I have fought on the Barricades of
Paris for the Guise, because I was but an idle fellow and there was much
excitement and shouting. I have fought for the Bearnais, not because he
is a Huguenot, but because he is my good cousin and a brave
soldier--none like him."

Valentine la Nina waved her hand in contempt.

"None like him!" she exclaimed. "Have you never heard of my cousin
Alexander of Parma? To him your Bearnais is no better than a ruffler, a
banditti captain, a guerilla chief. If you must fight, why, we will go
to him. It is a service worth a thousand of the other. Then you will
learn the art of war indeed----"

"Aye, against my countrymen," said John d'Albret, with firmness. Bit by
bit his courage was coming back to him. "I am but a poor idlish fellow,
who have taken little thought of religion, Huguenot or Catholic. Once I
had thought she would teach me, if life had been given me, and--and if
she had been willing. But now I must take what Fate sends, and trust
that if I die untimeously, the Judge I shall chance to meet may prove
less stern than He of the Genevan's creed, and less cruel than the God
of Dom Teruel and the Holy Inquisition!"

"Then you refuse?" She uttered the words in a low strained voice. "You
refuse what I have offered? But I shall put it once more--honourable
wedlock with an honourable maiden, of a house as good as your own, a
province for your dower, the most Catholic King for sponsor of your
vows, noble service, and it like you, with the greatest captain of the
age, the safety of all your kin, free speech, free worship, the entrance
of these thousands of French folk into France. Ah, and love--love such
as the pale daughters of the north never dreamt of----"

She took a step towards him, her clasped hands pleading for her, her
lips quivering, her head thrown back so far that the golden comb
slipped, and a heavy drift of hair, the colour of ripe oats, fell in
waves far below her shoulders.

"Do not let the chance go by," she said, "because you think you do not
love me now. That will come in time. I know it will come. I would love
you so that it could not help but come!"

"I cannot--ah, I cannot!" said John d'Albret, his eyes on the floor, so
that he might not see the pain he could not cure.

The girl drew herself up, clenched her hands, and with a hissing indraw
of the breath, she cried, "You cannot--you mean you will not, because
you love--the other--the spy's daughter--of whom I will