of it. "You were not where I left you. I thought, I confess--that you had gone. That you had gone home."
"With whom? With whom?" she repeated pitilessly. "Was it likely? With whom was I to go? And yet it is true, I might have gone home had I pleased--with M. de Tavannes! Yes," she continued, in a tone of keen reproach, and with the blood mounting to her forehead, "it is to that, Monsieur, you expose me! To be pursued, molested, harassed by a man whose look terrifies me, and whose touch I--I detest! To be addressed wherever I go by a man whose every word proves that he thinks me game for the hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. You are a man and you do not know, you cannot know what I suffer! What I have suffered this week past whenever you have left my side!"
Tignonville looked gloomy. "What has he said to you?" he asked, between his teeth.
"Nothing I can tell you," she answered, with a shudder. "It was he who took me into the Chamber."
"Why did you go?"
"Wait until he bids you do something," she answered. "His manner, his smile, his tone, all frighten me. And to-night, in all these there was a something worse, a hundred times worse than when I saw him last--on Thursday! He seemed to--to gloat on me," the girl stammered, with a flush of shame, "as if I were his! Oh, Monsieur, I wish we had not left our Poitou! Shall we ever see Vrillac again, and the fishers' huts about the port, and the sea beating blue against the long brown causeway?"
He had listened darkly, almost sullenly; but at this, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, he forced a laugh.
"Why, you are as bad as M. de Rosny and the Vidame!" he said. "And they are as full of fears as an egg is of meat! Since the Admiral was wounded by that scoundrel on Friday, they think all Paris is in a league against us."
"And why not?" she asked, her cheek grown pale, her eyes reading his eyes.
"Why not? Why, because it is a monstrous thing even to think of!" Tignonville answered, with the confidence of one who did not use the argument for the first time. "Could they insult the King more deeply than by such a suspicion? A Borgia may kill his guests, but it was never a practice of the Kings of France! Pardieu, I have no patience with them! They