n to leave here," she said. "For Paris."

Seated on the stool, her hands crossed over her knees, Jacqueline
seemed no longer a creature of indefinite or ambiguous purpose. On the
contrary, her profile was rimmed in light, and very matter-of-fact and
serious it seemed.

"Why am I to leave for Paris?" he remarked, absently.

"Because they are going to take you there," she returned, "to be tried
as a heretic." He started and again sat up. "In your room was found a
book by Calvin. Of course," she went on, "you will deny it belonged to
you?"

"What would that avail?" he said, indifferently. "But have the
followers of Luther, or Calvin, no friends in Francis' court?"

"Have they in Charles' domains?" she asked quickly.

"The Protestants in Germany are a powerful body; the emperor is forced
to bear with them."

"Here they have no friends--openly," she went on.
"Secretly--Marguerite, Marot; others perhaps. But these will not serve
you; could not, if they would. Besides, this heresy of which you are
accused is but a pretext to get rid of you."

"And how, good Jacqueline, has the king treated the new sect?"

She held her hand suddenly to her throat; her face went paler, as from
some tragic recollection.

"Oh," she answered, "do not speak of it!"

"They burned them?" he persisted.

"Before Notre Dame!"

Her voice was low; her eyes shone deep and gleaming.

"You are sorry, then, for those vile heretics?" asked the fool,
curiously.

She raised her head, half-resentfully. "Their souls need no one's
pity," she retorted, proudly.

"And you think mine is soon like to be beyond earthly caring?"

Her glance became impatient. "Most like," she returned, curtly.

"But what excuse does the king give for his cruelty?" he continued,
musingly.

"They threw down the sacred images in one of the churches. Now a
heretic need expect no mercy. They are placed in cages--hung from
beams--over the fire. The court was commanded to witness the
spectacle--the king jested--the countess laughed, but her features were
white--" Here the girl buried her face in her hands. Soon, however,
she looked up, brushing back the hair from her brow. "Marguerite has
interposed, but she is only a feather in the balance." Abruptly she
arose. "Would you escape such a fate?" she said.

He remained silent, thinking that if the mission to the emperor
miscarried, his own position might, indeed, be past mending. If the
exposure of the f