"Excellent!" And De Mouchy rubbed his hands together. "I will light a fire on every square and on the parvis of every church in Paris, and the smell of the burning will be as incense to the holy saints."

Diane, however, remained silent, her face still flushed, and a rebellious light in her sullen eyes, which refused to meet Simon's look; and after a moment he went on:

"To obtain this, madame, we look to you. After last night I feel sure his Majesty can refuse you nothing."

His words stung her into speech. "It is absurd," she burst out, "equal shares! Monsieur, am I to be sucked dry by your exactions? Never! If I get the grant it will be for myself, and you and De Mouchy will be paid as heretofore. So much and no more; and if you like it not there are others who will do my bidding." She rose from her seat in magnificent anger, an evil, beautiful thing, and De Mouchy shrank from her look. Not so Simon. With an angry growl he reached forward and caught her wrist.

"Have you forgotten what there is between us?" he asked. She made no answer, and strove to free herself silently; but Simon's grip was firm, and there was a terrible meaning in his glance as he forced her back into her seat. "Have you forgotten?" he asked again, "or shall I call it from the house-tops to remind you? Fool! Do you not know there are a hundred as fair as you ready to supplant you? One whisper of the past, one whisper of the present--ay, the present--I have but to breathe De Ganache's name."

"Enough!" she gasped, and Simon loosed his hold, and she sat for a moment, her face buried in her hands.

"Come, Diane," and Simon changed his tone, "you have too many enemies at your gate to quarrel with old friends. We need you and you need us."

She put her hands down, her face now as white as marble, all the cruel lines of her features accentuated, and her eyes were those of a cowed tigress. Never will I forget the scene. In this wicked woman's heart there was not a regret, not a thought of the innocent blood she was planning to shed. It was defeated avarice, pride wounded to the quick, that struggled in her look, and made her, all beautiful as she was, for the moment hideous.

"Get her some wine," said Simon shortly to De Mouchy--"and get it yourself."

De Mouchy rose and left the room, and the two were alone together.

"Listen, Diane!" said Simon. "You stand on the edge of a precipice.

It is said that the King has spoken of nothing this morning but the beauty of Mademoiselle de Paradis."

She gasped; and he went on:

"I see you understand. Well, unless you agree to my terms mademoiselle is secure from harm; and I think you will find Anet a dull retreat."

There was a little snapping sound, and she had broken her fan, and flung it from her on to the table. At this moment De Mouchy returned, bringing with him some wine and gla.s.ses. One he filled and handed to Diane, who drank it without a word, and then sat staring in front of her.

"I think," said Simon, "that madame now agrees to our proposal. Is it not so?'

"Yes," she said in a low voice, "I agree," but her eyes were kept down to hide their expression.

"That, then, is settled. And remember, madame, that we cannot take action until we have the King's grant in writing. De Mouchy here will see that it is properly registered in the Chambre--and remember it must be within a week, or----" And he bent forward and whispered something in her ear.

"It shall be as you desire, Monsieur le Vidame."

"In that case," said Simon, filling himself a gla.s.s, "I drink to the health of the Great Enterprise. To the unending radiance of the crescent moon, to your new estate of Chateaux Vieux de Mouchy, and to Simon, _Duc_ d'Orrain!"

With this he drank, and set the gla.s.s back on the table with a little click.

There was a silence, and then Diane rose.

"There is nothing further to discuss, I think?" she said.

"No," replied Simon; "except that Dom Antoine here would like to register a certain grant within a week."

She made no answer; but, preceded by De Mouchy and followed by Simon, moved to the door, and all three left the room together. The stars had been with me, and two minutes later I stood beside La Marmotte.

"Well?" she asked.

"There is no time to talk. If we could but get back that rope it would remove all suspicion."

She hesitated, and then: "Perhaps with your sword."

"Excellent!" And, drawing my sword, which I had slung on once more, I leaned forth from the window, and found that the point easily reached the hook. It needed but a turn of the wrist to free the rope, which, a moment after, was drawn in safely.

"And now," I said, "let us be off. If you are wise you will never set foot here again."

She laughed sadly, and we went out together into the lonely Pa.s.sage of Pity. It was growing dark now, and threading our way through the labyrinth of streets we reached the river face. Here La Marmotte stopped, and abruptly wished me farewell; but I stayed her, thanking her from my heart for her good deed, and ventured, with the utmost diffidence, to say that if she were in need of a friend she could count on me. She understood.

"Nay, monsieur," she said, "for me there is but one way, and that is to follow the light that has come to me. We will never meet again; and, perhaps, what I have done to-day may be some recompense for the past.

Farewell!"

Thus we parted; and from that day I never saw or heard of her again. I may mention that when things changed with me I made every effort to discover her, but without avail; and, when, some time after, Torquato Trotto paid the penalty of his crimes, he a.s.serted, even under the rack, that he knew nothing of her, and that she had fled from him.

This I believe to be truth, and can only hope that the poor, storm-tossed life found a haven of refuge at last.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MASQUERADE

That night it was my duty to take the guard outside the Queen's apartments. Circ.u.mstances had made it impossible for me to have speech with De Lorgnac, and Le Brusquet was nowhere to be seen, so that I was unable to inform them of what I knew.

Full of the discovery I had made, and with my thoughts running on the danger that threatened mademoiselle, I paced backward and forward before the door leading into the ante-room, my long shadow keeping me ghostly company. It was the night of the great masque given by the King in honour of his Diane's birthday--the masque in which she was to flaunt in the Crown diamonds--and, as may be imagined, there was not a soul to be seen in the gallery that curved before me into dim, mysterious gloom.

Now and again I thought I heard a laugh and the sound of subdued voices from within the ante-room; but, guessing that the mice were probably playing within, I paid no heed, and, being a little tired, seated myself on the coffer that lay in the shadow near the door, and stared moodily into the silence, absorbed in my own sombre reflections.

On a sudden I heard the patter of footsteps--hasty, rapid footsteps coming towards me along the gallery. I challenged, and got the pa.s.sword on the instant in Le Brusquet's voice, and in a half-minute the little man emerged from the gloom and stood beside me.

"I was ready to give my last pistole to see you," I began; but he put up his hand, saying in a low tone, as he pointed to the door:

"Hush! Is there anyone within?"

"Mice, I think," I answered softly.

"Perhaps a cat." And he dropped his voice to the lowest whisper.

"Whoever they are I must empty that room ere we speak, for I have, I think, as much for you as you for me."

With this he knocked twice sharply at the door. After a moment it was opened, and putting the curtains aside Le Brusquet slipped into the room. In doing so, whether by accident or design, he left the door open and the curtains drawn back, so that from where I stood in the shadow outside I could see and hear all that pa.s.sed within. There were only two persons there, and I smiled a little to myself at Le Brusquet's caution, for one was pretty Mademoiselle Davila, seated demurely on a tabouret, and the other was a fair-haired boy of sixteen or so, who stood with a red face and an uncomfortable air some distance away from her.

"Mice, as I thought," I chuckled to myself, whilst Le Brusquet, with a profound bow, said:

"Mademoiselle, I had thought to have found M. de Lorgnac in waiting here."

"Here! M. de Lorgnac!" replied the maid-of-honour, with a little laugh. "No; M. de Lorgnac never ventures here, unless compelled to."