resented
being puzzled, like a very justice of the peace.

"If you do not believe me----" Valentine began.

"Most noble princess," he protested, bending nearer to her as she sat on
the low seat looking straight up at him; "not once have I dreamed----"

"Go to my native country of Leon and ask the first gentleman you meet
whether Valentine la Nina be not the honest daughter of a king. Only do
not, if you value your life, express such disbelief as you did just now,
or the chances are that you will never again see fair Lorraine!"

She looked about her. What she had expected all along had happened. They
were alone. By some art of the Jesuit father, subtly piloting the course
of events, Osorio had gone to the private parlour to find certain
papers. Mariana and De Bar had followed him.

Instantly the girl's demeanour changed. Half rising, she reached out her
hand and clutched the astonished Guise by the cuff of his black velvet
sleeve.

"Do not trust the King of France," she whispered, "do not put yourself
in the power of the King of Spain. Do not listen to my uncle, Osorio,
who does his bidding. Keep away from Blois. Make yourself strong in your
own territories--I, who speak, warn you. There is but a hair's breadth
between you and death. Above all, do not listen to Mariana the Jesuit.
Do not believe him on his sworn oath. His Order seeks your death now
that you have served their turn, and--I do not wish harm to come to a
brave man."

Had Valentine's eyes been upon the door she would have seen it open
slightly as if a breeze were pushing it.

"And pray, princess," said Guise, smiling, well content, "would it be
the act of a brave man thus to shun danger?"

"The lion is not the braver for leaping into the prepared pit with his
eyes open. He is only foolish!"

Guise laughed easily.

"If I were to take you at your word, princess," he said, "I should hear
no more of you in my dull Lorraine. I could not carry you off to cheer
me at Soissons. But here in Paris I may at least see you daily--hear
your voice, or if no better, see you at the window as I walk in my
garden----"

"Ah," cried Valentine, thrusting out her hand hastily, palm outward, "do
not think of me. I am but the snare set, the trap baited. I am not my
own. I can love no man--choose no man. I belong to Those Unseen----"

She cast her hand backward towards Spain, as if to indicate infinite
malign forces at work there. "But I warn you--get hence quickly, a